Fal.

Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a

pepper-corn, ^{5 note}

Bard.

Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Fal.

Why, there is it:—come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore little; dic'd, not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter—of an hour; paid money that I borrow'd, three or four times; liv'd well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

Bard.

Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, sir John.

Fal.

Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lanthorn in the poop,—but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art ^{6 note}

Bard.

Why, sir John, my face does you no harm.

Fal.

No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning.—If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire^{7 note}: but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou had'st been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wild-fire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches^{8 note}

Bard.

'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!

Fal.

God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burn'd.

How now, ^{1 note}dame Partlet the hen? have you enquir'd yet, who pick'd my pocket?

Host.

Why, sir John! what do you think, sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have search'd, I have enquir'd, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before.

Fal.

You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shav'd, and lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was pick'd: Go to, you are a woman, go.

Host.

Who I? I defy thee: I was never call'd so in mine own house before.

Fal.

Go to, I know you well enough.

Host.

No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back.

Fal.

Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them.

Host.

Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings; and money lent you, four and twenty pounds.

Fal.

He had his part of it; let him pay.

Host.

He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.

Fal.

How! poor? look upon his face; ^{2 note}What call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make ^{3 note}

mine inn, but I shall have my pocket pick'd? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark.

Host.

O, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that the ring was copper.

Fal.

How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and,

if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so.

Fal.

How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith? must we all march?

Bard.

Yea, two and two, ^{5 note}Newgate-fashion.

Host.

My lord, I pray you, hear me.

P. Henry.

What say'st thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honest man.

Host.

Good my lord, hear me.

Fal.

Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me.

P. Henry.

What say'st thou, Jack?

Fal.

The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket pick'd: this house is turn'd bawdy-house, they pick pockets.

P. Henry.

What didst thou lose, Jack?

Fal.

Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's.

P. Henry.

A trifle, some eight-penny matter.

Host.

So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd man as he is; and said, he would cudgel you.

P. Henry.

What! he did not?

Host.

There's neither faith, truth, nor woman-hood in me else.

Fal.

^{6 note}

prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in ^{7 note}

Host.

Say, what thing? what thing?

Fal.

What thing? why, a thing to thank God on.

Host.

I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou should'st know it; I am an honest man's wife: and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so.

Fal.

Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.

Host.

Say, what beast, thou knave thou?

Fal.

What beast? why, an otter.

P. Henry.

An otter, sir John? why an otter?

Fal.

Why? she's neither fish, nor flesh^{9 note}; a man knows not where to have her.

Host.

Thou art an unjust man in saying so; thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou!

P. Henry.

Thou say'st true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.

Host.

So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound.

P. Henry.

Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

Fal.

A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million; thou ow'st me thy love.

Host.

Nay, my lord, he call'd you Jack, and said, he would cudgel you.

Fal.

Did I, Bardolph?

Bard.

Indeed, sir John, you said so.

Fal.

Yea; if he said, my ring was copper.

P. Henry.

I say, 'tis copper: Dar'st thou be as good as thy word now?

Fal.

Why, Hal, thou know'st, as thou art but man, I dare: but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp.

P. Henry.

And why not, as the lion?

Fal.

The king himself is to be fear'd as the lion: Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an if I do, let my girdle break!9Q0706

P. Henry.

O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine; it is all fill'd up with guts, and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, ^{1 note}imboss'd rascal, if there were any thing in

thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded; if thy pocket were enrich'd with any other injuries but these^{2 note}, I am a villain. ^{3 note}And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not asham'd?

Fal.

Dost thou hear, Hal? thou know'st, in the state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? Thou seest, I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty.—You confess then, you pick'd my pocket?

P. Henry.

It appears so by the story.

Fal.

Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, and cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest, I am pacify'd.—Still?—Nay, I pr'ythee, be gone.

Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad,—How is that answer'd?

P. Henry.

O my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee:—The money is paid back again.

Fal.

O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour.

P. Henry.

I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing.

Fal.

Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou do'st, and ^{4 note}

Bard.

Do, my lord.

P. Henry.

I have procur'd thee, Jack, a charge of foot.

Fal.

I would, it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of two and twenty, or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous; I laud them, I praise them.

P. Henry.
Bardolph,—

Bard.
My lord.

P. Henry.
Go bear this letter to lord John of Lancaster,
My brother John; this to my lord of Westmoreland.—
Go, ^{5 note}

Fal.
Rare words! brave world!—Hostess, my breakfast; come:—
O, I could wish, this tavern were my drum! [Exit.

Previous section