out of Heart shortly, and then I fhall have no Strength to repent. And I have not forgotten what the infide of a Church is made of, I am a Pepper Corn, a Brewers Horse ; the infide of a Church! Company, villainous Company hath been the fpoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are fo fretful, you cannot live long. Fal. Why there is it ; come fing me a bawdy Song, to make me merry: I was as virtuously given, as a Gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; fwore little, dic'd not above feven times a Week, went to a Bawdy-houfe not above once in a Quarter of an Hour, paid Mony that I borrow'd three or four times; liv'd well, and in good Compafs; and now I live out of all order, out of Compafs.

Bard. Why, you are fo fat, Sir John, that you must needs be out of all Compafs, out of all reasonable Compass, Sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy Face, and I'll amend my Life, Thou art our Admiral, thou beareft the Lanthorn in the Poop, but 'tis in the Nole of thee; thou art the Knight of the burning Lamp.

Bard. Why, Sir John, my Face does you no harm.

Fal. No, I'll be fworn; I make as good ufe of ir, as many a Man doth of a Death's Head, or a Memento Mori. I never fee thy Face, but I think upon Hell Fire, and Dives that liv'd in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning, If thou wert any way given to Virtue, I would fwear by thy Face; my Oath fhould be, By this Fire: But thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the Light in thy Face, the Sun of utter Darkness. When thou rann'ft up Gads-hill in the Night to catch my Horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a Ball of Wild-fire, there's no Purchase in Mony. O, thou art a perpetual Triumph, an everláfting Bonfire Light; thou haft faved me a thoufand Marks in Links and Torches, walking with thee in the Night betwixt Tavern and Tavern; but the Sack that thou haft drunk me, would have bought me light as good cheap, at the dearest Chandlers in Europe. I have maintain'd that Salamander of yours with Fire, any time this two and thirty Years, Heav'n 10ward me for it.

Bard, I would my Face were in you Belly,

Fal

Fal. So fhould I be fure to be heart-burn'd.

Enter Hoftefs.

How now, Dame Partlet the Hen, have you enquir'd yet who pick'd my Pocket?

Hoft. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? Do you think I keep Thieves in my Houfe? I have fearch'd, I have enquir'd, fo has my Husband. Man by Man, Boy by Boy, Servant by Servant: The tight of a Hair was never loft in my Houle before.

Fal. Ye lie, Hoftefs; Bardolph was fhav'd, and loft many a Hair; and I'll be fworn my Pocket was pick'd; go to, you are a Woman, go.

Hoft. Who I? I defie thee; I was never call'd fo in mine own House before.

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.

Hoft. No, Sir John: You do not know me, Sir John; I know you, Sir John: You owe me Mony, Sir John, and now you a pick a Quarrel to beguile me of it; I bought you a Dozen of Shirts to your Back.

Fal. Dowlas, filthy Dowlas: I have given them away to Bakers Wives, and they have made Boulters of them.

Hoft. Now as I am a true Woman, Holland of eight Shillings an Ell: You owe Mony here befides, Sir John, for your Diet, and by-Drinkings, and Mony lent you, four and twenty Pounds.

Fal. He had his part of it, let him pay.

Hoft. He alas he is poor, he hath nothing.

Fal. How? poor? Look upon his Face: What call you rich? Let him coin his Nofe, let him coin his Cheeks, I'll not pay a Denier. What, will you make a Yonker of me? Shall I not take mine Eafe in mine Inn, but I fhall have my Pocket pick'd? I have loft a Seal-Ring of my Grand-father's, worth forty Mark.

Hoft. 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 fneak-Cup; and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a Dog, if he would fay fo. Enter Prince Henry marching, and Falstaff meets him, playing on his Trunchion like a Fife.

Fal. How now, Lad? is the Wind in that Door? Muft we all march?

Bard.

Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate Fashion.
Hoft. My Lord, I pray you hear me.

P. Henry. What fay'ft thou, Miftrefs Quickly? How does thy Husband? I love him well, he is an honeft Man. Hoft. Good, my Lord, hear me.

Fal. Prithee let her alone, and lift to me.

P. Henry. What fay't thou, Jack?

Fal. The other Night I fell asleep here behind the Arras, and had my Pocket pickt: This Houfe is turn'd Bawdy-house, they pick Pockets.

P. Henry. What didft thou lofe, Jack?

Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? Three or four Bonds of forty Pound a piece, and a Seal-Ring of my Grandfather's.

P. Henry. A Trifle, fome eight-penny Matter.

Hoft. So I told him, my Lord; and I faid, I heard your Grace fay fo: And, my Lord, he fpeaks moft vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd Man as he is,and faid he would cudgel you.

