This is the most omnipotent Villain, that ever cry'd, Stand, to a true Man.—

P. Henry.

Good morrow, Ned.

Poins.

Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse? what says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack! how agree the devil and thou about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last, for a cup of Madera, and a cold capon's leg?

P. Henry.

Sir John stands to his word; the devil shall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs; He will give the devil his due.

Poins.

Then thou art damn'd for keeping thy word with the devil.

P. Henry.

Else he had been damn'd for cozening the devil.

Poins.

But, my lads, my lads, to morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gads-hill; there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visors for you all; you have horses for yourselves: Gads-hill lies to night in Rochester, I have bespoke supper to morrow night in East cheap; we may do it, as secure as sleep: if you will go, I will stuff your purses

full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be hang'd.

Fal.

Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going.

Poins.

You will, chops?

Fal.

Hal, wilt thou make one?

P. Henry.

Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

Fal.

There is neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not of the blood royal, if thou dar'st not cry, stand, for ten shillings.^{3 note}

P. Henry.

Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

Fal.

Why, that's well said.

P. Henry.

Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

Fal.

By the lord, I'll be a traitor then when thou art King.

P. Henry.

I care not.

Poins.

Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the Prince and me alone; I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

Fal.

Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speak'st may move, and what he hears may be believ'd; that the true Prince may (for recreation-sake,) prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewel, you shall find me in East-cheap.

P. Henry.

Farewel, thou latter spring! Farewel, all-hallown summer!

Poins.

Now, my good sweet hony lord, ride with us to morrow. I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. ^{4 note}

shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; your self and I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from off my shoulders.

P. Henry.

But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins.

Why, we will set forth before or after them; and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner atchiev'd, but we'll set upon them.

P. Henry.

Ay, but, 'tis like, they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be our selves.

Poins.

Tut, our horses they shall not see, I'll tye them in the wood; our vizors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

P. Henry.

But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us.

Poins.

Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turn'd Back; and for the third, if he fights longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible

lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper; how thirty at least he fought with, what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and, in the ^{5 note}reproof of this, lies the jest.

P. Henry.

Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all things necessary, and meet me to morrow night in East-cheap, there I'll sup. Farewel.

Poins.

Farewel, my lord.

P. Henry.
I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness;
Yet herein will I imitate the Sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world;
That when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wondred at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But when they seldom come, they wisht-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare Accidents.
So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised;
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much ^{6 note}

I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit.

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