Page.
Bard.
Save your Grace!
P. Henry.
And yours, most noble Bardolph.
Poins.
Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool,
wherefore blush you, now? what a maidenly man at
arms are you become!
Page.
He call'd me even now, my Lord, through a
red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from
the window; at last I spy'd his eyes, and methought
he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new red petticoat,
and peep'd through.
P. Henry.
Hath not the boy profited?
Bard.
Away, you whorson upright rabbit, away.
Page.
Away, you rascally Hecuba's dream, away.
P. Henry.
Instruct us, boy, what dream, boy?
Page.
Marry, my Lord, Hecuba dream'd she was deliver'd
of a firebrand, and therefore I call him her
dream.
-- 22 --
P. Henry.
A crown's-worth of good interpretation;
there it is, boy.
[Gives him money.
Poins.
O that this good blossom could be kept from
cankers! well, there is six-pence to preserve thee.
Bard.
If you do not make him be hang'd among you,
the gallows shall be wrong'd.
P. Henry.
And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
Bard.
Well, my good Lord; he heard of your Grace's
coming to town; there's a letter for you.
P. Henry.
Deliver'd with good respect; and how doth
the Martlemas, your master* note?
Bard.
In bodily health, Sir.
Poins.
Marry the immortal part needs a physician; but
that moves not him; though that be sick, it dies not.
P. Henry.
I do allow this† note wen to be as familiar with
me, as my dog; and look you how he writes.
Poins. reads.
Sir John Falstaff, knight—every man
must know that, as oft as he hath occasion to name
himself: even like those that are kin to the King, for
they never prick their finger, but they say there is some
of the King's blood spilt. How comes that? says he
that takes upon him not to conceive: the answer is as
ready as a borrower's cap; I am the King's poor cousin,
Sir.
P. Henry.
Nay, they will be kin to us, but they
will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter.
Poins.
Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the King
nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting. Why
this is a certificate.
P. Henry.
Peace. Read on.
Poins.
I will imitate the honourable Romans, in brevity.
Sure he means brevity in breath; short-winded. I
commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be
not too familiar with Poins, for he misuses thy favours
so much, that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell.
Repent at idle times as thou may'st, and so farewel. Thine,
by yea and no: which is as much as to say, as thou usest
-- 23 --
him. Jack Falstaff with my familiars: John with my
brothers and sisters: and Sir John with all Europe* note.
My Lord, I will steep this latter in sack, and make him
eat it.
P. Henry.
That's to make him eat plenty of his
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry
your sister?
Poins.
May the wench have no worse fortune! But I
never said so.
P. Henry.
Well, thus we play the fool with the time,
and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds, and mock us:
is your master here in London?
Bard.
Yes, my Lord.
P. Henry.
Where sups he?
Bard.
At the old place, my Lord, in East-cheap.
P. Henry.
What company?
Page.
Ephesians, my Lord, of the old church.
P. Henry.
Sup any women with him?
Page.
None, my Lord, but old Mrs. Quickly, and
Mrs. Doll Tear-sheet.
P. Henry.
What Pagan may that be?
Page.
A proper gentlewoman, Sir, and a kinswoman
of my master's.
P. Henry.
Even such kin, as the parish heifers are
to† note the town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at
supper?
Poins.
I am your shadow, my Lord: I'll follow you.
P. Henry.
Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word
to your master that I am yet come to town. There's
for your silence.
Bard.
I have no tongue, Sir.
Page.
And for mine, Sir, I will govern it.
P. Henry.
Fare ye well: go. [Exit Bard. and Page.
How might we see Falstaff bestow himself, to-night, in
his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?
Poins.
Put on two leather jerkins and aprons, and
wait upon him at his table, like drawers.
-- 24 --
P. Henry.
From a Prince to a prentice! a low transformation;
that shall be mine: for in every thing, the
purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned.
[Exeunt.* note
SCENE III.
A Tavern.
Enter Hostess and Doll.
Host.
Sweet heart, methinks now you are in an excellent
good temperality; your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily
as heart would desire; and your colour, I warrant
you, is as red as any nose: but you have drank too much
canary, and that's a marvellous searching wine; and it
perfumes the blood, ere we can say what's this? How
do you, now?
Dol.
Better than I was: hem.
-- 25 --
Host.
Why, that was well said: a good heart's worth
gold. Look, here comes Sir John.
SCENE IV.
Enter Falstaff, and Page.
Fal.
When Arthur first in court—fill a cup of sack
—and was a worthy King: how now, Mrs. Doll?
Host.
Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth.
Fal.
So is all her sex, if they be once in a calm, they
are sick.
Doll.
You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you
give me?
Fal.
You make fat rascals, Mrs. Doll.
Doll.
I make them! gluttony and diseases make them,
I make them not.
Fal.
If the cook make the gluttony, you help to make
the diseases, Doll; we catch of you, Doll, we catch of
you; grant that, my poor virtue, grant that.
Doll.
Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!
Host.
