P. Henry. Well, here I am fet.

Fal. And here I ftand; judge, my Mafters.
P. Henry. Now Harry, whence come you?
Fal. My noble Lord, from Eaft-cheap.

P. Henry. The Complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Fal. I'faith, my Lord, they are falfe. Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young Prince.

P. Henry. Sweareft thou, ungracious Boy? Henceforth ne'er look on me; thou art violently carry'd away from Grace; there's a Devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old Man: a Tün of Man is thy Companion: Why doft thou converfe with that Trunk of Humours, that Boulting-Hutch of Beaftliness, that fwoln Parcel of Dropfies, that huge Bombard of Sack,, that ftuft Cloak-bag of Guts, that rofted Manning-Tree Ox with the Puddings in his Belly, that reverend Vice, that grey Iniquity, that Father Ruffian, that Vanity in Years; wherein is he good, but to tafte Sack and drink it? Wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a Capon and eat it? Wherein cunning, but in Craft? Wherein crafty but in Villany? wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you: What means your Grace?

P. Henry. That villainous abominable Mif-leader of Youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Sathan.

Fal. My Lord, the Man I know,

P. Henry. I know thou doft.

Fal. But to fay, I know more harm in him than in my felf, were to fay more than I know. That he is old the more's the pity, his white Hairs do witnefs it; But that he is, faving your Reverence, a Whore-mafter, that I utterly deny. If Sack and Sugar be a Fault, Heav'n help the Wicked: If to be old and merry, be a Sin, then many a Hoft that I know is damn'd: Ifto be fat, be to be hated, then Pharoah's lean Kine are to be lov'd. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, vali ant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's Company, banish not him thy Harry's Company; banish plump Jack, and banish all the World,

P. Henry. I do, I will.

Enter Bardolph running.

Bard. O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sheriff with a moft monftrous Watch, is at the Door.

Fal. Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I have much to fay in the behalf of that Falstaff.

Enter the Hoftess.

Hoft. O, my Lord, my Lord.

Fal. Heigh, heigh, the Devil rides upon a Fiddle-ftick: What's the Matter?

Hoft. The Sheriff and all the Watch are at the Door: they are come to fearch the House, fhall I let them in? Fal. Doft thou hear, Hal? never call a true Piece of Gold a Counterfeit: Thou art effentially mad, without feeming fo.

P. Henry. And thou a natural Coward, without Inftinet. Fal. I deny your Major; if you will deny the Sheriff, fo; if not, let him enter. If I become not a Cart as well as another Man, a plague on my bringing up; I hope I fhall as foon be ftrangled with a Halter, as another.

P. Henry. Go hide thee behind the Arras, the reft walk above. Now my Mafters, for a true Face and good Conscience.

Fal. Both which I have had; but their Date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.

[Exeunt Falftaff, Bardolph, &.

P. Henry. Call in the Sheriff.

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.

P. Henry. Now Mafter Sheriff, what is your Will with me? Sher. First, pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hath follow'd certain Men unto this House.

P. Henry. What Men?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious Lord, a grofs fat Man.

Car. As fat as Butter.

P. Henry. The Man, I do affure you is not here,
For I my felf at this time have imploy'd him;
And, Sheriff, I will engage my Word to thee,
That I will, by to Morrow Dinner time,
Send him to answer thee, or any Man,

For..

For any thing he fhall be charg'd withal:
And fo let me intreat you leave the House.

Sher. I will, my Lord; there are two Gentlemen
Have in this Robbery loft three hundred Marks.

P. Henry. It may be fo; if he have robb'd thefe Men, He fhall be anfwerable; and fo farewel.

Sher. Good Night, my noble Lord.

P. Henry. I think it is good Morrow, is it not? Sher. Indeed, my Lord, I think it be two a Clock. [Exit. P. Henry. This oily Rafcal is known as well as Pauls; go call him forth.

Peto. Falstaff? Faft asleep behind the Arras, and fnorting like a Horfe.

P. Henry. Hark, how hard he fetches his Breath: fearch his Pocket's. He fearcheth his Pockets, and findeth certain Papers. P. Henry. What hast thou found?

Peto. Nothing but Papers, my Lord.

