The eleventh of this month at Shrewsbury:

A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,

As ever offer'd foul play in a state.

King. The Earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; 170
With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster ;
For this advertisement is five days old:

On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward;
On Thursday we ourselves will march: our meeting
Is Bridgenorth and, Harry, you shall march
Through Gloucestershire; by which account,
Our business valued, some twelve days hence
Our general forces at Bridgenorth shall meet.
Our hands are full of business: let's away;
Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay.

180 [Exeunt.

Scene III.

The Boar's-Head Tavern in Eastcheap.
Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since
this last action? do I not bate? do I not

dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like

an old lady's loose gown; I am withered like
an old apple-john. Well, I'll repent, and that
suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be
out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no
strength to repent. An I have not forgotten
what the inside of a church is made of, I am
a peppercorn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a
church! Company, villanous company, hath
been the spoil of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live
long.

Fal. Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy song;

make me merry. I was as virtuously given as
a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough;
swore little; diced not above seven times a week;
went to a bawdy-house not above once in a
quarter-of an hour; paid money that I bor-
rowed, three or four times; lived well, and in
good compass and now I live out of all order,
out of all compass.

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must
needs be out of all compass, out of all reasonable
compass, Sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life thou art our admiral, thou bearest the

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20

lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose 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 sworn; I make as good use of it

over;

30

as many a man doth of a Death's-head or a
memento mori: I never see thy face but I think
upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple ;
for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If
thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear
by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire,
that's God's angel:' but thou art altogether given 40
and wert indeed, but for the light in thy
face, the son of utter darkness. When thou
rannest up Gadshill in the night to catch my
horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an
ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire, there's no pur-
chase in money. O, thou art a perpetual tri-
umph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast
saved me a thousand marks in links and torches,
walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern
and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk 50
me would have bought me lights as good cheap
at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have
maintained that salamander of yours with fire

any time this two and thirty years; God
reward me for it!

Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your
belly!

Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.

Enter Hostess.

How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you
inquired yet who picked my pocket?

Host. Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John?
do you think I keep thieves in my house? I
have searched, I have inquired, so has my
husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by
servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in
my house before.

Fal. Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved, and

lost many a hair; and I'll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go to, you are a woman, go. Host. Who, I? no; I defy thee: God's light, I was never called so in mine own house before.

Fal. Go to, I know you well enough.

Host. No, Sir John; you do not know me, Sir John. I know you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John; and now you pick a quarrel

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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 80 bolters of them.

Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir John, for your diet and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound.

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

Host. He alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.
Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; what call

you

rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin 90 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 picked? 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 sneak-cup: 'sblood, an he were here, I would cudgel him 100 like a dog, if he would say so.