Peto.
Poins.
Come, shelter, shelter! I have removed Falstaff's
horse, and he frets like a gumm'd velvet.
P. Henry.
Stand close.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
Poins, Poins, and be hang'd, Poins!
P. Henry.
Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! what a
brawling dost thou keep!
Fal.
What, Poins! Hal!—
P. Henry.
He is walk'd up to the top of the hill;
I'll go seek him.
Fal.
I am accurst to rob in that thief's company;
the rascal hath remov'd my horse, and ty'd him, I
know not where. If I travel but four foot by the square,
farther afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt
not but to die a fair death, for all this, if I escape hanging
for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company
hourly any time this two-and-twenty year, and
yet I am bewitch'd with the rogue's company. If the
rascal have not given me medicines to make me love
him, I'll be hang'd: it could not be else: I have
drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a plague upon you
both! Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve, ere I'll rob a foot
further. An't were not as good a deed as to drink, to
turn true-man, and to leave these rogues, I am the
veriest varlet that ever chew'd with a tooth. Eight
yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles
afoot with me, and the stony-hearty villains know it
well enough. A plague upon't, when thieves cannot
be true one to another! [They whistle.] Whew!—A
plague upon you all! give me my horse, you rogues!
give me my horse, and be hang'd* note!
P. Henry.
Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down, lay thine
-- 25 --
ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the
tread of travellers.
Fal.
Have you any levers to lift me up again, being
down? 'sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so
far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer!
what a plague mean ye, to colt me thus?
P. Henry.
Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art
uncolted.
Fal.
I pr'ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to my
horse! good King's son!
P. Henry.
Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler?
Fal.
Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent garters!
if I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not
ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a
cup of sack be my poison! when a jest is so forward
and afoot too! I hate it.
Enter Gads-hill, Peto, and Bardolph.
Bard.
Stand!—
Fal.
So I do, against my will.
Poins.
O, 'tis our setter! I know his voice. Bardolph,
what news?
Bard.
Case ye, case ye! on with your vizors! there's
money of the King's coming down the hill; 'tis going
to the King's exchequer.
Fal.
You lie, you rogue! 'tis going to the King's
tavern.
Gads.
There's enough to make us all—
Fal.
To be hang'd.
P. Henry.
Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow
lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower; if they
'scape from your encounter, then they light on us.
Peto.
But how many be of them?
Gads.
Some eight or ten.
Fal.
Will they not rob us?
P. Henry.
What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?
Fal.
Indeed I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather;
but yet no coward, Hal.
P. Henry.
Well, we'll leave that to the proof.
Poins.
Sirrah, Jack, thy horse stands behind the -- 26 --
hedge; when thou needest him, there shalt thou find
him. Farewel, and stand fast!
Fal.
Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang'd.
P. Henry.
Ned, where are our disguises?
Poins.
Here, hard by. Stand close!
Fal.
Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say
I: every man to his business.
Enter Travellers.
Trav.
Come, neighbour, the boy shall lead our
horses down the hill; we'll walk afoot a while, and
ease our legs.
Thieves.
Stand!—
Fal.
Down with them! cut the villains throats!
down with them! fleece them!
[Exeunt.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins.
P. Henry.
The thieves have bound the true men;
now, could thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily
to London, it would be argument for a week,
laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.
Poins.
Stand close; I hear them coming.
Enter Thieves again.
Fal.
Come, my masters, let us share, and then to
horse, before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two
arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's no
more valour in that Poins, than in a wild duck.
P. Henry.
Your money!
Poins.
Villains!
[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon
them. They all run away; and Falstaff, after a
blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty
behind them.]
P. Henry.
Got with much ease; now merrily to horse.
The thieves are scatter'd, 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,
-- 27 --
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Wer't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poins.
How the rogue roar'd!
[Exeunt.
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