By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two
never meet, but you fall to some discord; you are both,
in good troth, as rheumatick as two dry toasts, you cannot
one bear with another's confirmities. What the
good-year? one must bear, and that must be you: you
are the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel.
[To Doll* note.
Doll.
Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full
hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux
stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk better stuft
in the hold. Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack: thou
art going to the wars, and whether I shall ever see thee
again or no, there is nobody cares.
-- 26 --
SCENE V.
Enter Page.
Page.
Sir, ancient Pistol is below, and would speak
with you.
Doll.
Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come
hither; it is the foul-mouthed'st rogue in England.
Host.
If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by
my faith: I must live amongst my neighbours, I'll no
swaggerers: I am in good name and fame with the very
best: shut the door, there comes no swaggerers here:
I have not liv'd all this while, to have swaggering now;
shut the door, I pray you.
Fal.
Dost thou hear, hostess—
Host.
Pray you pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes
no swaggerers here.
Fal.
Dost thou hear—it is mine ancient.
Host.
* noteTilly-fally, Sir John, never tell me, your ancient
swaggerers comes not in my doors. I was before
master Tisick the deputy, the other day; and as he
said to me—it was no longer ago than Wednesday last—
Neighbour Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil;
for saith he, you are in an ill name: now he said so, I
can tell whereupon; for, says he, you are an honest
woman, and well thought on, therefore take heed what
guests you receive: receive, says he, no swaggering
companions—There comes none here. You would bless
you to hear what he said. No, I'll no swaggerers.
Fal.
He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i'
faith; you may stroke him as gently as a puppey-greyhound;
he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her
feathers turn back, in any shew of resistance. Call him
up, boy.
[Exit Page.
Host.
Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man
my house, nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering;
I am the worse when one says swagger; feel,
masters, how I shake, look you, I warrant you.
-- 27 --
Doll.
So you do, hostess.
Host.
Do I? yea, in very truth do I, as if it were an
aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.
SCENE VI.
* noteEnter Pistol, Bardolph, and Page.
Pist.
Save you, Sir John.
Fal.
Welcome, antient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge
you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine
hostess.
Pist.
I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two
bullets.
Fal.
She is pistol proof, Sir, you shall hardly offend
her.
Host.
Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets: I
will drink no more than will do me good, for no man's
pleasure, I.
Pist.
Then to you, Mistress Dorothy, I will charge
you.
Doll.
Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion!
what? you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen
mate; away, you mouldy rogue, away: I am meat for
your master.
Pist.
I know you, mistress Dorothy.
Doll.
Away, you cut-purse bottle-ale rascal, you basket-hilt
stale jugler you. Since when, I pray you, Sir?
Pist.
I will murder your head-gear for this.
[They fight.
Host.
No, good captain Pistol: not here, sweet captain.
Doll.
Captain! thou abominable damn'd cheater, art
thou not asham'd to be call'd captain? if captains were
of my mind, they would truncheon you out of taking
-- 28 --
their names upon you, before you have earn'd them.
You a captain! you slave! for what?
Bard.
Pray thee go down, good antient.
Pist.
Not I: I tell thee what, corporal Bardolph, I
could tear her: I'll be reveng'd on her.
Page.
Pray thee go down.
Pist.
I'll see her damn'd first, to Pluto's damned lake,
to the infernal deep, where Erebus and tortures vile also.
Hold hook and line, I say: down! down, dogs; down,
fates: have we not Hiren here?
Host.
Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very late: I
beseech you now, aggravate your choler.
Pist.
These be good humours, indeed. Shall packhorses
And hollow-pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,
Compare with Cæsars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar:
Shall we fall foul for toys* note?
Host.
By my troth, captain, these are very bitter
words.
Bard.
Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to a
brawl, anon.
Pist.
Die men like dogs: give crowns like pins: have
we not Hiren here?
Host.
On my word, captain, there's none such here.
What the good-year? do you think I would deny her? I
pray be quiet.
Pist.
Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis; come,
give me some sack. Si fortuna me tormenta, sperato me
contenta.
Fear we broad sides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack:
Fal.
Pistol, I would be quiet.
Pist.
Sweet knight, I kiss thy† note neif: what! we have
seen the seven stars.
-- 29 --
Doll.
Thrust him down stairs, I cannot endure such a
fustian rascal.
Pist.
Thrust him down stairs! know we not galloway
nags* note?
Fal.
Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
shilling: nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he
shall be nothing here.
Bard.
Come, get you down stairs.
Pist.
What shall we have incision? shall we embrew?
then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days: why
then let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds, untwine the
sisters three: come, Atropos, I say.
[Drawing his sword.
Fal.
Give me my rapier, boy.
Doll.
I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee, do not draw.
Fal.
Get you down stairs.
[Drawing, and driving Pistol out.
A rascal! to brave me!
Sit on my knee, Doll. A rascal, bragging slave! the
rogue fled from me, like quick-silver† note.
Doll.
I'faith, and thou follow'dst him like a church.
ah! Jack, Jack, when wilt thou leave fighting, and
patch up thine old body for heaven?
SCENE VII.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins, disguis'd.
