Fal. What, art thou mad? Art thou mad? Is not the Truth, the Truth?

P. Henry. Why, how could'st thou know these Men in Kendal Green, when it was fo dark, thou could'st not fee thy Hand? Come tell us your Reason : What say'st thou to this?

Poins. Come, your Reafon, Jack, your Reason.

Fal. What, upon compulfion? No, were I at the Strappado, or all the Racks in the World, I would not tell you on Compulfion. Give you a Reafon on compulfion! If Reafons were as plenty as Black-Berries, I would give no Man a Reason upon Compulfion, I.

P. Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of this Sin. This fanguine Coward, this Bed-preffer, this Horfeback-breaker, this huge Hill of Flesh.

Fal. Away you Starveling, you Elf-skin, you dry'd Neats-Tongue, Bull's-piffel, you Stock-fish: O for Breath to utter. What is like thee? You Tailor's Yard, you Sheath, you Bow-Cafe, you vile ftanding Tuck.

P. Henry. Well, breath a while, and then to't again; and when thou haft tyr'd thy felf in base Comparisons, hear me Speak but thus.

Poins. Mark Jack.

P. Henry. We two faw you four fet on four and bound them, and were Masters of their Wealth: Mark now, how a plain Tale fhall put you down. Then did we two fet ou you four, and with a Word, outfac'd you from your Prize, and have it, yes, and can fhew it you in the House. And Falstaff, you carrry'd your Guts away as nimbly, with as quick Dexterity, and roar'd for Mercy, and ftill ran and roar'd, as ever I heard Bull-Calf. What a Slave art thou, to hack thy Sword as thou haft done, and then fay it was in fight. What Trick? What Device? What ftarting Hole canft thou now find out, to hide thee from open and apparent Shame?

this

Poins. Come, let's hear Jack: What Trick haft thou now? Fal. I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why hear ye my Mafters, was it for me to kill the Heir apparent ? Should I turn upon the true Prince? Why, thou knoweft I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware Inftinct, the Lion will not touch the true Prince: Inftinct is a great Matter.

I was a Coward on Inflinct: I fhall think the better of my felf, and thee, during my Life; I, for a valiant Lion, and thou for a true Prince. But Lads, I am glad you have the Mony. Hoftefs, clap to the Doors; watch to Night, pray to Morrow. Gallants, Lads, Boys, Hearts of Gold, all the good Titles of Fellowship come to you. What, fhall we be merry? Shall we have a Play extempore?

P. Henry. Content, and the Argument fhall be, thy running away.

Fal. Ah! no more of that, Hal, if thou loveft me.

Enter Hoftefs.

Hoft. My Lord the Prince!

P. Henry. How now, my Lady the Hoftefs, what fay'st thou to me?

Hoft. Marry, my Lord, there is a Nobleman of the Court at Door would fpeak with you; he fays he comes from your Father.

P. Henry. Give him as much as will make him a royal Man, and fend him back again to my Mother. Fal. What manner of Man is he?

Hoft. An old Man.

Fal. What doth Gravity out of his Bed at Midnight? Shall I give him his answer?

P. Henry. Prithee do, Jack,

Fal. Faith and I'll fend him packing.

[Exit.

P. Henry. Now Sirs, you fought fair; fo did you Peto, fo did you Bardolph; you are Lions too, you ran away upon Inftinct; you will not touch the true Prince, no, fie. Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I faw others run.

P. Henry. Tell me now in carneft; how came Falstaff's Sword to hackt?

Peto. Why, he hackt it with his Dagger, and faid, he would fwear Truth out of all England; but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and perfuaded us to do the like.

Bard. Yea, and tickle our Nofes with Spear-grafs, to make them bleed, and then beflubber our Garments with it, and fwear it was the Blood of true Men. I did that I did not these feven Years before, I blufh'd to hear his monftrous Devices.

P. Henry

P. Henry. O Villain, thou ftelleft a Cup of Sack eighteen Years ago, and wert taken with the Manner, and ever fince thou haft blush'd extempore; thou hadst Fire and Sword on thy Side, and yet thou ranneft away: What Iaftin&t hadft thou for it?

Bard. My Lord, do you fee thefe Meteors? do you bchold thefe Exhalations?

P. Henry. I do.

Bard. What think you they portend?

P. Henry. Hot Livers, and cold Purfes.
Bard. Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.
P. Henry. No, if rightly taken, Halter.
Enter Falftaff.

Here comes lean Jack, here comes Bare-bone. How now my fweet Creature of Bombaft, how long is'c ago, Jack, fince thou faw'ft thine own Knee?

