r money! Poins. Villains! Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse. The thieves are scattered, and possess'd with fear So strongly that they dare not meet each other. Each takes his fellow for an officer. Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death And lards the lean earth as he walks along. Were't not for laughing, I should pity him. Poins. How the rogue roar'd! Exeunt. Scene III. Warkworth Castle. Enter Hotspur solus, reading a letter. Hot. 'But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.' He could be contented- why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house! He shows in this he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more. 'The purpose you undertake is dangerous'- Why, that's certain! 'Tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety. 'The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time itself unsorted, and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition.' Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my Lord of York commends the plot and the general course of the action. Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself; Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month, and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart will he to the King and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself and go to buffets for moving such a dish of skim milk with so honourable an action! Hang him, let him tell the King! we are prepared. I will set forward to-night. Enter his Lady. How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours. Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I this fortnight been A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed, Tell me, sweet lord, what is't that takes from thee Thy stomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why dost thou bend thine eyes upon the earth, And start so often when thou sit'st alone? Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy cheeks And given my treasures and my rights of thee To thick-ey'd musing and curs'd melancholy? In thy faint slumbers I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars, Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed, Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tent, Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets, Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin, Of prisoners' ransom, and of soldiers slain, And all the currents of a heady fight. Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, And thus hath so bestirr'd thee in thy sleep, That beads of sweat have stood upon thy brow Like bubbles ill a late-disturbed stream, And in thy face strange motions have appear'd, Such as we see when men restrain their breath On some great sudden hest. O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not. Hot. What, ho! [Enter a Servant.] Is Gilliams with the packet gone? Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. Hot. What horse? A roan, a crop-ear, is it not? Serv. It is, my lord. Hot. That roan shall be my throne. Well, I will back him straight. O esperance! Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Servant.] Lady. But hear you, my lord. Hot. What say'st thou, my lady? Lady. What is it carries you away? Hot. Why, my horse, my love- my horse! Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape! A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen As you are toss'd with. In faith, I'll know your business, Harry; that I will! I fear my brother Mortimer doth stir About his title and hath sent for you To line his enterprise; but if you go- Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me Directly unto this question that I ask. I'll break thy little finger, Harry, An if thou wilt not tell my all things true. Hot. Away. Away, you trifler! Love? I love thee not; I care not for thee, Kate. This is no world To play with mammets and to tilt with lips. We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns, And pass them current too. Gods me, my horse! What say'st thou, Kate? What wouldst thou have with me? Lady. Do you not love me? do you not indeed? Well, do not then; for since you love me not, I will not love myself. Do you not love me? Nay, tell me if you speak in jest or no. Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? And when I am a-horseback, I will swear I love thee infinitely. But hark you. Kate: I must not have you henceforth question me Whither I go, nor reason whereabout. Whither I must, I must; and to conclude, This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate. I know you wise; but yet no farther wise Than Harry Percy's wife; constant you are, But yet a woman; and for secrecy, No lady closer, for I well believe Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate. Lady. How? so far? Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate: Whither I go, thither shall you go too; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate,? Lady. It must of force. Exeunt. Scene IV. Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern. Enter Prince and Poins. Prince. Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where hast been, Hal? Prince,. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers and can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation that, though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, so they call me!), and when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry 'hem!' and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned- to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapp'd even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life than 'Eight shillings and sixpence,' and 'You are welcome,' with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so- but, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in some by-room while I question my puny drawer to what end be gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling 'Francis!' that his tale to me may be nothing but 'Anon!' Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent. Poins. Francis! Prince. Thou art perfect. Poins. Francis! [Exit Poins.] Enter [Francis, a] Drawer. Fran. Anon, anon, sir.- Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph. Prince. Come hither, Francis. Fran. My lord? Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to- Poins. [within] Francis! Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Prince. Five year! by'r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of Pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels and run from it? Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England I could find in my heart- Poins. [within] Francis! Fran. Anon, sir. Prince. How old art thou, Francis? Fran. Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be- Poins. [within] Francis! Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord. Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest me- 'twas a pennyworth, wast not? Fran. O Lord! I would it had been two! Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when thou wilt, and, thou shalt have it. Poins. [within] Francis! Fran. Anon, anon. Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But Francis- Fran. My lord? Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch- Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean? Prince. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much. Fran. What, sir? Poins. [within] Francis! Prince. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call? Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go. Enter Vintner. Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozen more, are at the door. Shall I let them in? Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins! Poins. [within] Anon, anon, sir. Enter Poins. Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door. Shall we be merry? Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come, what's the issue? Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present this twelve o'clock at midnight. [Enter Francis.] What's o'clock, Francis? Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit.] Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and downstairs, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O my sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou kill'd to-day?' 'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he, and answers 'Some fourteen,' an hour after, 'a trifle, a trifle.' I prithee call in Falstaff. I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto; Francis follows with wine]. Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! Marry and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? He drinketh. Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun! If thou didst, then behold that compound. Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man. Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it- a villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack, die when thou wilt; if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There lives not three good men unhang'd in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old. God help the while! A bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or anything. A plague of all cowards I say still! Prince. How now, woolsack? What mutter you? Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales? Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter? Fal. Are not you a coward? Answer me to that- and Poins there? Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I'll stab thee. Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees Your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk to-day. Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou drunk'st last. Fal. All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all cowards still say I. Prince. What's the matter? Fal. What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this day morning. Prince. Where is it, Jack? Where is it? Fal. Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four of us! Prince. What, a hundred, man? Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hack'd like a handsaw- ecce signum! I never dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A plague of all cowards! Let them speak, If they speak more or less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness. Prince. Speak, sirs. How was it? Gads. We four set upon some dozen- Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord. Gads. And bound them. Peto. No, no, they were not bound. Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else- an Ebrew Jew. Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon us- Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other. Prince. What, fought you with them all? Fal. All? I know not what you call all, but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish! If there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd creature. Prince. Pray God you have not murd'red some of them. Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd two of them. Two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal- if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me. Prince. What, four? Thou saidst but two even now. Fal. Four, Hal. I told thee four. Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. Fal. These four came all afront and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus. Prince. Seven? Why, there were but four even now. Fal. In buckram? Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have more anon. Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal? Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in buckram that I told thee of- Prince. So, two more already. Fal. Their points being broken- Poins. Down fell their hose. Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in, foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid. Prince. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two! Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand. Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them- gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch- Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth? Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green when it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason. What sayest thou to this? Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason. Fal. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I. Prince. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh- Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath to utter what is like thee!- you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bowcase, you vile standing tuck! Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. Poins. Mark, Jack. Prince. We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and were masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word, outfac'd you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here in the house. And, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and still run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. What a slave art thou to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight! What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou now find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now? Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear you, my masters. Was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my life- I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad 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, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore? Prince. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away. Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me! Enter Hostess. Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince! Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me? Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door would speak with you. He says he comes from your father. Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again to my mother. Fal. What manner of man is he? Host. An old man. Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his answer? Prince. Prithee do, Jack. Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing. Exit. Prince. Now, sirs. By'r Lady, you fought fair; so did you, Peto; so did you, Bardolph. You are lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not touch the true prince; no- fie! Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run. Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so hack'd? Peto. Why, he hack'd 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 like. Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven year before- I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices. Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blush'd extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it? Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations? Prince. I do. Bard. What think you they portend? Prince. Hot livers and cold purses. Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken. Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter. Enter Falstaff. Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee? Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talent in the waist; I could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad. Here was Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the North, Percy, and he of Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook- what a plague call you him? Poins. O, Glendower. Fal. Owen, Owen- the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular- Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying. Fal. You have hit it. Prince. So did he never the sparrow. Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run. Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running! Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a foot. Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct. Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n away to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news; you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel. Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hobnails, by the hundreds. Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it? Prince. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct. Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer. Prince. 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. Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden sceptre 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 my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein. Prince. Well, here is my leg. Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility. Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith! Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain. Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance! Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen! For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes. Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see! Fal. Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain.- Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point: why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to be ask'd. Shall the son 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; so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; 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. Prince. 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 most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should be lewdly, given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff. Him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month? Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father. Fal. Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare. Prince. Well, here I am set. Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters. Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you? Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap. Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your Grace? Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Fal. My lord, the man I know. Prince. I know thou dost. Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to say more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his white hairs do witness it; but that he is (saving your reverence) a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damn'd. If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord. Banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world! Prince. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.] [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.] Enter Bardolph, running. Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the door. Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. Enter the Hostess. Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord! Prince. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick! What's the matter? Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are come to search the house. Shall I let them in? Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so. Prince. And thou a natural coward without instinct. Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if not, let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another. Prince. Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience. Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me. Exit. Prince. Call in the sheriff. [Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto.] Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me? Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry Hath followed certain men unto this house. Prince. What men? Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord- A gross fat man. Carrier. As fat as butter. Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here, For I myself at this time have employ'd him. And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee That I will by to-morrow dinner time Send him to answer thee, or any man, For anything he shall be charg'd withal; And so let me entreat you leave the house. Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. Prince. It may be so. If he have robb'd these men, He shall be answerable; and so farewell. Sher. Good night, my noble lord. Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not? Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. Exit [with Carrier]. Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go call him forth. Peto. Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse. Prince. Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers. What hast thou found? Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. Prince. Let's see whit they be. Read them. Peto. [reads] 'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . . ii s. ii d. Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . iiii d. Item, Sack two gallons . . . . . . . . v s. viii d. Item, Anchovies and sack after supper. ii s. vi d. Item, Bread. . . . . . . . . . . . . . ob.' Prince. O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning . We must all to the wars. and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning, and so good morrow, Peto. Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. Exeunt. ACT III. Scene I. Bangor. The Archdeacon's house. Enter Hotspur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, Owen Glendower. Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction full of prosperous hope. Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, Will you sit down? And uncle Worcester. A plague upon it! I have forgot the map. Glend. No, here it is. Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur, For by that name as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, his cheek looks pale, and with A rising sigh he wisheth you in heaven. Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glendower spoke of. Glend. I cannot blame him. At my nativity The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes Of burning cressets, and at my birth The frame and huge foundation of the earth Shak'd like a coward. Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been born. Glend. I say the earth did shake when I was born. Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, If you suppose as fearing you it shook. Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth did tremble. Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire, And not in fear of your nativity. Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth In strange eruptions; oft the teeming earth Is with a kind of colic pinch'd and vex'd By the imprisoning of unruly wind Within her womb, which, for enlargement striving, Shakes the old beldame earth and topples down Steeples and mossgrown towers. At your birth Our grandam earth, having this distemp'rature, In passion shook. Glend. Cousin, of many men I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave To tell you once again that at my birth The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes, The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields. These signs have mark'd me extraordinary, And all the courses of my life do show I am not in the roll of common men. Where is he living, clipp'd in with the sea That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales, Which calls me pupil or hath read to me? And bring him out that is but woman's son Can trace me in the tedious ways of art And hold me pace in deep experiments. Hot. I think there's no man speaks better Welsh. I'll to dinner. Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad. Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, so can I, or so can any man; But will they come when you do call for them? Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command the devil. Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil- By telling truth. Tell truth and shame the devil. If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither, And I'll be sworn I have power to shame him hence. O, while you live, tell truth and shame the devil! Mort. Come, come, no more of this unprofitable chat. Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head Against my power; thrice from the banks of Wye And sandy-bottom'd Severn have I sent him Bootless home and weather-beaten back. Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too? How scapes he agues, in the devil's name Glend. Come, here's the map. Shall we divide our right According to our threefold order ta'en? Mort. The Archdeacon hath divided it Into three limits very equally. England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, By south and east is to my part assign'd; All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore, And all the fertile land within that bound, To Owen Glendower; and, dear coz, to you The remnant northward lying off from Trent. And our indentures tripartite are drawn; Which being sealed interchangeably (A business that this night may execute), To-morrow, cousin Percy, you and I And my good Lord of Worcester will set forth To meet your father and the Scottish bower, As is appointed us, at Shrewsbury. My father Glendower is not ready yet, Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days. [To Glend.] Within that space you may have drawn together Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords; And in my conduct shall your ladies come, From whom you now must steal and take no leave, For there will be a world of water shed Upon the parting of your wives and you. Hot. Methinks my moiety, north from Burton here, In quantity equals not one of yours. See how this river comes me cranking in And cuts me from the best of all my land A huge half-moon, a monstrous cantle out. I'll have the current ill this place damm'd up, And here the smug and sliver Trent shall run In a new channel fair and evenly. It shall not wind with such a deep indent To rob me of so rich a bottom here. Glend. Not wind? It shall, it must! You see it doth. Mort. Yea, but Mark how he bears his course, and runs me up With like advantage on the other side, Gelding the opposed continent as much As on the other side it takes from you. Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here And on this north side win this cape of land; And then he runs straight and even. Hot. I'll have it so. A little charge will do it. Glend. I will not have it alt'red. Hot. Will not you? Glend. No, nor you shall not. Hot. Who shall say me nay? Glend. No, that will I. Hot. Let me not understand you then; speak it in Welsh. Glend. I can speak English, lord, as well as you; For I was train'd up in the English court, Where, being but young, I framed to the harp Many an English ditty lovely well, And gave the tongue a helpful ornament- A virtue that was never seen in you. Hot. Marry, And I am glad of it with all my heart! I had rather be a kitten and cry mew Than one of these same metre ballet-mongers. I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd Or a dry wheel grate on the axletree, And that would set my teeth nothing on edge, Nothing so much as mincing poetry. 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag, Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd. Hot. I do not care. I'll give thrice so much land To any well-deserving friend; But in the way of bargain, mark ye me, I'll cavil on the ninth part of a hair Are the indentures drawn? Shall we be gone? Glend. The moon shines fair; you may away by night. I'll haste the writer, and withal Break with your wives of your departure hence. I am afraid my daughter will run mad, So much she doteth on her Mortimer. Exit. Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father! Hot. I cannot choose. Sometimes he angers me With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant, Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies, And of a dragon and a finless fish, A clip-wing'd griffin and a moulten raven, A couching lion and a ramping cat, And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff As puts me from my faith. I tell you what- He held me last night at least nine hours In reckoning up the several devils' names That were his lackeys. I cried 'hum,' and 'Well, go to!' But mark'd him not a word. O, he is as tedious As a tired horse, a railing wife; Worse than a smoky house. I had rather live With cheese and garlic in a windmill far Than feed on cates and have him talk to me