Bardolph.
Fal.
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me
a bottle of sack. Our soldiers shall march
through; we'll to Sutton-cold-field to night.
Bard.
Will you give me mony, captain?
Fal.
Lay out, lay out.
Bard.
This bottle makes an angel.
Fal.
And if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coynage.
Bid my lieutenant * notePeto meet me at the town's end.
Bard.
I will, captain; farewel.
[Exit.
Fal.
If I be not asham'd of my soldiers, I am a
5 notesowc'd gurnet. I have mis-us'd the King's Press damnably;
I have got, in exchange of an hundred and
fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press
me none but good housholders, yeomens sons; enquire
me out contracted batchelors, such as had been
ask'd twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm
slaves, as had as lieve hear the devil, as a drum; such
as fear the report of a culverin, 6 noteworse than a struck
fowl, or a hurt wild duck. I press me none but such
-- 202 --
toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger
than pins' heads, and they have bought out their services.
And now my whole Charge consists of ancients,
corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies, slaves
as ragged as Lazarus in the painted cloth, where the
Glutton's dogs licked his sores; and such as indeed
were never soldiers, but discarded unjust servingmen,
7 noteyounger sons to younger brothers; revolted tapsters,
and ostlers trade-fall'n, the cankers of a calm world
and a long peace; 8 note
ten times more dishonourably
-- 203 --
ragged, than an old-feast ancient; and such have I to
fill up the rooms of them that have bought out their
services; that you would think, I had a hundred and
fifty tatter'd Prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping,
from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met
me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the
gibbets, and prest the dead bodies. No eye hath
seen such skare-crows: I'll not march through Coventry
with them, that's flat. Nay, and the villains
march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had 9 notegyves on;
for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison.
There's but a shirt and a half in all my company; and
the half shirt is two napkins tack'd together, and
thrown over the shoulders like a herald's coat without
sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stoll'n from
my Host of St. Albans; or the red-nos'd Inn keeper
of Daintry. But that's all one, they'll find linen
enough on every hedge.
Enter Prince Henry, and Westmorland.
P. Henry.
How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt?
Fal.
What, Hal?—How now, mad wag, what a
devil dost thou in Warwickshire?—My good lord of
Westmorland, I cry you mercy; I thought, your Honour
had already been at Shrewsbury.
West.
'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I
were there, and you too; but my Powers are there
already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us all;
we must away all to night.
Fal.
Tut, never fear me, I am as vigilant, as a Cat
to steal cream.
P. Henry.
I think, to steal cream, indeed; for thy
theft hath already made thee butter. But tell me, Jack,
whose fellows are these that come after?
Fal.
Mine, Hal, mine.
P. Henry.
I did never see such pitiful rascals.
-- 204 --
Fal.
Tut, tut, 1 notegood enough to toss: food for powder,
food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well as better;
tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
West.
Ay, but, Sir John, methinks, they are exceeding
poor and bare, too beggarly.
Fal.
Faith, for their poverty, I know not where
they had that; and for their bareness, I am sure, they
never learn'd that of me.
P. Henry.
No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste,
Percy is already in the field.
Fal.
What, is the King encamp'd?
West.
He is, Sir John; I fear, we shall stay too long.
Fal.
Well,
The latter end of a fray, and beginning of a feast,
Fits a dull Fighter, and a keen Guest.
[Exeunt.
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].
