SCENE II.London. A Street.Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his Sword and Buckler.
Fal.
Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to
my water7note
?
-- 23 --
Page.
He said, sir, the water itself was a good
healthy water: but for the party that owed it, he
might have more diseases than he knew for.
Fal.
Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at
me8note: The brain of this foolish-compounded clay,
man, is not able to vent any thing that tends to
laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me:
I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that
wit is in other men. I do here walk before thee,
like a sow, that hath overwhelmed all her litter but
one. If the prince put thee into my service for
-- 24 --
any other reason than to set me off, why then I
have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake9note,
thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to wait
at my heels. I was never manned with an agate
till now1note
: but I will set* note you neither in gold nor silver,
but in vile apparel, and send you back again to
your master, for a jewel; the juvenal2note, the prince
your master, whose chin is not yet fledged. I will
sooner have a beard grow in the palm of my hand,
than he shall get one on his cheek; and yet he
will not stick to say, his face is a face-royal: God
-- 25 --
may finish it when he will, it is not a hair amiss
yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal3note
, for a barber
shall never earn sixpence out of it; and yet he
will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever since his
father was a batchelor. He may keep his own
grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure
him.—What said master Dumbleton4note
about the
satin for my short cloak, and slops?
Page.
He said, sir, you should procure him better
assurance than Bardolph: he would not take
his bond and yours; he liked not the security.
Fal.
Let him be damned like the glutton! may
his tongue be hotter5note!—A whoreson Achitophel!
-- 26 --
a rascally* note yea-forsooth knave! to bear a gentleman
in hand6note
, and then stand upon security!—The
whoreson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but
high shoes, and bunches of keys at their girdles;
and if a man is thorough with them in honest
taking up7note
, then must they stand upon—security.
I had as lief they would put ratsbane in my mouth,
as offer to stop it with security. I looked he should
have sent me two and twenty yards of satin, as I
am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well,
he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of
abundance8note
, and the lightness of his wife shines
through it: and yet cannot he see, though he have
his own lantern to light him9note
.—Where's Bardolph?
-- 27 --
Page.
He's gone into Smithfield, to buy your
worship a horse.
Sir, here comes the nobleman that committed
the prince for striking him about Bardolph.
-- 29 --
Fal.
Wait close, I will not see him.
Ch. Just.
What's he that goes there?
Atten.
Falstaff, an't please your lordship.
Ch. Just.
He that was in question for the robbery?
Atten.
He, my lord: but he hath since done
good service at Shrewsbury; and, as I hear, is now
going with some charge to the lord John of Lancaster.
Ch. Just.
What, to York? Call him back again.
Atten.
Sir John Falstaff!
Fal.
Boy, tell him I am deaf.
Page.
You must speak louder, my master is
deaf.
Ch. Just.
I am sure, he is, to the hearing of any
thing good.—Go, pluck him by the elbow; I must
speak with him.
Atten.
Sir John,—
Fal.
What! a young knave, and beg! Is there
not wars? is there not employment? Doth not the
king lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers?
Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it
is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side,
were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell
how to make it.
Atten.
You mistake me, sir.
Fal.
Why, sir, did I say you were an honest
man? setting my knighthood and my soldiership
aside, I had lied in my throat if I had said so.
Atten.
I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood
and your soldiership aside; and give me leave to
tell you, you lie in your throat, if you say I am
any other than an honest man.
Fal.
I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside
that which grows to me! If thou get'st any leave
of me, hang me; if thou takest leave, thou wert
My good lord!—God give your lordship
good time of day. I am glad to see your lordship
abroad: I heard say, your lordship was sick: I hope,
your lordship goes abroad by advice. Your lordship,
though not clean past your youth, hath yet
some smack of age in you, some relish of the saltness
of time; and I most humbly beseech your
lordship, to have a reverend care of your health.
Ch. Just.
Sir John, I sent for you before your
expedition to Shrewsbury.
Fal.
An't please your lordship, I hear, his majesty
is returned with some discomfort from Wales.
-- 31 --
Ch. Just.
I talk not of his majesty:—You would
not come when I sent for you.
Fal.
And I hear moreover, his highness is fallen
into this same whoreson apoplexy.
Ch. Just.
Well, heaven mend him! I pray you,
let me speak with you.
Fal.
This apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of lethargy,
an't please your lordship* note; a kind of† notesleeping in the blood, a whoreson tingling.
Ch. Just.
What tell you me of it? be it as it is.
Fal.
It hath its original from much grief; from
study, and perturbation of the brain: I have read
the cause of his effects in Galen; it is a kind of
deafness.
Ch. Just.
I think, you are fallen into the disease;
for you hear not what I say to you.
please you, it is the disease of not listening, the
malady of not marking, that I am troubled withal.
Ch. Just.
To punish you by the heels, would
amend the attention of your ears; and I care not,
if I do become your physician.
Fal.
I am as poor as Job, my lord; but not so
patient: your lordship may minister the potion of
imprisonment to me, in respect of poverty; but
how I should be your patient to follow your prescriptions,
-- 33 --
the wise may make some dram of a
scruple, or, indeed, a scruple itself.
