SCENE V.
Enter Bardolph and Page.
Bard.
Save your Grace.
P. Henry.
And yours, most noble Bardolph.
Bard. [to the Boy.]
5 noteCome, you virtuous ass, and
bashful fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush you
now; what a maidenly man at arms are you become?
Is it such a matter to get a pottle-pot's maiden-head?
Page.
He call'd me even now, my lord, through a
red lattice, and I could discern no part of his face from
the window; at last, I spy'd his eyes, and, methought,
-- 267 --
he had made two holes in the ale-wive's new petticoat,
and peep'd through.
P. Henry.
Hath not the boy profited?
Bard.
Away, you whorson upright rabbet, away!
Page.
Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away!
P. Henry.
Instruct us, boy. What dream, boy?
Page.
Marry, my lord, Althea dream'd, she was
deliver'd of a firebrand; and therefore I call him her
dream.6 note
P. Henry.
A crowns-worth of good interpretation.
—There it is, boy.
[Gives him mony.
Poins.
O that this good blossom could be kept from
cankers! Well, there is six pence to preserve thee.
Bard.
If you do not make him be hang'd among
you, the Gallows shall be wrong'd.
P. Henry.
And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
Bard.
Well, my good lord; he heard of your Grace's
coming to town. There's a letter for you.
P. Henry.
Deliver'd with good respect;—and how
doth 7 notethe Martlemas, your Master?
Bard.
In bodily health, Sir.
Poins.
Marry, the immortal part needs a physician;
but that moves not him; though that be sick, it dies
not.
P. Henry.
I do allow 8 notethis wen to be as familiar with
me as my dog; and he holds his place; for, look you,
how he writes.
Poins reads.
John Falstaff, knight,—Every man
must know that, as often as he hath occasion to name
himself: even like those that are kin to the King, for
-- 268 --
they never prick their finger but they say, there is some
of the King's blood spilt. How comes that? says he
that takes upon him not to conceive: 9 notethe answer
is as ready as a borrower's cap; I am the King's poor
cousin, Sir.
P. Henry.
Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will
fetch it from Japhet. But, to the letter.
Poins.
Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the
King, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales,
Greeting. Why this is a certificate.
1 noteP. Henry.
Peace.
Poins. I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity.
Sure, he means brevity in breath; short-winded.
I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and
I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins, for he misuses
thy favours so much, that he swears, thou art to
marry his Sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou
may'st, and so farewel. Thine, by yea and no; which
is as much as to say, as thou usest him. Jack Falstaff
with my familiars: John with my brothers and sisters:
and Sir John with all Europe.
Poins.
My Lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and
make him eat it.
P. Henry.
2 noteThat's to make him eat twenty of his
words. But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry
your Sister?
Poins.
May the wench have no worse fortune! But
I never said so.
P. Henry.
Well, thus we play the fools with the
-- 269 --
time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and
mock us. Is your master here in London?
Bard.
Yes, my lord.
P. Henry.
Where sups he? doth the old Boar feed
in the old frank?* note
Bard.
At the old place, my lord, in East-cheap.
P. Henry.
What company?
Page.
3 note
Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.
P. Henry.
Sup any women with him?
Page.
None, my lord, but old Mrs. Quickly, and
Mrs. Doll Tear-sheet.
P. Henry.
What Pagan may that be?
Page.
A proper gentlewoman, Sir, and a kinswoman
of my master's.
P. Henry.
Even such kin, as the parish heifers are
to the town Bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at
supper?
Poins.
I am your shadow, my lord, I'll follow you.
P. Henry.
Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word
to your master that I am yet come to town. There's
for your silence.
Bard.
I have no tongue, Sir.
Page.
And for mine, Sir, I will govern it.
P. Henry.
Fare ye well: go. This Dol Tear-Sheet
should be some road.
Poins.
I warrant you, as common as the way between
St. Albans and London.
P. Henry.
How might we see Falstaff bestow himself
to night in his true colours, and not our selves be seen?
Poins.
4 notePut on two leather jerkins and aprons, and
wait upon him at his table, as drawers.
-- 270 --
P. Henry.
From a God to a Bull? 5 note
a heavy descension.
It was Jove's case. From a Prince to a prentice?
a low transformation; that shall be mine. For in every
thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow
me, Ned.
[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].
