SCENE IV.The Boar's-head tavern in East-cheap.Enter Prince Henry, and Poins.
P. Henry.
Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room,
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.
Poins.
Where hast been, Hal?
P. Henry.
With three or four loggerheads, amongst
three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the very
base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother
to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their
Christian names, as—Tom, Dick, and Francis. They
take it already upon their salvation8note, that, though I
-- 313 --
be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy;
and tell me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like
Falstaff; but a 9note
Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good
boy,—by the Lord, so they call me; and, when I am
king of England, I shall command all the good lads
in East-cheap. They call—drinking deep, dying scarlet:
and when you breathe in your watering1note
, they
cry—hem! and bid you play it off.—To conclude, I
am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour,
that I can drink with any tinker in his own language
during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much
honour, that thou wert not with me in this action.
But, sweet Ned,—to sweeten which name of Ned, I
give thee this pennyworth of sugar2note
under-skinker; one that never
spake other English in his life, than—Eight shillingsand sixpence, and—You are welcome; with this shrill addition,
—Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in theHalf-moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time
'till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some
by-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what
end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave
calling—Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing
but—anon. Step aside, and I'll shew thee a precedent.
Anon, anon, sir.—Look down into the
Pomgranate, Ralph.
P. Henry.
Come hither, Francis.
Fran.
My lord.
P. Henry.
How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Fran.
Forsooth, five years, and as much as to—
Poins.
Francis!
Fran.
Anon, anon, sir.
-- 315 --
P. Henry.
Five years! by'rlady, a long lease for the
clinking of pewter. But, Francis, dar'st thou be so
valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and
shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?
Fran.
O lord, sir! I'll be sworn upon all the books
in England, I could find in my heart—
Poins.
Francis!
Fran.
Anon, anon, sir.
P. Henry.
How old art thou, Francis?
Fran.
Let me see,—About Michaelmas next I shall
be—
Poins.
Francis!
Fran.
Anon, sir.—Pray you, stay a little, my lord.
P. Henry.
Nay, but hark you, Francis: For the sugar
thou gav'st me,—'twas a pennyworth, was't not?
Fran.
O lord, sir! I would, it had been two.
P. Henry.
I will give thee for it a thousand pound:
ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.
Poins.
Francis!
Fran.
Anon, anon.
P. Henry.
Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but to-morrow,
Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed,
Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,—
Fran.
My lord?
P. Henry.
Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, 5notechrystal-button,
6note
bastard is your
only drink: for, look you, Francis, your white canvas
-- 318 --
doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come
to so much.
Fran.
What, sir?
Poins.
Francis!
P. Henry.
Away, you rogue; Dost thou not hear
them call?
[Here they both call him; the drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.Enter Vintner.
Vint.
What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a
calling? look to the guests within. [Exit drawer.]My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are at
the door; Shall I let them in?
P. Henry.
Let them alone a while, and then open
the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins!
Re-enter Poins.
Poins.
Anon, anon, sir.
P. Henry.
Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves
are at the door; Shall we be merry?
Poins.
As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark
ye; What cunning match have you made with this jest
of the drawer? come, what's the issue?
P. Henry.
I am now of all humours, that have shew'd
themselves humours, since the old days of goodman
Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock
at midnight. [Re-enter Francis.] What's o'clock,
Francis?
Fran.
Anon, anon, sir.
P. Henry.
That ever this fellow should have fewer
-- 319 --
words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman!—
His industry is—up-stairs, and down-stairs; his eloquence,
the parcel of a reckoning. 1noteI am not yet of
Percy's mind, the Hot-spur of the north; he that
kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast,
washes his hands, and says to his wife,—Fie uponthis quiet life! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says
she, how many hast thou kill'd to-day? Give my roanhorse a drench, says he; and answers, Some fourteen, an
hour after; a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff;
I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall
play dame Mortimer his wife. 2note
Rivo, says the
drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.
-- 320 --
Enter Falstaff, Gads-hill, Bardolph, and Peto.
Poins.
Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?
Fal.
A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance
too! marry, and amen!—Give me a cup of
sack, boy.—Ere I lead this life long, I'll sow nether
stocks3note, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague
of all cowards!—Give me a cup of sack, rogue.—Is
there no virtue extant?
[He drinks.
P. Henry.
Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of
butter? 4note
pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the
-- 321 --
sweet tale of the sun? if thou didst, then behold that
compound.
There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous
man: Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack
with lime in it; a villainous coward.—Go thy ways,
old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood,
be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then
am I a shotten herring. There live not three good
men unhang'd in England; and one of them is fat,
and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I
say! 6note
I would I were a weaver; I could sing all
-- 323 --
manner of songs. A plague of all cowards, I say
still!