Fal.
Peace, good Doll, do not speak like a death's-head;
do not bid me remember of mine end.
Doll.
Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?
Fal.
A good shallow young fellow: he would have
made a good pantler, he would have chipp'd bread
well.
Doll.
They say, Poins hath a good wit.
Fal.
He a good wit? hang him, baboon, his wit is as
thick as Tewksbury mustard: there is no more conceit in
him, than is in a mallet.
-- 30 --
Doll.
Why doth the Prince love him so, then?
Fal.
Because their legs are both of a bigness: and he
plays at quoits well, and jumps upon joint stools, and
swears with a good grace, and wears his boot very
smooth, like unto the sign of the leg; and such other
gambol faculties he hath, that shew a weak mind and
an able body, for the which the Prince admires him;
for the Prince himself is such another: the weight of
an hair, will turn the scales between their Averdupois.
P. Henry.
Would not this nave of a wheel have his
ears cut off* note?
Poins.
Let us beat him before his whore.
P. Henry.
Look, if the wither'd elder hath not his
poll claw'd, like a parrot.
Poins.
Is it not strange that desire should so many
years out-live performance?
Fal.
Kiss me, Doll† note.
P. Henry.
Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction!
what says the almanack to that?
Poins.
And look, whether the fiery Trigon his man,
be not lisping to his master's old tables, his note-book,
his counsel-keeper?
Fal.
Thou dost give me flattering busses.
Doll.
By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant
heart.
Fal.
I am old, Doll, I am old.
Doll.
I love thee better than I do e'er a scurvy young
boy of them all.
Fal.
What stuff wilt thou have a gown of? I shall
receive money, on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap, tomorrow.
A merry song, come: it grows late, we will
to bed. Thou wilt forget me when I am gone.
Doll.
By my troth, thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou
say'st so: prove that ever I drest myself handsome till
thy return.—Well, hearken the end.
-- 31 --
Fal.
Some sack, Francis.
P. Henry. Poins.
Anon, anon, Sir.
Fal.
Ha! a bastard son of the King's! and art not
thou Poins, his brother?
P. Henry.
Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what
a life dost thou lead?
Fal.
A better than thou: I am a gentleman, thou
art a drawer.
P. Henry.
Very true, Sir; and I am come to draw
you out by the ears.
Host.
Oh, the Lord preserve thy good Grace! Welcome
to London. Now heav'n bless that sweet face of
thine! what, are you come from Wales?
Fal.
Thou whorson-mad compound of Majesty, by
this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.
[Leaning his hand upon Doll.
Dol.
How! you fat fool? I scorn you.
Poins.
My Lord, he will drive you out of your revenge,
and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the
heat.
P. Henry.
You whorson candle-mine you, how vilely
did you speak of me, even now, before this honest, virtuous,
civil gentlewoman?
Host.
Blessing on your good heart! and so she is, by
my troth.
Fal.
Didst thou hear me?
P. Henry.
Yes; and you knew me as you did when
you ran away by Gads-hill, you knew I was at your
back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience.
Fal.
No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast
within hearing.
P. Henry.
I shall drive you then to confess the wilful
abuse, and then I know how to handle you.
Fal.
No abuse, Hal; on my honour, no abuse.
P. Henry.
Not to call me pantler, and bread-chipper,
and I know not what?
Fal.
No abuse, Hal.
Poins.
No abuse!
Fal.
No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, none.
I disprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked
-- 32 --
might not fall in love with him; in which doing, I have
done the part of a careful friend, and true subject, and
thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal.
None, Ned, none; no, boys, none.* note
P. Henry.
See now, whether pure fear and intire
cowardice doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman,
to close with us? is she of the wicked? is
thine hostess here of the wicked? or is the boy of the
twicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his
nose, of the wicked?
Poins.
Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
[A knocking.
Host.
Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door
there, Francis.
[Exit Bard.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Peto.
P. Henry.
Peto, how now? what news?
Peto.
The king your father is at Westminster,
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the North; and as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.
P. Henry.
By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
So idly to profane the precious time;
Give me my sword, and cloak: Falstaff, good night.
[Exeunt Prince and Poins.
Fal.
Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night,
and we must hence, and leave it unpick'd. [Knocking.]
More knocking at the door? how now? what's the
matter?
Enter Bardolph.
Bard.
You must away to court, Sir, presently; a dozen
captains stay at door for you.
Fal.
Farewel, Hostess; farewel, Doll. You see, my
good wenches, how men of merit are sought after; the
undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is
-- 33 --
called on. Farewel, good wenches; if I be not sent
away post, I will see you again, ere I go.
Dol.
I cannot speak, if my heart be not ready to burst
—well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.
Fal.
Farewel, farewel.
[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph.
Host.
Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these
twenty-nine years, come pescod-time; but an honester
and truer-hearted man—well, fare thee well.
Bard.
Mrs. Tear-sheet.
(Within.)
Host.
What's the matter?
Bard.
Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my master.
Host.
O run, Dol, run; run, good Dol.
[Exeunt.* note
note
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].
