Poins.

Welcome, Jack! where hast thou been?‡ ^note

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 socks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! give me a cup of sack, rogue! Is there no virtue extant?

P. Henry.

Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter, (pitiful-hearted Titan) that melted at the sweet tale of the sun? If thou did'st, then behold that compound.

Fal.

You rogue, here's lime in this sack too. There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man; yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous 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 live not three good men unhang'd in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old. Heaven help the while, a bad world! I say: a plague of all cowards! I say still.

P. Henry.

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!

* ^noteP. Henry.

Why, you whorson round man! what's the matter?

Fal.

Are you not a coward? answer me to that; and Poins there?

P. Henry.

Ye fat-paunch, and ye call me coward, I'll stab thee.

Fal.

I call thee coward! I'll see thee damn'd ere I'll call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are strait 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 drank to-day.

P. Henry.

O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou drank'st last.

Fal.
All's one for that. [He drinks.
A plague of all cowards! still, say I.

P. Henry.

What's the matter?

Fal.

What's the matter! here be four of us have ta'en a thousand pound, this morning.

P. Henry.

Where is it, Jack? where is it?

Fal.

Where is it! taken from us, it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.

P. Henry.

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 escap'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.

P. Henry.

Speak, Sirs, how was it?

Gads.

We four set upon some dozen.

Fal.

Sixteen, at least, my Lord.

Gads.

And bound them.

Pet.

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 set upon us.

Fal.

And unbound the rest, and then came in the other.

P. Henry.

What, fought ye with them all?

Fal.

All! I know not what ye 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.

Poins.

Pray heav'n, you have not murdered 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 know'st my old ward: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; four rogues in buckram let drive at me* ^note

P. Henry.

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 a-front, and mainly thrust at me: I made no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus.

P. Henry.

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.

P. Henry.

Pr'ythee let him alone; we shall have more, anon.

Fal.

Dost thou hear me, Hal?

P. Henry.

Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

Fal.

Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram, that I told thee of—

P. Henry.

So, two more, already.

Fal.

Their points being broken—

Poins.

Down fell his hose.

Fal.

Began to give me ground; but I follow'd me close, came in foot and hand, and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I paid.

P. Henry.

O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two.

Fal.

But as the devil would have it, three mis-begotten 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.)

P. Henry.

These lies are like the father that begets them, gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whorson obscene greasy tallow-catch—

Fal.

What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth?

P. Henry.

Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal-green, when it was so dark thou could'st not see thy hand? come, tell us your reason: what say'st thou to this?

Poins.

Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

Fal.

What, upon compulsion? no. Were I 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 plenty as black-berries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion. I!

P. Henry.

I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh—

Fal.

Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dry'd neat's tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish! O, for breath to utter! what is like thee? you taylor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck—

P. Henry.

Well, breathe a while, and then to't again; and when thou hast tir'd thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.

Poins.

Mark, Jack.

P. Henry.

We two saw you four set on four; you bound them, and were masters of their wealth: mark* ^note now, how a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four, and, with a word, out-fac'd you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can shew it you here in the house. And, Falstaff, you carry'd your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and still ran and roar'd, as ever I heard bull-calf. 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.

Ha! ha! ha! d'ye think I did not know you? By the Lord, I knew you as well as he that made you. Why, hear ye, 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 a coward on instinct, I grant you: and I shall think the better of myself and thee, during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince* ^note. But, my 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?

P. Henry.

Content!—and the argument shall be, thy running away.

Fal.

Ah!—no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me.

Host.

O my Lord, my Lord the prince!

P. Henry.

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.

P. Henry.

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?

P. Henry.

Pr'ythee do, Jack.

Fal.

Faith, and I'll send him packing.

P. Henry.

Now, Sirs, 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, fy!

Bard.

Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

P. Henry.

Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so hackt?

Peto.

Why, he hack't 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 spear-grass, to make them bleed, and then beslubber our garments with it, and swear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not these seven years before—I blush'd, to hear his monstrous devices.

P. Henry.

O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack, eighteen years ago, and wert taken in the manner, and ever since thou hast blush'd extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou rannest away; what instinct hadst thou for it?

Bard.

My Lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations?

P. Henry.

I do.

Bard.

What think you they portend?

P. Henry.

Hot livers and cold purses.

Bard.

Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.

P. Henry.

No, if rightly taken, halter.

Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet creature of bombast* ^note! how long is't ago, Jack, since thou saw'st thy own knee?

Fal.

My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could

have crept into an alderman's thumb-ring: a plague of sighing and grief, it blows a man up like a bladder. There's villainous news abroad: here was Sir John Braby from your father; you must go 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 a 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.

P. Henry.

He that rides at high speed, and with a * ^note pistol kills a sparrow flying.

Fal.

You have hit it.

P. Henry.

So did he never the sparrow.

Fal.

Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him, he will not run.

P. Henry.

Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running?

Fal.

A horseback, ye cuckow!—But afoot, he will not budge a foot.

P. Henry.

Yes, Jack, upon instinct† ^note.

Fal.

I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Worcester is stol'n away by night: Thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackarel.

P. Henry.

Then 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads, as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred.

Fal.

By the mass, lad, thou say'st true; it is like we shall have good trading, that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horribly afeard? thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three such

enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that sprite Percy, and that devil Glendower? art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

P. Henry.

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 do love me, practise an answer* ^note

Host.

O, my Lord, my Lord!

Fal.

Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddle-stick. 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.

P. Henry.

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.

P. Henry.

Call in the sheriff.

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.

P. Henry.

Now, master Sheriff, what is your will with me?

Sher.
First, pardon me, my Lord! a hue and cry
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.

P. Henry.
What men?

Sher.
One of them is well known, my gracious Lord!
A gross fat man.

Car.
As fat as butter.

P. Henry.
The man, I do assure you, is not here,
For I myself at this time have employ'd him;
And, Sheriff, I engage my word to thee,
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal:
And so, let me intreat you, leave the house.

Sher.
I will, my Lord. There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.

P. Henry.
It may be so. If he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable: and so farewell.

Sher.
Good night, my noble Lord.

P. Henry.
I think it is good morrow, is it not?

Sher.
Indeed, my Lord, I think it be two o'clock. [Exit.

P. Henry.
This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's.
Go, call him forth.

Poins.

Falstaff!—Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

P. Henry.

Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.

What hast thou found?

Poins.

Nothing but papers, my Lord.

P. Henry.

Let's see, what be they?

Item. A capon, 2s. 6d.* ^note

Item. Sawce, 4d.

Item. Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d.

Item. Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.

Item. Bread, a halfpenny.

O monstrous! but one halfpenny-worth 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, Poins.

Poins.

Good morrow, my Lord.