P. Henry.
How now, wool-sack? what mutter you?
Fal.
A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy
kingdom with a dagger of lath7note
, and drive all thy subjects
afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never
wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales!
P. Henry.
Why, you whoreson round man! what's
the matter?
Fal.
Are you not a coward? answer me to that; and
Poins there?
[To Poins.
P. Henry.
Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll
stab thee.
Fal.
I call thee coward! I'll see thee damn'd ere
I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound,
I could run as fast as thou canst8note
. You are strait
-- 324 --
enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your
back: Call you that, backing of your friends? A plague
upon such backing! give me them that will face me.
—Give me a cup of sack:—I am a rogue, if I drunk
to-day.
P. Henry.
O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since
thou drunk'st last.
Fal.
All's one for that. A plague of all cowards,
still say I!
[He drinks.
P. Henry.
What's the matter?
Fal.
What's the matter? here be four of us have
ta'en a thousand pound this morning.
P. Henry.
Where is it, Jack? where is it?
Fal.
Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred
upon poor four of us.
P. Henry.
What, a hundred, man?
Fal.
I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a
dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scap'd by
miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet;
four, through the hose; 9note
my buckler cut through and
through; my sword hack'd like a hand-saw, ecce signum.
I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not
do. A plague of all cowards!—Let them speak:
if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains,
and the sons of darkness.
-- 325 --
P. Henry.
Speak, sirs; How was it?
Gads.
We four set upon some dozen,—
Fal.
Sixteen, at least, my lord.
Gads.
And bound them.
Peto.
No, no, they were not bound.
Fal.
You rogue, they were bound, every man of
them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew1note.
Gads.
As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh
men set upon us,—
Fal.
And unbound the rest, and then came in the
other.
P. Henry.
What, fought you with them all?
Fal.
All? I know not what you call, all; but if I
fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish:
if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old
Jack, then am I no two-legg'd creature.
Poins.
Pray heaven, you have not murder'd some
of them.
Fal.
Nay, that's past praying for; I have pepper'd
two of them: two, I am sure, I have pay'd;9Q0686 two
rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal,—if I
tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou
know'st my old ward;—here I lay, and thus I bore
my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me,—
P. Henry.
What, four? thou saidst but two, even
now.
Fal.
Four, Hal; I told thee four.
Poins.
Ay, ay, he said four.
Fal.
These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust
at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their seven
points in my target, thus.
P. Henry.
Seven? why, there were but four, even
now.
Fal.
In buckram.
-- 326 --
Poins.
Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Fal.
Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
P. Henry.
Pr'ythee, let him alone; we shall have
more anon.
Fal.
Dost thou hear me, Hal?
P. Henry.
Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Fal.
Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These
nine in buckram, that I told thee of,—
Began to give me ground: But I follow'd me
close, came-in foot and hand; and, with a thought,
seven of the eleven I pay'd.
P. Henry.
O monstrous! eleven buckram men
grown out of two!
Fal.
But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten
knaves, in 3note
Kendal green, came at my back,
-- 327 --
and let drive at me;—for it was so dark, Hal, that
thou couldst not see thy hand.
P. Henry.
These lies are like the father that begets
them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why,
thou clay-brain'd guts; thou knotty-pated fool; thou
whoreson, obscene, greasy 4note
tallow-keech,—
Fal.
What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not
the truth, the truth?
P. Henry.
Why, how could'st thou know these men
in Kendal green, when it was so dark thou could'st
not see thy hand? come, tell us your reason; What
say'st thou to this?
Poins.
Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Fal.
What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the
strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not
-- 328 --
tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion!
if reasons were as plenty as black-berries, I
would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
P. Henry.
I'll be no longer guilty of this sin; this
sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker,
this huge hill of flesh;—
you starveling, you elf-skin, you
dry'd neats-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish,—O,
for breath to utter what is like thee!—you taylor's
yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing
tuck;—
P. Henry.
Well, breathe a while, and then to it
again: and when thou hast tir'd thyself in base comparisons,
hear me speak but this.
Poins.
Mark, Jack.
P. Henry.
We two saw you four set on four; you
bound them, and were masters of their wealth.—
Mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down.—
Then did we two set on you four; and, with a word,
out-fac'd you from your prize, and have it; yea, and
can shew it you here in the house:—and, Falstaff, you
-- 329 --
carry'd your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity,
and roar'd for mercy, and still ran and roar'd,
as ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to
hack thy sword as thou hast done; and then say, it
was in fight? What trick, what device, what starting
hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this
open and apparent shame?
Poins.
Come, let's hear, Jack; What trick hast thou
now?
