John Falstaff.
Fal.
Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
P. Henry.
Thou art so fat-witted with
drinking old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper,
and sleeping upon benches in the afternoon, that thou
hast forgotten 1 noteto demand that truly, which thou
would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do
with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of
sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of
bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the
blessed Sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd
taffata. I see no reason why thou should'st be so superfluous,
to demand the time of the day.
-- 115 --
Fal.
Indeed, you come near me now, Hal. For we,
that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars, and
not by Phœbus, he, that wandring knight so fair.
And I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art King—
as God save thy Grace (Majesty, I should say; for
grace thou wilt have none.)—
P. Henry.
What! none?
Fal.
No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to
be prologue to an egg and butter.
P. Henry.
Well, how then?—come—roundly,
roundly—
Fal.
Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art King,
2 note
let not us that are squires of the night's body, be call'd
thieves of the day's booty. Let us be Diana's foresters,
gentlemen of the shade, minions of the Moon; and
let men say, we be men of good government, being
governed as the Sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress
the Moon, under whose countenance we—steal.
P. Henry.
Thou say'st well, and it holds well too;
for the fortune of us, that are the Moon's men, doth
ebb and flow like the Sea; being govern'd as the Sea
is, by the Moon. As for proof, now: a purse of
gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and
most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; 3 notegot
with swearing, lay by; and spent with crying, bring
-- 116 --
in: now in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder;
and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the
gallows.
Fal.
By the lord, thou say'st true, lad: and is not
mine Hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?
P. Henry.
4 note
As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of
-- 117 --
the castle; 5 noteand is not a buff-jerkin a most sweet robe
of durance?
Fal.
How now, how now, mad wag; what, in thy
quips and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do
with a buff-jerkin?
P. Henry.
Why, what a pox have I to do with my
Hostess of the tavern?
Fal.
Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many
a time and oft.
P. Henry.
Did I ever call thee to pay thy part?
Fal.
No, I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all
there.
P. Henry.
Yea and elsewhere, so far as my coin
would stretch; and where it would not, I have us'd
my credit.
Fal.
Yea, and so us'd it, that were it not here apparent,
that thou art heir apparent—But, I pr'ythee,
sweet wag, shall there be Gallows standing in
England, when thou art King? and resolution thus
fobb'd as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antick,
the law? Do not thou, when thou art a King, hang a
thief.
P. Henry.
No: thou shalt.
Fal.
Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave
judge.
-- 118 --
P. Henry.
Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou
shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become
a rare hangman.
Fal.
Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps
with my humour, as well as waiting in the Court, I
can tell you.
P. Henry.
6 noteFor obtaining of suits?—
Fal.
Yea, for obtaining of suits; whereof the hangman
hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy
as a 7 notegib-cat, or a lugg'd bear.
P. Henry.
Or an old Lion, or a lover's lute.
Fal.
Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
P. Henry.
What say'st thou to a Hare, or the 8 notemelancholy
of Moor-ditch?
Fal.
Thou hast the most unsavoury similies; and
art, indeed, 9 notethe most comparative, rascalliest, sweet
young Prince—But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no
more with vanity; I would to God, thou and I knew
where a commodity of good names were to be
bought: an old lord of the Council rated me the
other day in the street about you, Sir; but I mark'd
him not, and yet he talk'd very wisely, and in the
street too.
P. Henry.
Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out
in the streets, and no man regards it.
Fal.
1 noteO, thou hast damnable iteration, and art,
-- 119 --
indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much
harm unto me, Hal, God forgive thee for it! Before
I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now
am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than
one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and
I will give it over; by the lord, an I do not, I am a
villain. I'll be damn'd for never a King's son in christendom.
P. Henry.
Where shall we take a purse to morrow,
Jack?
Fal.
Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do
not, call me villain, and baffle me.
P. Henry.
I see a good amendment of life in thee,
from praying to purse-taking.
Fal.
2 note
Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no
-- 120 --
sin for a Man to labour in his vocation. Poins!—
Now shall we know, if Gads-hill have set a match. O,
if men were to be sav'd by merit, what hole in hell
were hot enough for him!
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
