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thou to me?

you have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, Thall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?

P. Henry. Content: and the argument shall be thy running away. Fal. Ah !-- no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me,

Enter Hostess. Hoft. O Jesu! my lord the Prince ! P. Henry. How now, my lady the hostess, what fayeit

Hoft. Marry, my Lord, there is a Nobleman of the Court at door would speak with you; he says, he comes from your father.

P. Henry. Give him as much as will make him a royal nan, and send 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. Pr’ythee do, Jack.
Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing.

[Exit P. Henry. Now, Sirs, by 'r lady, you fought fair; fo did you, Peto; fo did you, Bardolph; you are lions too, you ran away upon instinct; you will not touch the true Prince; RO. Fie !

Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

P. Henry. Tell me now in earnest; how came Falstaff's sword so hackt ?

Peto. Why, he hackt it with his dagger, and said, he would swear truth out of England, but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grafs, to make them bleed; and then beslubber our garments with it, and fwear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not these seven years before, I bluth'd to hear his monstrous.

P. Henry. O villain, thou stolest a cup of fack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou;




haft blush'd extempore. Thou haft fire and sword on thy fide, and yet thou ranneit away.

What instinct hadft thou for it?

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations ?

P. Henry. I do.
Bard. What think you they portend ?
P. Henry. Hot livers and cold purses.
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
P. Henry. No, if rightly taken, halter.

Re-enter Falstaff. Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, fince thou saw’st thy own knee? Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal

, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: A plague on fighing and grief, it blows up a man 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. The same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon the baltinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welp 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 that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a horseback up a hill perpendicular

, P. Henry. He that rides at high speed, and with a pistol kills a sparrow flying,

Fal. You have hit it.
P. Henry. So did he never the sparrow.
Fal. Well; that rascal has good mettle in him, he will

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

Fal. A horseback, ye cuckow ! but afoot, he will not budge a foot.

P. Henry. Yes, Jack, upon instinct,
Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and

not run.


one Mordake, and a thousand blue caps more. Worcester is ftol'n away by night. Thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news. You may buy land now as cheap as stinkang mackarel.

P. Henry. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and these civil buffetings hold, we shall bay maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred.

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayft true ; it is like, we shall have good trading that way.—But tell me, Hal, art not thou horribly afraid, thou being heir apparent? Could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that fpirit Percy, and that devil Glendower ? Art thon not horribly afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it?

P. Heery. Not a whit, i'faith ; I lack some of thy instinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou com'ft to thy father ; if thou love me, practise an answer.

P. Henry. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life.

Fal. Shall I ? Content. This chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

P. Henry. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden fceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown.

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved --Give me a cup of sack to make mine

eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in paffion, and I will do it in King Cambyfes vein.

P. Henry. Well, here is my leg.
Fal. And here is my speech-Stand aside, Nobility--
Hoft. This is excellent sport, i'faith.
Fal. Wcep not, fweet Queen, for trickling tears are vain.
Hoft. O the father ! how he holds his countenance !
Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful Queen,

For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. Hoft. O rare! he doth it as like one of those harlotry players, as I ever see.

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brainHarry, I do not only marvel, where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompany'd; for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the fafter it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. Thou art my fon; I have partly thy mother's word, partly mine own opinion ; but chiefly a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolith hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lieth the point; why, being fon to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed Sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat black-berries ? A question not to be aik’d. Shall the fon of England prove a thief, and take purses? A question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast 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'it; for, Harry, now do I not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in pallion; not in words only, but in woes also. 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, an it like your Majesty

Fal. A goodly portly man i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a moft noble carriage; and, as I think, his age fome fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to threescore; and now, I remember me, his name is Faldaf

. If that man should be lewdly given, he deceives me; for

, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the fruit may

be known by the tree, as the tree by the fruit, then peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the rest banith. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where haft thou been this month?

P. Henry. Dost thou speak like a King? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depose me.--If thou doft it half so gravely, fo majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-fucker, or a poulterer's hare.

P. Henry. Well, here I am set.
Fal. And here I stand; judge, my masters.
P. Henry. Now, Harry, whence come you?
Fal. My noble lord, from East-cheap.
P. Henry. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous,

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false. Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young Prince.

P. Henry. Swearek thou, upgracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace; there's a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou .converse with that trunk of humours, that boulting hutch of bealliness, thatswoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stufft cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manxingtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruftian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, bụt to taste fack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villainy? wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing ?


Fal. I would your grace would take me with you. Whom means your grace?

P. Henry. That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Faltaf, chat old white-bearded Satan.

Fel. My lord, the man I know. P. Henry, I know thou doft. Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in myfelf, were to say more than I know. That he is old, the more is the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If fack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked.

If to be old and merry, be a sin, then many an old hoft, that I know, is damn'd. If to 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 Falftaff, kind Jack Falfaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff

, and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falfalf, banish not him thy Harry's company ; banith plump fack, and banish all the world. P. Henry. I do, I will. [Knocking; and Hostess goes out.

Enter Bardolph running.
Bard. O,


lord, the Sheriff, with a most monftrous watch, is at the door.

Fal. Out, you rogue!-Play out the Play; I have much to say in behalf of that Falstaff.


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