P. Henry. What, he did not?

Hoft. There's neither Faith, Truth, nor Woman-Hood in me elfe.

Fal. There's no more Faith in thee than in a ftew'd Prune; nor no more Truth in thee than in a drawn Fox; and for Woman-hood, Maid-Marian may be the Deputies Wife of the Ward to thee. Go you nothing, go. Hoft. Say, what thing? What thing?

Fal. What thing? Why a thing to thank Heav'n on. Hoft. I am nothing to thank Heav'n on, I would thou fhouldft know it: I am an honeft Man's Wife; and fetting thy Knighthood afide, thou art a Knave to call me fo.

Fal. Setting thy Womanhood afide, thou art a Beast to fay otherwife.

Hoft. Say, what Beaft, thou Knave thou?

Fal. What Beaft? Why an Otter.

P. Henry. An Otter, Sir John, why an Otter?

Fal. Why? he's neither Fish nor Flesh; a Man knows not where to have her.

Hoft. Thou art an unjuft Man in faying fo; thou, or any Man knows where to have me, thou Knave thou.

P. Henry.

P. Henry. Thou fay'ft true, Hoftefs, and he flanders thee moft grofly.

Hoft. So he doth you, my Lord, and faid this other Day, you ow'd him a thousand Pound.

P. Henry. Sirrah do I owe you a thousand Pound?

Fal. A thoufand Pound, Hal? A Million; thy Love is worth a Million: Thou ow't me thy Love.

Hoft. Nay, my Lord, he call'd you Jack, and faid he would cudgel you.

Fal. Did I, Bardolph.

Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you faid fo.

Fal. Yea, if he faid my Ring was Copper.

P. Henry. I fay 'tis Copper. Dar'ft thou be as good as thy Word now?

Fal. Why, Hal, thou know'ft, as thou art but a Man I dare, but as thou art a Prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the Lion's Whelp.

P. Henry. And why not as the Lion?

Fal. The King himself is to be fear'd as the Lion; do'st thou think I'll fear thee, as I fear thy Father? Nay if I do, let my Girdle break.

P. Henry. O, if it fhould, how would thy Guts fall about thy Knees. But, Sirrah, there's no room for Faith, Truth, nor Honefty, in this Bofom of thine; it is all fill'd up with Guts and Midriff. Charge an honeft Woman with picking thy Pocket! Why thou Horfon impudent, imbost Rafcal, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but Tavern Reckonings, Memorandums of Bawdy-Houfes, and one poor penny-worth of Sugar-Candy to make thee long-winded; if thy Pocket were enrich'd with any other Injuries but thefe, I am a Villain; and yet you will ftand to it, you will not Pocket up Wrongs. Art thou not afham'd?

Fal. Doft thou hear, Hal, Thou know'ft in the State of Innocency, Adam fell; and what would poor Jack Falstaff do, in the Days of Villainy: Thou feeft, I have more Flesh than another Man, and therefore more Frailty, You confefs then you pickt my Pocket!

P. Henry. It appears fo by the Story.

Fal. Hoftefs, I forgive thee:

Go make ready Breakfaft; love thy Husband,
Look to thy Servants, and cherish thy Guests;

Thou

Thou shalt find me tractable to any honeft Reason :

Thou feeft, I am pacify'd still.

Nay, I prithee be gone.

[Exit Hoftefs.

Now, Hal, to the News at Court for the Robbery, Lad?

How is that anfwer'd?

P. Henry. O my fweet Beef,

I muft ftill be good Angel to thee.

The Mony is paid back again.

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

do

P. Henry. I am good Friends with my Father, and may any thing.

Fal. Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou do'ft, and do it with un-wafh'd Hands too.

Bard. Do, my Lord.

P. Henry. I have procured thee, Jack, a Charge of Foot. Fal. I would it had been of Horfe. Where fhall I find one that can teal well? O, for a fine Thief, of two and twenty, or thereabout; I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for thefe Rebels, they offend none but the virtuous. I laud them, I praife them.

P. Henry. Bardolph.

Bard. My Lord.

P. Henry. Go bear this Letter to Lord John of Lancaster,
To my Brother John. This to my Lord of Westmorland:
Go Peto, to Horfe; for thou, and I,

Have thirty Miles to ride yet e'er Dinner time.
Jack, meet me to Morrow in the Temple-Hall

At two a Clock in the Afternoon,

There fhalt thou know thy Charge, and there receive

Mony, and Order for their Furniture.

The Land is burning, Percy ftands on high,

And either they, or we, muft lower lye.
Fal. Rare Words; brave World,

Hoftefs, my Breakfast, come:

Oh, I could wifh this Tavern were my Drum.

[Exeunt.

ACT