Dol. Thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure such a fustian rascal.

Pist. Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags ?1

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling. Nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing here.

Bard. Come, get you down stairs.

brue?

Pist. What! shall we have incision? shall we im[Snatching up his sword. Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days! Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say! 3 Host. Here's goodly stuff toward!

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.

Dol. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw. Fal. Get you down stars.

[Drawing, and driving PISTOL out. Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

[Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH. Dol. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal is gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you.

Host. Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought he made a shrewd thrust at your belly.

1 Common hackneys.

2 i. e. pitch him down. The shove-groat shillings were such broad shillings of king Edward VI. as Slender calls Edward shovel-boards, in The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act i. Sc. 1.

3 Pistol makes use of fragments of old ballads as well as old plays:

"O death, rock me on slepe,

Bring me on quiet rest,"

is an ancient song, attributed to Anne Boleyn. There is another in the Gorgious Gallery of Gallant Inventions, 1578, which has furnished him with some of his rhodomontade :

:

"I hate this loathsome life,

O Atropos, draw nie,

Untwist the thread of mortall strife,

Send death, and let me die."

Re-enter BARDOLPH.

Fal. Have you turned him out of doors?

Bard. Yes, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt him, sir, in the shoulder.

Fal. A rascal! to brave me!

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face; -come on, you whoreson chops.-Ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the nine worthies. Ah, villain!

Fal. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.

Dol. Do, if thou darest for thy heart; if thou dost, I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.

Enter Music.

Page. The music is come, sir.

Fal. Let them play;-play, sirs;-sit on my knee, Doll. A rascally, bragging slave! the rogue fled from me like quicksilver.

Dol. Î' faith, and thou followedst him like a church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,' when wilt thou leave fighting o' days, and foining o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINs, disguised like Drawers.

Fal. Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's head; do not bid me remember mine end.

Dol. Sirrah, what humor is the prince of?

Fal. A good, shallow young fellow he would have made a good pantler; he would have chipped bread well.

1 Roasted pigs were formerly among the chief attractions of Bartholomew fair.

Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit.

Fal. He a good wit? Hang him, baboon! his wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard; there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet.

Dol. Why does the prince love him so then?

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness; and he plays at quoits well; and eats conger and fennel; 1 and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons; and rides the wild mare with the boys;3 and jumps upon joint-stools; and swears with a good grace; and wears his boot very smooth, like unto the sign of the leg; and breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other gambol faculties he hath, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits him; for the prince himself is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois.

P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel 5 have his ears cut off?

Poins. Let's beat him before his whore.

P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his poll clawed like a parrot.

Poins. Is it not strange, that desire should so many years outlive performance?

Fal. Kiss me, Doll.

P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! What says the almanac to that?

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1 Fennel was generally esteemed an inflammatory herb, and therefore to eat conger and fennel was to eat two high and hot things together. Fennel was also regarded as an emblem of flattery.

2 The flap-dragon was some small, combustible material swallowed alight in a glass of liquor: a candle's end formed a very formidable and disagreeable flap-dragon, and to swallow it was considered an act of merit, or of gallantry, when done in honor of the toper's mistress.

3 Riding the wild mare is another name for the childish sport of see

saw.

4 Mr. Douce thinks Falstaff's meaning to be, that Poins excites no censure by telling his companions modest stories, or, in plain English, that he tells them nothing but immodest ones.

5 Falstaff is humorously called nave of a wheel, from his rotundity of figure. The equivoque between nave and knave is obvious.

6 This was indeed a prodigy. The astrologers, says Ficinus, remark, that Saturn and Venus are never conjoined.

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon,1 his man, be not lisping to his master's old tables, his notebook, his counsel-keeper.

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses.

Dol. Nay, truly; I kiss thee with a most constant

heart.

Fal. I am old, I am old.

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of them all.

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle 2 of ? I shall receive money on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap tomorrow. A merry song, come: it grows late; we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me, when I am gone.

Dol. By my troth thou❜lt set me a weeping, an thou sayest so; prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well, hearken the end.

Fal. Some sack, Francis.

P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

[Advancing.

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's?-And art not thou Poins his brother?

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead?

Fal. A better than thou; I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.

P. Hen. Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my troth, welcome to London.-Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine! O, Jesu, are you come from Wales?

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. [Leaning his hand upon DOLL. Dol. How! you fat fool, I scorn you.

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your re

1 Trigon or triangle, a term in the old judicial astrology. They called it a fiery trigon when the three upper planets met in a fiery sign; which was thought to denote rage and contention.

2 A kirtle was a petticoat, which sometimes had a body without sleeves attached to it.

venge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman?

Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart! and so she is, by my troth.

Fal. Didst thou hear me?

P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience.

Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within hearing.

P. Hen. I shall drive thee then to confess the wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle you.

Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honor; no abuse. P. Hen. Not! to dispraise me, and call me-pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what? Fal. No abuse, Hal.

Poins. No abuse !

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him ;-in which doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal;-none, Ned, none;-no, boys, none.

P. Hen. See, now, whether pure fear, and entire cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is the boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked?

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy, there is a good angel about him; but the devil outbids him too.1

1 The quarto reads, "and the devil blinds him too."
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VOL. IV.