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K. Rich. The devil take Henry of Lancaster, and thee! Patience is ftale, and I am weary of it. [Beats the Keeper: Keep. Help! help! help!

Enter Exton, and Servants. K. Rich. How now! what means death in this rude

assault? Wretch, thine own hand yields thy death's inftrument;

[Snatching a sword, and killing one. Go thou, and fill another room in hell.

[Kills another.

[Exton frikes him down, That hand shall burn in never

er-quenching fire, That staggers thus my person; thy fierce hand Hath with the King's blood staind the King's own land. Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high; Whilst my gross flesh sinks downward, here to die. [Dies.

Exton. As full of valour as of royal blood; Both have I spilt: Oh, would the deed were good! For now the devil, that told me I did well, Says that this deed is chronicled in hell. This dead King to the living King I'll bear; Take hence the rest, and give them burial here. [Exeunt.

No. IX.


Act I. Scene II. An Apartment of the Prince's.. Enter Henry Prince of Wales, and Sir John Falstaff, Now, Hal; what time of the day is it, lad ?

P. Henry. Thou art fo fat-witted with drinking old sack,, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches in the afternoon, that thou haft forgotten to demand that truly; which thou would't truly know. What a devil haft thou to do with the time of the day ? Unless : hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks » the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses,

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And I pray

and the blessed fun himself a fair hot wench in flame-coLoured-tasteta. I see no reason why thou should'st be so fuperfluous, to demand the time of the day.

Fah Indeed, you come near me now, Hal. For we that fake parses, go by the moon and seven stars, and not by Phæbus, he, that wandering knight so fair. And I thee, sweet wag, when thou art King-as God save thy Grace (Majesty, I should fay; for Grace thou wilt have none).

P. Henry. What! none?

Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and b:riter.

P. Henry. Well, how then!--Come-roundly-roundly

Fal. Mary, then, sweet was, when thou art King, let Bot us, that are 'íquires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's booty. Let us he Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the iliade, minions of the Moon; and let men lay, we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chalte miAress the Moon, under. whose countenance were steal.

P. Henry. Thou fay’st well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of us, that are the Moon's men, doth ebb and flow like the fea; being govern'd, as the sea is, by the Moon. As for proof, now; a purse of gold moft resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuefday morning; got with swearing, Lay. by; and spent with crying, Bring in: now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.

Fal. By the Lord, thou fayst true, lad: and is not mine Hotels of the tavern a most sweet wench?

P. Henry. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle; and is not a buff-jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag! What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buhjerkin?

P. Henry. Why, what a pox have I to do with my Hoftefs of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time, and oft, P. Ilenry. Did I ever call thee to pay thy part?



Fal. No, I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

P. Henry. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and where it would not, I have us'd


credit. Fal. Yea, and so us'd it, that were it not here apparent, that thou art Heir Apparent-But, I priythee, sweet wag, fhall there be gallows ftanding in England, when thou art King and resolution thus fobb’d as it is, with the rusty eurb of old father antic, the law.?. Do not thou, when thou art King, hang a thief.

P. Henry. No: thou shalt.

Fal. Shall I? 0. rare ! by the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

P. Henry. Thou judgest false already : I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

Fal. Well, Hal, well'; and in some fort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the Court, I tell

you. P. Henry. For obtaining of suits ?

Fal. Yea, for obtaining of suits ; whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat, or a lugg'd bear.

P. Henry. Or. an old lion, or a lover's lute.
Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

P. Henry. What sayst thou to a Hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch ?

Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury fimilies; and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascallieft, sweet young PrinceBut, Hal, I pr’ythee, trouble me ņo more with vanity ; I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought : an old Lord of the Council rated me the other day in the street about you, Sir; but I mark'd him not, and yet he talk'd very wilely, and in the street too.

P. Henry. Thou didft well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

Fal. O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art, indeed, able to corrupt a faint. Thou hast done much harm unto me, Hal, God forgive thee for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. i muit give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I

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am a villain.

I'll be damn'd for never a King's son in christendom.

P. Henry, Where Mall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?

Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one ; an I do not, call me villain, and bafile me.

P. Henry. I see a good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purse-taking.

Ful. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no fin for a man to labour in his voca ion. Poins ! Now shall we know, if Gads-hill have set a match. O, if men were to be fav’d by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him!

Enter Poins. This is the most omnipotent villain, that ever cry'd, Stand,

to a true man.

P. Henry. Good morrow, Ned,

Poins. Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack and Sugar Jack ! how agree the devil and thou about thy foul, that thou foldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg?

P. Henry. Sir John stands to his word; the devil fhall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs; He will give the devil his due.

Poins. Then thou art damn’d for keeping thy word with the devil.

P. Henry. Else he had been damn'd for cozening the devil.

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gads-hill; there are pilgrims going to Conterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to Lon. don with fat purfes. I have visors for you all; you have horses for yourselves : Gads-hill lies to-night in Rochester ; I have bespoke fupper to-morrow night in East-cheap; we may do it as secure as fleep: if you will go, I will ftuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hang’d.

Fal. Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going.

Poins. You will, chops ?
Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one ?
P. Henry. Who! I rob? I a thief ? Not I, by my faith.


Fal. There is neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'ít not of the blood-royal, if thou dar's not cry, stand, for ten shillings.

P. Henry. Well then, once in my days I'll be a mad-cap.
Fal. Why, that's well said.
P. Henry. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then when thou art king.

P. Henry. I care not,

Poins. Sir John, I pr’ythee, leave the Prince and me alone ; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

Fal. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speak’ít may move, and what he hears may be believ'd; that the true Prince may (for recreation-sake) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewel: you shall find me in East-cheap.

P. Henry. Farewel, thou latter spring! Farewel, all-hallown summer.

[Exit Falstaff. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey-lord, ride with us tomorrow. I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gads-hill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from off my shoulders.

P. Henry. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them; and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit them. felves, which they shall have no sooner atchiev'd, but we'll upon

them. P. Henry. Ay, but, 'tis like, they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins. Tut, our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood ; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, firrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immak our noted outward garments. P. Henry. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us.


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