Fal. My own Knee? When I was about thy Years, Hal, I was not an Eagle's Talon in the Wafte, I could have crept into any Alderman's Thumb-Ring : A plague of Sighing and Grief, it blows a Man up like a Bladder. There's villainous News abroad: Here was Sir John Braby from your Father; you must go to the Court in the Morning. That fame mad Fellow of the North, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the Baftinado, and made Lucifer Cuckold, and fwore the Devil his true LiegeMan upon the Crofs of a Welsh-hook: What a plague call you him?

Poins. O, Glendower.

Fal. Owen, Owen; the fame, and his Son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and the fprightly Scot of Scots, Dowglafs, that runs a Horfeback up a Hill perpendi

cular.

P. Henry. He that rides at high speed, and with a Piftol kills a Sparrow flying.

Fal. You have hit it.

P. Henry. So did he never the Sparrow.

Fal. Well, that Rafcal hath good Metal in him, he will

not run.

P. Henry. Why, what a Rafcal art thou then, to praise him fo for running?

N 3

Fal.

Fal. A Horfeback, ye Cuckow, but afoot he will not budge a foot.

P. Henry. Yes, Jack, upon Instinct.

Fal. I grant ye, upon Inftin&t: Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blew-Caps more. Worcefter is ftoll'n away by Night: Thy Father's Beard is turn'd white with the News: You may buy Land now as cheap as ftinking Mackerel.

P. Henry. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sun, and this civil buffeting hold, we fhall buy Maidenheads as they buy Hob-nails, by the Hundred.

Fal. By the Mafs, Lad, thou fay'ft true, it is like we fhall have good trading that Way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horribly afeard? thou being Heir apparent, could the World pick thee out three fuch Enemies again as that Fiend Douglafs, that Spirit Percy, and that Devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? Doth not thy Blood

thrill at it?

P. Henry. Not a whit: I lack fome of thy Instinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to morrow, when thou com'ft to thy Father: If thou do love me, practife an Answer.

P. Henry. Do thou ftand for my Father, and examine' me upon the Particulars of my Life.

Fal. Shall I content; This Chair fhall be my State, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cushion my Crown.

P. Henry. Thy State is taken for a joint-Stool, thy gol den Scepter for a leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich Crown for a pitiful bald Crown.

Fal. Well, and the Fire of Grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be mov'd. Give me a Cup of Sack to make mine Eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept, for I maft fpeak in paffio, and I will do it in King Chambifes Vein.

P. Henry. Well, here is my Liege

Fal. And here is my Speech; ftand afide Nobility.
Hoft. This is excellent Sport, i'faith.

Fal. Weep not, fweet Queen, for trickling Tears are vain.

T

Hoft. O the Father, how he holds his Countenance?
Fal. For God's fake, Lords, convey my triftful Queen,

for Tears do ftop the Flood-gates of her Eyes.

Hoft.

Hoft. O rare, he doth it as like one of thefe harlotry Players, as ever I fee.

Fal. Peace good Pint-pot, peace good Tickle-brain. Harry, I do not only marvel, where thou fpendeft thy, time; but also, how thou art accompany'd: For though the Camomil, the more it is trodden, the fafter it grows; yet Youth, the more it is wafted, the fooner it wears. Thou art my Son; I have partly thy Mother's Word, partly my Opinion; but chiefly, a villainous Trick of thine Eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether Lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be Son to me, here lyeth the Point; why, being Son to me, art thou fo pointed at? Shall the bleffed Son of Heav'n prove a Micher, and eat Black-berries? a Question not to be ask❜d. Shall the Son of England prove a Thief, and take Purses? a Question to be as'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou haft often heard of, and it is known to many in our Land, by the Name of Pitch: This Pitch, as ancient Writers do report, doth defile; fo doth the Company thou keep'ft; for Harry, now I do not speak to thee in Drink, but in Tears; not in Pleafure, but in Paffion; not in Words only, but in Woes alfo; and yet there is a virtuous Man, whom I have often noted in thy Company, but I know not his Name.

P. Henry. What manner of Man, and it like your Majesty? Fal. A goodly portly Man i'faith, and corpulent, of a chearful Look, a pleafing Eye, and a moft noble Carriage, and as I think, his Age fome fifty, or, by'rlady, inclining to threefcore; and now I remember me, his Name is Falstaff; If that Man fhould be lewdly given, he deceives me; for Harry, I fee Virtue in his Looks. If then the Tree may be known by the Fruit, as the Fruit by the Tree, then peremptorily I fpeak it, there is Virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the reft banish. And tell me now, thou naughty Varlet, tell me, where haft thou been this Month?

P. Henry. Doft thou fpeak like a King? Do thou ftand for me, and I'll play my Father.

Fal. Depofe me! if thou doft it half fo gravely, fo majeftically, both in Word and Matter, hang me up by the Heels for a Rabbet-fucker, or a Poulterers Hare.