Poins* note.
Prince Henry.
Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Poins.
Is it come to that? I had thought weariness
durst not have attack'd one of so high blood.
P. Henry.
It doth me, though it discolours the complexion
of my greatness to acknowledge it.
Poins.
How ill it follows, after you have labour'd so
hard, you should talk so idly! tell me how many good
young Princes should do so, their fathers lying so sick as
yours is.
P. Henry.
Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
Poins.
Yes, and let it be an excellent good thing.
P. Henry.
It shall serve, among wits of no higher
breeding than thine.
Poins.
Go to.
P. Henry.
Why I tell thee, it is not meet that I should
be sad, now my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee,
(as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my
friend) I could be sad, and sad indeed, too.
Poins.
Very hardly, upon such a subject.
P. Henry.
Thou think'st me as far in the devil's book,
as thou and Falstaff. Let the end try the man. But I
tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is
sick: and keeping such vile company as thou art, hath
in reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.
Poins.
The reason?
-- 21 --
P. Henry.
What would'st thou think of me, if I should
weep?
Poins.
I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
P. Henry.
It would be every man's thought; and thou
art a blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks; never
a man's thought in the world keeps the road-way
better than thine; every man would think me an hypocrite,
indeed. And what excites your most worshipful
thought to think so?
Poins.
Why, because you have seemed so lewd, and
so much ingrafted to Falstaff.
P. Henry.
And to thee.
Poins.
Nay by this light I am well spoken of, I can
hear it with mine own ears; the worst they can say of
me is, that I am a second brother, and that I am a proper
fellow of my hands: and those two things, I confess, I
cannot help. Look, look, here comes Bardolph.
P. Henry.
And the boy that I gave Falstaff; he had
him from me christian, and see if the fat villain have
not transform'd him ape.
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].