Ch. Just.
I sent for you, when there were matters
against you for your life, to come speak with me.
Fal.
As I was then advised by my learned counsel
in the laws of this land-service, I did not come.
Ch. Just.
Well, the truth is, sir John, you live
in great infamy.
Fal.
He that buckles him in my belt, cannot
live in less.
Ch. Just.
Your means are very slender, and your
waste is great.
Fal.
I would it were otherwise; I would my
means were greater, and my waist slenderer.
Ch. Just.
You have misled the youthful prince.
Fal.
The young prince hath misled me: I am
the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog5note
.
Ch. Just.
Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed
wound; your day's service at Shrewsbury hath a
little gilded over your night's exploit on Gads-hill:
you may thank the unquiet time for your quiet
o'er-posting that action.
Fal.
My lord?
Ch. Just.
But since all is well, keep it so: wake
not a sleeping wolf.
-- 34 --
Fal.
To wake a wolf, is as bad as to smell a fox.
Ch. Just.
What! you are as a candle, the better
part burnt out.
; all tallow: if I
did say of wax, my growth would approve the
truth.
Ch. Just.
There is not a white hair on your
face, but should have his effect of gravity.
Fal.
His effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.
Ch. Just.
You follow the young prince up and
down, like his ill angel7note
.
Fal.
Not so, my lord; your ill angel is light;
but, I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me
-- 35 --
without weighing: and yet, in some respects, I
grant, I cannot go, I cannot tell8note
: Virtue is of so
little regard in these coster-monger times9note
, that
true valour is turned bear-herd: Pregnancy1note
is
made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in
giving reckonings: all the other gifts appertinent
to man, as the malice of this age shapes them, are
not worth a gooseberry. You, that are old, consider
not the capacities of us that are young: you
measure the heat of our livers with the bitterness
of your galls: and we that are in the vaward of
our youth, I must confess, are wags too.
Ch. Just.
Do you set down your name in the
scroll of youth, that are written down old with all
the characters of age? Have you not a moist eye?
a dry hand? a yellow cheek? a white beard? a decreasing
leg? an increasing belly? Is not your
voice broken? your wind short? your chin double?
your wit single2note
? and will you yet call yourself
young? Fye, fye, fye, sir John!
-- 37 --
Fal.
My lord, I was born about three of the clock
in the afternoon* note, with a white head, and something
a round belly. For my voice,—I have lost it
with hollaing, and singing of anthems. To approve
my youth further, I will not: the truth is, I
am only old in judgment and understanding; and
he that will caper with me for a thousand marks,
let him lend me the money, and have at him. For
the box o' the ear that the prince gave you,—he
gave it like a rude prince, and you took it like a
sensible lord. I have checked him for it; and the
young lion repents: marry, not in ashes, and sackcloth;
but in new silk, and old sack4note
.
Ch. Just.
Well, heaven send the prince a better
companion!
Fal.
Heaven send the companion a better prince!
I cannot rid my hands of him.
Ch. Just.
Well, the king hath severed you and
prince Harry: I hear, you are going with lord John
of Lancaster, against the archbishop, and the earl
of Northumberland.
Fal.
Yea; I thank your pretty sweet wit for it.
But look you pray, all you that kiss my lady peace
at home, that our armies join not in a hot day! for,
by the Lord, I take but two shirts out with me, and
I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot
day, an I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would
I might never spit white again5note
. There is not a
-- 38 --
dangerous action can peep out his head, but I am
thrust upon it: Well, I cannot last ever: But it
was always6note yet the trick of our English nation, if
they have a good thing, to make it too common.
If you will needs say, I am an old man, you should
give me rest. I would to God, my name were not
so terrible to the enemy as it is. I were better to
be eaten to death with rust, than to be scoured to
nothing with perpetual motion.
Ch. Just.
Well, be honest, be honest; And God
bless your expedition!
Fal.
Will your lordship lend me a thousand
pound, to furnish me forth?
Ch. Just.
Not a penny, not a penny; you are
too impatient to bear crosses7note
. Fare you well:
Commend me to my cousin Westmoreland.
—A man can no more separate age and covetousness,
than he can part young limbs and lechery:
but the gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the
other; and so both the degrees prevent my curses9note.
—Boy!—
Page.
Sir?
Fal.
What money is in my purse?
Page.
Seven groats and two-pence.
Fal.
I can get no remedy against this consumption
of the purse: borrowing only lingers and
lingers it out, but the disease is incurable.—Go
bear this letter to my lord of Lancaster; this to
the prince; this to the earl of Westmoreland; and
this to old mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly
-- 40 --
sworn to marry since I perceived the first white hair
on my chin: About it; you know where to find
me. [Exit Page.] A pox of this gout! or, a gout
of this pox! for the one, or the other, plays the
rogue with my great toe. It is no matter, if I do
halt; I have the wars for my colour, and my pension
shall seem the more reasonable: A good wit
will make use of any thing; I will turn diseases to
commodity1note.