Fal.
By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that
made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters: Was it for me,
to kill the heir apparent? should I turn upon the
true prince? Why, thou know'st, I am as valiant as
Hercules: but beware instinct; the lion will not touch
the true prince6note
; I was
a coward on instinct. I shall think the better of myself,
and thee, during my life; I, for a valiant lion,
and thou, for a true prince. But, lads, I am
glad you have the money.—Hostess, clap to the
doors; watch to-night, pray to-morrow.—Gallants,
lads, boys, hearts of gold, All the titles of good
fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry?
shall we have a play extempore?
P. Hen.
Content;—and the argument shall be, thy
running away.
-- 330 --
Fal.
Ah! no more of that, Hal, an thou lov'st
me.
Enter Hostess.
Host.
My lord the prince,—
P. Henry.
How now, my lady the hostess? what
say'st thou to me?
Give him as much as will make him a
royal man, and send him back again to my mother.
Fal.
What manner of man is he?
Host.
An old man.
Fal.
What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight?
—Shall I give him his answer?
P. Henry.
Pr'ythee, do, Jack.
Fal.
Faith, and I'll send him packing.
[Exit.
P. Henry.
Now, sirs; by'r-lady, you fought fair;—
so did you, Peto;—so did you, Bardolph: you are
lions too, you ran away upon instinct, you will not
touch the true prince; no,—fie!
-- 331 --
Bard.
'Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
P. Henry.
Tell me now in earnest, How came Falstaff's
sword so hack'd?
Peto.
Why, he hack'd it with his dagger; and said,
he would swear truth out of England, but he would
make you believe it was done in fight; and persuaded
us to do the like.
Bard.
Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass9note,
to make them bleed; and then to beslubber our garments
with it, and swear it was 1notethe blood of true
men. I did that I did not these seven year before,
I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.
P. Henry.
O villain, thou stol'st a cup of sack
eighteen years ago, and wert 2note
taken with the manner,
-- 332 --
and ever since thou hast blush'd extempore:
Thou hadst3note
fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou
ran'st away; What instinct hadst thou for it?
Bard.
My lord, do you see these meteors? do you
behold these exhalations?
Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How
now, my sweet creature of 6note
bombast? How long is't
ago, Jack, since thou saw'st thine own knee?
-- 333 --
Fal.
My own knee? when I was about thy years,
Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; 7note
I could
have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring: A plague
of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder.
There's villainous news abroad: here was sir
John Braby8note from your father; you must to the
court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the
north, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amaimon
the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore
the devil his true liegeman 9note
[unresolved image link]
upon the cross of a
Welsh hook,—What, a plague, call you him?—
-- 334 --
Poins.
O, Glendower.
Fal.
Owen, Owen; the same;—and his son-in-law
Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that
sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o'horseback
up a hill perpendicular.
Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he
will not run.
P. Henry.
Why, what a rascal art thou then, to
praise him so for running?
Fal.
O'horseback, ye cuckow! but, afoot, he will
not budge a foot.
P. Henry.
Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Fal.
I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there
too, and one Mordake, and a thousand 2noteblue-caps
more: Worcester is stolen away by night; thy father's
beard is turn'd white with the news3note
; 4noteyou may buy
land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.
P. Henry.
Then, 'tis like, if there come a hot June,
and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads
as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.
Fal.
By the mass, lad, thou say'st true; it is like,
we shall have good trading that way.—But, tell me,
Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou being heir apparent,
could the world pick thee out three such
-- 336 --
enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit
Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly
afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?
P. Henry.
Not a whit, i'faith; I lack some of thy
instinct.
Fal.
Well, thou wilt be horribly child to-morrow,
when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me,
practise an answer.
Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy
golden scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious
rich crown for a pitiful bald crown!
-- 337 --
Fal.
Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of
thee; now shalt thou be moved.—Give me a cup of
sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be
thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and
I will do it in 9note
Fal.
Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
Host.
O the father, how he holds his countenance!
Fal.
For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen,
For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes2note
.
Host.
O rare! he doth it as like one of these harlotry
players3note, as I ever see.
Fal.
Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain4note
.
-- 338 --
—5noteHarry, I do not only marvel where thou
spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied:
for 6note
though the camomile, the more it is trodden
on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is
wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I
have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion;
but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine eye, and a
foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant
me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point;—
Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall
the blessed sun of heaven9Q0688 prove 7note
a micher, and eat
-- 339 --
black-berries? a question not to be ask'd. Shall the
son of England prove a thief, and take purses? a
question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which
thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in
our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient
writers do report, doth defile;9Q0689 so doth the company
thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee
in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion;
not in words only, but in woes also:—And yet there is
a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company,
but I know not his name.