P. Henry. Let's fee, what be they? read them.
Peto. Item, a Capon, 2 s. 2d.

Item, Sawce, 4 d.

Item, Sack, two Gallons, 5 s. 4 d.

Item, Anchoves and Sack after Supper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, ob.

P. Henry. O monftrous, but one half Penny-worth of Bread to this intolerable deal of Sack? What there is elfe, keep close, we'll read it at more advantage; there let him fleep 'till Day. I'll to the Court in the Morning: We must all to the Wars, and thy Place fhall be honourable. I'll procure this fair Rogue à Charge of Foot, and I know his Death will be a March of Twelvefcore. The Mony fhall be paid back again with Advantage. Be with me betimes in the Morning; and fo good Morrow, Peto.

Peto. Good morrow, good my Lord.

Exeunt.

ACT

ACT III.

SCENE I. .

Enter Hot-fpur, Worcester, 'Lord Mortimer, and Owen

Mort.TH

Glendower.

"Hefe Promises are fair, the Parties fure,
And our
Induction full of profperous hope:
Hot. Lord Mortimer, and Coufin Glendower,
Will you fit down?

And Uncle Worcester-A plague upon it,
I have forgot the Map.

Glend. No, here it is;

Sit Coufin Percy, fit good Coufin Hotspur:

For by that Name, as oft as Lancafter doth fpeak of you, His Cheeks look pale, and with a rifing figh,

He witheth you in Heav'n.

Hot. And you in Hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glend. I cannot blame him; at my Nativity,

The front of Heav'n was full of fiery Shapes,
Of burning Creffets; and at my Birth,

The fram and foundation of the Earth

Shak'd like a Coward.

Hot. Why fo it would have done at the fame Seafon, if your Mother's Cat had but kitten'd, though your felf had

never been born.

Glend. I fay the Earth did fhake when I was born.
Hot. And I fay the Earth was not of my Mind;

If you fuppofe, as fearing you, it shook.

Glend. The Heavens were all on fire,the Earth did tremble. Hot. Oh, then the Earth fhook

To fee the Heavens on fire,

And not in fear of your Nativity.

Difeafed Nature oftentimes breaks forth

In ftrange Eruptions; and the teeming Earth
Is with a kind of Cholick pinch'd and vext,
By the imprifoning of unruly Wind

Within her Womb; which for enlargement striving,
Shakes the old Beldam Earth, and tumbles down

Steeples

Steeples, and mofs-grown Towers. At your Birth,
Our Grandam Earth, having this Diftemperature,
In paffion fhook.

Glend. Coufin; of many Men

I do not bear thefe Croffings: Give me leave
To tell you once again, that at my Birth
The front of Heav'n was full of fiery Shapes,
The Goats ran from the Mountains, and the Herds
Were ftrangely clamorous to the frighted Fields:
Thefe Signs have mark'd me extraordinary,
And all the Courses of my Life do fhew,
I am not it the Roll of common Men.
Where is the Living, clipt in with the Sea,
That chides the Banks of England, Scotland and Wales,
Which calls me Pupil, or hath read to me?
And bring him out, that is but Woman's Son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of Art,
And hold me pace in deep Experiments.

Hat. I think there's no Man fpeaks better Welfb.
I'll to dinner.

Mort. Peace, Coufin Percy, you will make him mad.
Glend. I can call Spirits from the vafty Deep:
Hot. Why, fo can I, or fo can any Man:

But will they come, when you do call for them?
Glend. Why, I can teach thee, Coufin, to command the
Devil.

Hot. And I can teach thee, Coufin, to fhame the Devil,
By telling Truth. Tell Truth, and shame the Devil.
If thou have Power to raise him, bring him hither,
And I'll be fworn, I have Power to fhame him hence.
Oh, while you live, tell Truth, and fhame the Devil.
Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofitable Chat.
Glend. Three times hath Henry Bullingbroke made head
Against my Power; thrice from the Banks of Wye,
And Sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I fent him,
Bootlefs home, and Weather-beaten back.

Hot. Home, without Boots,

And in foul Weather too,

How fcapes he Agues in the Devil's Name?

Glend. Come, here's the Map:

Shall we divide our Right,

Accord