1 Draw.

What the devil hast thou brought there? Apple-Johns? thou know'st, Sir John cannot endure an Apple-John.

2 Draw.

Mass! thou sayest true; the Prince once set a dish of Apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns; and, putting off his hat, said, I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, wither'd knights. It anger'd him to the heart; but he hath forgot That.

1 Draw.

Why then, cover, and set them down; and see if thou can'st find out Sneak's Noise; Mrs. Tear-sheet would fain hear some musick. Dispatch! the room where they supt is too hot, they'll come in strait.

2 Draw.

Sirrah, here will be the Prince, and Master Poins anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons, and Sir John must not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word.

1 Draw.

Then here will be old Utis: it will be an excellent stratagem.

2 Draw.

I'll see, if I can find out Sneak.

Host.

I'faith, 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 rose: but, i'faith, you have drank too much canarys, 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 then I was: hem.—

Host.

Why, that was well said: a good heart's worth gold. Look, here comes Sir John.

Enter Falstaff.

Fal.

When Arthur first in Court—empty the jourden —and was a worthy King: how now, Mrs. Dol?

Host.

Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth.

Fal.

So is all her sect; if they be once in a calm, they are sick.

Dol.

You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

Fal.

You make fat rascals, Mrs. Dol.

Dol.

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, Dol; we catch of you, Dol, we catch of you; grant That, my poor Vertue, grant That.

Dol.

Ay, marry, our chains and our jewels.

Fal.

Your brooches, pearls and owches: for to serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know; to come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the charg'd chambers bravely—

Dol.

Hang your self, you muddy Conger, hang your self!

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-jer? one must bear, and that must be you: you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the emptier vessel.

Dol.

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 no body cares.

Enter Drawer.

Draw.

Sir, antient Pistol is below, and would speak with you.

Dol.

Hang him, swaggering rascal, let him not come hither; it is the foul-mouthd'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.

Do'st thou hear, Hostess?—

Host.

Pray you, pacifie your self, Sir John; there comes no swaggerers here.

Fal.

Do'st thou hear—it is mine Ancient.

Host.

Tilly-fally, Sir John, never tell me; your Ancient swaggerer 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;—master Domb our minister was by then;—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 come 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 stroak 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, drawer.

Host.

(17) ^noteCheater, call you him? I will bar no honest

man my house, nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth; (18) ^note

Dol.

So you do, hostess.

Host.

Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, as if it were an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.

Pist.

Save you, Sir John.

Fal.

Welcome, ancient 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.

Dol.

Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion! what? you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linnen mate; away, you mouldy rogue, away, I am meat for your master.

Pist.

I know you, mistress Dorothy.

Dol.

Away, you cut-purse rascal, you filthy bung,

away: by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, if you play the sawcy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal, you basket-hilt stale jugler, you. Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two points on your shoulder? much.

Pist.

I will murther your ruff for this.

Fal.

No more, Pistol; I wou'd not have you go off here: discharge your self of our company, Pistol.

Host.

No, good captain Pistol: not here, sweet captain.

Dol.

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 their names upon you, before you have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave! for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy house? he a captain! hang him, rogue, he lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dry'd cakes. A captain! these villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy; which was an excellent good word, before it was ill sorted: therefore captains had need look to it.

Bard.

Pray thee, go down, good Ancient.

Fal.

Hark thee hither, mistress Dol.

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, say I: 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 pack-horses(19) ^note

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?

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: (20) ^note
have We not Hiren here?

Host.

O' my word, captain, there's none such here. What the good-jer? 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 tormente, sperato me contente.

Fal.

Pistol, I would be quiet.

Pist.

(21) ^note

Dol.

Thrust him down stairs, I cannot endure such a fustian rascal.

Pist.

Thrust him down stairs? know we not galloway nags?

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.

Host.

Here's goodly stuff toward.

Fal.

Give me my rapier, boy.

Dol.

I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee, do not draw.

Fal.

Get you down stairs.

Host.

Here's a goodly tumult; I'll forswear keeping house, before I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murther, I warrant now. Alas, alas, put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

Dol.

I pr'ythee, Jack, be quiet, the rascal is gone: ah, you whorson, little valiant villain, you!

Host.

Are you not hurt i'th' groin? methought, he made a shrewd thrust at your belly.

Fal.

Have you turn'd him out of doors?

Bard.

Yes, Sir, the rascal's drunk: you have hurt him, Sir, in the shoulder.

Fal.

A rascal, to brave me!—

Dol.

Ah, you sweet little rogue, you: alas, poor ape, how thou sweat'st? come, let me wipe thy face— come on, you whorson chops—ah, rogue! I love thee— thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon; and ten times better than the nine Worthies: a villain!

Fal.

A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.

Dol.

Do, if thou dar'st for thy heart: if thou do'st, I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.

Page.

The musick is come, Sir.

Fal.

Let them play; play, Sirs. Sit on my knee, Dol. A rascal, bragging slave! the rogue fled from me like quick-silver.

Dol.

I'faith, and thou followd'st him like a church: thou whorson little tydie Bartholomew Boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting on days, and foyning on nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

Enter Prince Henry and Poins disguis'd.

Fal.

Peace, good Dol, do not speak like a death's-head: do not bid me remember mine end.

Dol.

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.

Dol.

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.

Dol.

Why doth the Prince love him so then?

Fal.

Because their legs are both of a bigness: and he plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, 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 breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other gambol faculties he hath, that shew a weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince admits 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?

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, Dol.

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.

Dol.

By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

Fal.

I am old, I am old.

Dol.

I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of them all.

Fal.

What stuff wilt thou have a kirtle of? I shall receive mony on Thursday: Thou shalt have a cap to morrow. A merry song, come: it grows late, we will to bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I am gone.

Dol.

By my troth, thou wilt set me a weeping if thou say'st so: prove, that ever I dress my self handsom till thy return—Well, hearken the end.

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 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.

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-myne, 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 dispraise me, and 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 might not fall in love with him; in which doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal, none, Ned, none; no, boys, none.

P. Henry.

See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardise 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 wicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked?

Poins.

Answer, thou dead Elm, answer.

Fal.

The fiend hath prickt down Bardolph irrecoverable, and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast mault-worms: for the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil out-bids him too.

P. Henry.

For the women?

Fal.

For one of them, she is in hell already, and burns poor souls: for the other, I owe her money; and whether she be damn'd for that, I know not.

Host.

No, I warrant you.

Fal.

No, I think, thou art not: I think, thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law, for the which I think thou wilt howl.

Host.

All victuallers do so: what is a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent?

P. Henry.

You, gentlewoman,—

Dol.

What says your Grace?

Fal.

His Grace says That, which his flesh rebels against.

Host.

Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door there, Francis.

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;
When tempest of commotion, like the South
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
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 unpickt. More knocking at the door? how now? what's the matter?

Bard.

You must away to Court, Sir, presently: a dozen captains stay at door for you.

Fal.

Pay the musicians, Sirrah: farewel, Hostess; farewel, Dol. You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is call'd 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 thy self.

Fal.

Farewel, farewel.

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,—

Host.

What's the matter?

Bard.

Bid Mistress Tear-sheet come to my master.

Host.

O run, Dol, run; run, good Dol.

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