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Fal. How! poor? look upon his face: What call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I have. lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.

Host. O Jesu! I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ring was

copper.

Fal. How! the Prince is a Jack, a sneakcup; and, if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.

Enter Prince HENRY and POINS, marching. FALSTAFF meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon, like a fife.

Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, 'faith? must we all march?

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion.
Host. My Lord, I pray you, hear me.

P. Hen. What say'st thou, Mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honest man.

Host. Good my Lord, hear me.

Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. P. Hen. What say'st thou, Jack ?

Fal. The other night I fell asleep here bchind the arras, and had my pocket pick'd: this house is turn'd bawdy-house, they pick pockets. P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack?

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a sealring of my grandfather's.

P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter.

Host. So I told him, my Lord; and I said, I heard your Grace say so: And, my Lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd man as he is; and said, he would cudgel you. P. Hen. What! he did not?

Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor mar-hood in me else.

WO

Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stew'd prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go,

Host. Say, what thing? what thing?

Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on, Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou should'st know it; I am an honest man's wife and setting thy knighthood aside, thon art a knave to call me so.

Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.

Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou?
Fal. What beast? why, an otter,

P. Hen. An otter, Sir John! why an otter? Fal. Why? she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her.

Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou!

P. Hen. Thou say'st true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.

Host. So he doth you, my Lord; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound. P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love.

Host. Nay, my Lord, he call'd you Jack, and said; he would cudgel you,

Fal. Did I Bardolph?

Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so. Fal. Yea; if he said, my ring was copper. P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper: Darest thou be as good as thy word now?

Fal. Why, Hal, thou know'st, as thou art but man, I dare: but, as thou art Prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp.

P. Hen. And why not as the lion?

:

Fal. The King himself is to be fear'd as the lion Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break!

P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine it is all filled up with guts, and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, emboss'd rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded: if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet, you will stand · to it; you will not pocked up wrong: Art thou not asham'd?

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou know'st, in the state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty. You confess then, you pick'd my pocket?

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P. Hen. It appears so by the story.

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Fal. Hostess, forgive thee; Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest, I am pacified. -Sull? Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. (Exit Hostess.] Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad, How is that answer'd? P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still he good angel to thee:- The money is paid back again.

Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour.

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing.

Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou do'st, and do it with unwash'd hands too. Bard. Do, my Lord.

P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge

of foot.

Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the age of two and twenty, or therebe abouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I praise them.

P. Hen. Bardolph,

Bard. My Lord.

P. Hen. Go bear this letter to John of Lan

caster,

My brother John; this to my Lord of Westmore

land.

Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I, Have thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.Jack,

Meet me to-morrow i'the Temple-hall

At two o'clock i'the afternoon :

There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive

Money, and order for their furniture.
The land is burning; Percy stand on high;
And either they, or we, must lower lie.

[Exeunt Prince, POINS, and BARDOLPH. Fal, Rare words! brave world!-Hostess, my breakfast; come:

O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum!

[Exit.

A C T IV. SCENE I.

The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, and Douglas.

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot; If speaking truth,

In this fine age, were not thought flattery,
Such attribution shoud the Douglas have,
As not a soldier of this season's stamp
Should go so general current through the world.
By heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy

The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself:
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, Lord.
Doug. Thou art the King of honour :

No man so potent breathes upon the ground,
But I will beard him."

Hot. Do so, and 'tis well :

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