Peto.
Poins.
Come, shelter, shelter. I have removed
Falstaff's horse, and he frets like a gumm'd
velvet.
P. Henry.
Stand close.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
Poins, Poins, and be hanged, Poins!
P. Henry.
Peace, ye fat kidney'd rascal, what a
brawling dost thou keep?
Fal.
What, Poins! Hal!—
P. Henry.
He is walk'd up to the top of the hill,
I'll go seek him.
Fal.
I am accurst to rob in that thief's company:
the rascal hath remov'd my horse, and ty'd him, I
know not where. If I travel but 4 note
four foot by the
square farther afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I
doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape
hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his
company hourly any time this two and twenty year,
and yet I am bewitch'd with the rogue's company. If
the rascal have not given me 5 notemedicines to make me
love him, I'll be hang'd; it could not be else; I have
drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a Plague upon you
-- 144 --
both. Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve, ere I'll 6 noterob a foot
further. An 'twere not as good a deed as to drink, to
turn true-man, and to leave these rogues, I am the
veriest varlet that ever chew'd with a tooth. Eight
yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten miles
afoot with me; and the stony-hearted villains know it
well enough. A plague upon't, when thieves cannot
be true one to another. [They whistle.] Whew!—
a plague upon you all. Give me my horse; you rogues,
give me my horse, and be hang'd.
P. Henry.
Peace, ye fat guts! lye down, lay thine
ear close to the ground, and list if thou canst hear the
tread of travellers.
Fal.
Have you any levers to lift me up again, being
down? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far
afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer.
What a plague mean ye, 7 noteto colt me thus?
P. Henry.
Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art
uncolted.
Fal.
I pr'ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to my
horse, good King's son.
P. Henry.
Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler?
Fal.
Go hang thy self in thy own heir-apparent garters8 note;
if I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not
ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let
a cup of sack be my poison. When a jest is so forward,
and afoot too!—I hate it.
Enter Gads-hill.
Gads.
Stand,—
Fal.
So I do against my will.
-- 145 --
Poins.
O, 'tis our Setter, I know his voice. 9 note
Bardolph.
—What news?
Gads.
Case ye, case ye; on with your visors; there's
mony of the King's coming down the hill, 'tis going
to the King's Exchequer.
Fal.
You lie, you rogue, 'tis going to the King's
tavern.
Gads.
There's enough to make us all.
Fal.
To be hang'd.
P. Henry.
Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow
lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower; if they
'scape from your encounter, then they light on us.
Peto.
But how many be of them?
Gads.
Some eight or ten.
Fal.
Zounds! will they not rob us?
P. Henry.
What, a coward, Sir John Paunch.
Fal.
Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather;
but yet no coward, Hal.
P. Henry.
Well, we'll leave that to the proof.
Poins.
Sirrah, Jack, thy horse stands behind the
hedge; when thou need'st him, there shalt thou find
him. Farewel, and stand fast.
Fal.
Now cannot I strike him, if I should be
hang'd.
P. Henry.
Ned, where are our disguises?
Poins.
Here, hard by. Stand close.
Fal.
Now, my masters, happy man be his dole,
say I; every man to his business.
-- 146 --
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].