P. Henry.
What manner of man, an it like your
majesty?
Fal.
A goodly portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent;
of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most
noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty,
or, by'r-lady, inclining to threescore; and now I
remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man
should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry,
I see virtue in his looks. 8note
If then the fruit may be
known by the tree, as the tree by the fruit, then, peremptorily
-- 340 --
I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff:
him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now,
thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been
this month?
P. Henry.
Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou
stand for me, and I'll play my father.
Fal.
Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely,
so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up
by the heels for a 9note
rabbet-sucker, or a poulter's hare.
P. Henry.
Well, here I am set.
Fal.
And here I stand:—judge, my masters.
P. Henry.
Now, Harry? whence come you?
Fal.
My noble lord, from East-cheap.
P. Henry.
The complaints I hear of thee are
grievous.
Fal.
'Sblood, my lord, they are false:—nay, I'll
tickle ye for a young prince, i'faith.
P. Henry.
Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth
ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried
away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee, in the
likeness of a fat old man; a tun of man is thy companion.
-- 341 --
Why dost thou converse with that trunk of
humours, that 1note
bolting-hutch of beastliness, that
swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack,
that stuft cloak-bag of guts, that roasted 2note
Manning-tree
ox with the pudding in his belly9Q0691, that reverend
vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that
vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste
sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to
carve a capon and eat it? wherein 3notecunning, but in
craft? wherein crafty, but in villainy? wherein villainous,
but in all things? wherein worthy, but in
nothing?
That villainous abominable mis-leader of
youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.
Fal.
My lord, the man I know.
P. Henry.
I know, thou dost.
Fal.
But to say, I know more harm in him than
in myself, were to say more than I know. That he
is old, (the more the pity) his white hairs do witness
-- 342 --
it: but that he is (saving your reverence) a whore-master,
that I utterly deny. 5note
If sack and sugar be
a fault, God help the wicked! if to be old and
merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is
damn'd: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's
lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord;
banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for
sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff,
valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant,
being as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him
thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's
company; banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.
-- 343 --
P. Henry.
I do, I will.
[Knocking; and Hostess and Bardolph go out.Re-enter Bardolph, running.
Bar.
O, my lord, my lord; the sheriff, with a most
monstrous watch, is at the door.
Fal.
Out, you rogue! play out the play: I have
much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.
Re-enter Hostess.
Host.
O, my lord, my lord!—
Fal.
Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddle-stick6note
:
What's the matter?
Host.
The sheriff and all the watch are at the door:
they are come to search the house; Shall I let them
in?
Fal.
Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece
of gold, a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without
seeming so.
P. Henry.
And thou a natural coward, without instinct.
Fal.
I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff,
so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a cart as
well as another man, a plague on my bringing up! I
hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a halter, as
another.
rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true
face, and a good conscience.
Fal.
Both which I have had: but their date is out,
and therefore I'll hide me.
[Exeunt Falstaff, Bardolph, Gads-hill, and Peto; manent Prince and Poins.
P. Henry.
Call in the sheriff.—
Enter Sheriff, and Carrier.
Now, master sheriff; what's your will with me?
Sher.
First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.
P. Henry.
What men?
Sher.
One of them is well known, my gracious lord;
A gross fat man.
Car.
As fat as butter.
P. Hen. 8noteThe man, I do assure you, is not here;
For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
And, sheriff, I engage my word to thee,
-- 345 --
That I will, by to-morrow dinner-time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he shall be charg'd withal:
And so let me intreat you leave the house.
Sher.
I will, my lord: There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
P. Hen.
It may be so: if he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable; and so, farewel.
Sher.
Good night, my noble lord.
P. Henry.
I think, it is good morrow; Is it not?
Sher.
Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. [Exit.
P. Henry.
This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's:
9note
Go, call him forth.
Poins.
Falstaff!—fast asleep behind the arras, and
snorting like a horse.
P. Henry.
Hark how hard he fetches breath;
Search his pockets.
[He searches his pockets, and finds certain papers.
What hast thou found?
Poins.
Nothing but papers, my lord.
P. Henry.
Let's see what they be: read them.
Poins.
Item, a capon, 2s. 2d.
-- 346 --
Item, Sauce, 4d. Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. Item, Bread, a halfpenny.
P. Henry.
O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth
of bread to this intolerable deal of sack!—What there
is else, keep close; we'll read it at more advantage:
there let him sleep 'till day. I'll to the court in the
morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place shall
be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of
foot; and, 1note
I know, his death will be a march of
twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again,
with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning;
and so good morrow, Poins.
