Falstaff.
Fal.
Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
P. Hen.
Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking
of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and
sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast
forgotten to demand that truly which thou would'st
truly know4 note
. What a devil hast 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, and
the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd
taffeta; I see no reason, why thou should'st
be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
Fal.
Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal: for
we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven
stars; and not by Phœbus,—he, that wandering
knight so fair5 note. And, I pray thee, sweet wag,
-- 191 --
when thou art king,—as, God save thy grace,
(majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have
none,)—
P. Hen.
What! none?
Fal.
No, by my troth; not so much as will serve
to be prologue to an egg and butter.
P. Hen.
Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.
Fal.
Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art
king, let not us, that are squires of the night's
body, be called thieves of the day's beauty6 note
; let
us be—Diana's foresters7 note
, gentlemen of the shade,
-- 192 --
minions of the moon8 note: And let men say, we be
men of good government: being governed as the
sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon,
under whose countenance we—steal.
P. Hen.
Thou say'st well; and it holds well, too:
for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth
ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the
sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: A purse
of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night,
and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning;
got with swearing—lay by9 note
; and spent with crying
—bring in1 note: 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 say'st true, lad. And is
not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench2 note
?
-- 193 --
P. Hen.
As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of
the castle3 note
10Q0024. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet
robe of durance4 note
?
-- 194 --
Fal.
How now, how now, mad wag? what, in
thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have
I to do with a buff jerkin?
P. Hen.
Why, what a pox have I to do with my
hostess of the tavern?
Fal.
Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning,
many a time and oft.
P. Hen.
Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?
Fal.
No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid
all there.
P. Hen.
Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin
-- 195 --
would stretch; and, where it would not, I have
used my credit.
Fal.
Yea, and so used it, that were it not here
apparent that thou art heir apparent,—But, I pr'ythee,
sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in
England when thou art king? and resolution thus
fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick
the law? Do not thou, when thou art king,
hang a thief.
P. Hen.
No: thou shalt.
Fal.
Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a
brave judge5 note
.
P. Hen.
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 sort it jumps
with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I
can tell you.
P. Hen.
For obtaining of suits6 note
?
Fal.
Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the
hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am
as melancholy as a gib cat7 note
, or a lugged bear.
-- 196 --
P. Hen.
Or an old lion; or a lover's lute.
Fal.
Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe8 note
.
-- 197 --
P. Hen.
What sayest thou to a hare9 note
, or the melancholy
of Moor-ditch1 note
?
-- 198 --
Fal.
Thou hast the most unsavoury similes3 note; and
art, indeed, the most comparative4 note
, rascalliest,—
sweet young prince,—But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble
me no more with vanity. I would to God, thou
and I knew where a commodity of good names were
to be bought5 note: An old lord of the council rated
me the other day in the street about you, sir; but
I marked him not: and yet he talked very wisely;
but I regarded him not: and yet he talked wisely,
and in the street too.
P. Hen.
Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out
in the streets, and no man regards it6 note.
-- 199 --
Fal.
O, thou hast damnable iteration7 note
; and art,
indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done
much harm upon 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 must give over this life,
and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I
am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's son
in Christendom.
P. Hen.
Where shall we take a purse to-morrow,
Jack?
Fal.
Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I
do not, call me villain, and baffle me8 note.
P. Hen.
I see a good amendment of life in thee;
from praying, to purse-taking.
Enter Poins, at a distance.
Fal.
Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin
for a man to labour in his vocation9 note
. Poins!—
-- 200 --
Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match1 note
.
O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in
hell were hot enough for him? This is the most
omnipotent villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true
man.
P. Hen.
Good morrow, Ned.
Poins.
Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says
monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-Sugar2 note
?
Jack, how agrees the devil and thee
-- 201 --
about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-friday
last, for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's
leg?
-- 202 --
P. Hen.
Sir John stands to his word, the devil
shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a
breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due.
Poins.
Then art thou damned for keeping thy
word with the devil.
P. Hen.
Else he had been damned for cozening
the devil.
Poins.
But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning,
by four o'clock, early at Gadshill: There are
pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings,
and traders riding to London with fat purses: I
have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves;
Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester; I have
bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we
may do it as secure as sleep: If you will go, I will
stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not,
tarry at home, and be hanged.
Fal.
Hear me, 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. Hen.
Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my
faith.
Fal.
There's neither honesty, manhood, nor
good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of
the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten
shillings3 note
.
-- 203 --
P. Hen.
Well, then one in my days I'll be a
mad-cap.
Fal.
Why, that's well said.
P. Hen.
Well, come what will, I'll tarry at
home.
Fal.
By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when
thou art king.
P. Hen.
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
speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed,
that the true prince may (for recreation
sake,) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the
time want countenance. Farewell: You shall find
me in Eastcheap.
P. Hen.
Farewell, thou latter spring4 note! Farewell,
All-hallown summer5 note
!
[Exit Falstaff.
-- 204 --
Poins.
Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride
with us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that
I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto,
and Gadshill6 note, shall rob those men that we have already
way-laid; 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 my shoulders.
P. Hen.
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 themselves: which they
shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon
them.
P. Hen.
Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us,
by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment,
to be ourselves.
-- 205 --
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, sirrah7 note
, I have cases of
buckram for the nonce8 note
, to immask our noted outward
garments.
P. Hen.
But, I doubt, they will be too hard for
us.
Poins.
Well, for two of them, I know them to
be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and
for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason,
I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be,
the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue
will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty,
at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows,
what extremities he endured; and, in the reproof9 note
of this, lies the jest.
-- 206 --
P. Hen.
Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all
things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night1 note in
Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell.
Poins.
Farewell, my lord.
[Exit Poins.
P. Hen.
I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness:
Yet herein will I imitate the sun;
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds2 note
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him3 note
.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come4 note
,
-- 207 --
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men's hopes5 note
;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground6 note
,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes,
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
-- 208 --
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will.
[Exit.
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
