Colevile.
Fal.
What's your name, Sir? of what condition are
you? and of what place, I pray?
Cole.
I am a Knight, Sir: and my name is Colevile
of the dale.
Fal.
Well then, Colevile is your name, a Knight is
your degree, and your place, the dale. Colevile shall
still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon
your place; a place deep enough: so shall you
still be Colevile of the dale.
Cole.
Are you not Sir John Falstaff?
Fal.
As good a man as he, Sir, whoe'er I am: do ye
yield, Sir, or shall I sweat for you? if I do sweat, they
are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy
death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do
observance to my mercy.
Cole.
I think you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought yield me.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmorland.
Lan.
The heat is past, follow no farther now,
Call in the pow'rs, good cousin Westmorland.
[Exit West.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been, all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come.
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some gallows' back.
Fal.
I would be sorry, my Lord, but it should be
thus: I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the
reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow,
or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion,
the expedition of thought? I speeded hither with the
very extremest inch of possibility. I have founder'd
ninescore and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I
am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken Sir
-- 50 --
John Colevile of the dale, a most furious Knight, and
valorous enemy: but what of that? he saw me, and
yielded: that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd fellow
of Rome, I came, saw, and overcame.
Lan.
It was more of his courtesy, than your deserving.
Fal.
I know not; here he is, and here I yield him;
and I beseech your Grace, let it be booked with the rest
of this day's deeds; or by the lord I will have it in a
particular ballad, else; with mine own picture on the
top of it, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course
if I be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pences
to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine
you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of
the element, which shew like pins heads to her; believe
not the word of the noble. Therefore let me have
right, and let desert mount.
Lan.
Thine's too heavy to mount.
Fal.
Let it shine, then!
Lan.
Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal.
Let it do something, my good Lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.
Lan.
Is thy name Colevile?
Cole.
It is, my Lord.
Lan.
A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.
Fal.
And a famous true subject took him.
Cole.
I am, my Lord, but as my betters are,
That led me hither; had they been rul'd by me,
* noteYou should have won them dearer than you have.
Fal.
I know not how they sold themselves; but thou,
like a kind fellow, gav'st thyself away, gratis; and I
thank thee for thee.
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].
