SCENE II.
An apartment belonging to the prince.
Enter Henry, prince of Wales, and Sir John Falstaff.
Fal.
Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
P. Henry.
Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of
old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and
sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten
1 note
to 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.
Fal.
Indeed, you come near me now, Hal: for
-- 260 --
we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars;
and not by Phœbus,—he, that wand'ring 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 beauty; 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 govern'd 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
-- 261 --
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
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. 4 note
And is
not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?
P. Henry.
5 note
As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of
-- 262 --
the castle. 6 note
And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe
of durance?
-- 263 --
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?
-- 264 --
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 king, hang a
thief.
P. Henry.
No; thou shalt.
Fal.
Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, 7 note
I'll be a brave
judge.
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.
8 note
For obtaining of suits?
Fal.
Yea, for obtaining of suits; whereof the hangman
-- 265 --
hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy
as 9 note
a gib cat, or a lugg'd bear.
-- 266 --
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 1 note
a hare, or 2 note
the
melancholy of Moor-ditch?
-- 267 --
Fal.
Thou hast the most unsavoury similies; and
art, indeed, 3 note
the 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; but I regarded him not:
and yet he talk'd wisely, and in the street too.
P. Henry.
Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out
in the streets, and no man regards it.
Fal.
4 note
O, thou hast damnable iteration; and art,
indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much
-- 268 --
harm upon 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 me5 note.
P. Henry.
I see a good amendment of life in thee;
from praying, to purse-taking.
Fal.
6 note
Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no
-- 269 --
sin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins!—
Now shall we know, if Gadshill have set a match7 note9Q0669. O,
if men were to be sav'd by merit, what hole in hell
were hot enough for him?
Enter Poins.
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 agrees the devil and thee about thy soul,
that thou soldest him on Good-friday last, for a cup
of Madeira, 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 art thou 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 Gadshill: 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:
Gadshill 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.
-- 270 --
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's neither honesty, manhood, nor good
fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not of the blood
royal, 8 note
if thou dar'st not stand for ten shillings.
P. Henry.
Well then, once in my days I'll be a
mad-cap.
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
speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed,
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 summer9 note
!
[Exit Falstaff.
-- 271 --
Poins.
Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with
us to-morrow; I have a jest to execute, that I cannot
manage alone. 1 note
Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and
Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already
way-laid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when
they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them,
cut this head from 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
-- 272 --
upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have
no sooner atchieved, but we'll set upon them.
P. Henry.
Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know
us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other
appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins.
Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie
them in the wood; our visors we will change, after
we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram
2 notefor 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 fight 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 3 notereproof of this, lies
the jest.
P. Henry.
Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all
things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night 4 notein
East-cheap, there I'll sup. Farewel.
Poins.
Farewel, my lord.
[Exit Poins.
-- 273 --
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 wonder'd 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 wish'd-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 5 note
shall I falsify men's hopes;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,
-- 274 --
Shall shew more goodly, and attract more eyes,
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;
Redeeming time, when men think least I will.
[Exit.
Samuel Johnson [1778], The plays of William Shakspeare. In ten volumes. With the corrections and illustrations of various commentators; to which are added notes by Samuel Johnson and George Steevens. The second edition, Revised and Augmented (Printed for C. Bathurst [and] W. Strahan [etc.], London) [word count] [S10901].
