Fal.

What's your name, sir? of what condition are you; and of what place, I pray?

^{4 note}

I am a knight, sir; and my name is—Colevile of the dale.

Fal.

Well then, Colevile is your name; a knight is your degree; and your place, the dale: Colevile shall still be your name; a traitor your degree; and the dungeon your place,—a place deep enough; so shall you still be Colevile of the dale^{5 note}.

Cole.

Are not you sir John Falstaff?

Fal.

As good a man as he, sir, whoe'er I am. Do ye yield, sir? or shall I sweat for you? If I do sweat, they are drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy death: therefore rouse up fear and trembling, and do observance to my mercy.

Cole.

I think, you are sir John Falstaff; and, in that thought, yield me.

Fal.

I have a whole school of tongues in this belly of mine; and not a tongue of them all speaks any other word but my name. An I had but a belly of any indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in Europe: My womb, my womb, my womb undoes me.—Here comes our general.

Lan.
^{6 note}The heat is past, follow no farther now;—
Call in the powers, good cousin Westmoreland.— [Exit West.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come:—
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some gallows' back.

Fal.

I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus: I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the reward of valour. Do you think me a swallow,

an arrow, or a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition of thought? I have speeded hither with the very extremest inch of possibility; I have founder'd nine-score and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I am, have, in my pure and immaculate valour, taken sir John Colevile of the dale, a most furious knight, and valorous enemy: But what of that? he saw me, and yielded; that I may justly say with the ^{7 note}hook-nos'd fellow of Rome,—I came, saw, and overcame.

Lan.

It was more of his courtesy than your deserving.

Fal.

I know not; here he is, and here I yield him: and I beseech your grace, let it be book'd with the rest of this day's deeds; or, by the lord, I will have it in a particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top of it, Colevile kissing my foot: To the which course if I be enforced, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pences to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine you as much as the full moon doth the cinders of the element, which shew like pins' heads to her; believe not the word of the noble: Therefore let me have right, and let desert mount.

Lan.

Thine's too heavy to mount.

Fal.

Let it shine then.

Lan.

Thine's too thick to shine.

Fal.

Let it do something, my good lord, that may do me good, and call it what you will.

Lan.
Is thy name Colevile?

Cole.
It is, my lord.

Lan.
A famous rebel art thou, Colevile.

Fal.
And a famous true subject took him.

Cole.
I am, my lord, but as my betters are,

That led me hither: had they been rul'd by me,
You should have won them dearer than you have.

Fal.

I know not how they sold themselves: but thou, like a kind fellow, gav'st thyself away; and I thank thee for thee.

Lan.
Have you left pursuit?

West.
Retreat is made, and execution stay'd.

Lan.
Send Colevile, with his confederates,
To York, to present execution.—
Blunt, lead him hence; and see you guard him sure. [Exeunt some with Colevile.
And now dispatch we toward the court, my lords;
I hear, the king my father is sore sick:
Our news shall go before us to his majesty,—
Which, cousin, you shall bear,—to comfort him;
And we with sober speed will follow you.

Fal.

My lord, I beseech you, give me leave to go through Glostershire: and, when you come to court, ^{8 note}

Lan.
Fare you well, Falstaff: ^{9 note}

Fal.

I would, you had but the wit; 'twere better than your dukedom.—Good faith, ^{1 note}this same young sober-blooded boy doth not love me; nor a man cannot make him laugh;—but that's no marvel, he drinks no wine. There's never any of these demure boys come to any proof: for thin drink doth so over-cool their blood, and making many fish-meals, that they fall into a kind of male green-sickness; and then, when they marry, they get wenches: they are generally fools and cowards;—which some of us should be too, but for inflammation. A good ^{2 note}sherris-sack hath a two-fold operation in it. It ascends me into the brain; dries me there all the foolish, and dull, and crudy vapours^{3 note} which environ it: makes it apprehensive^{4 note}

Enter Bardolph.

How now, Bardolph?

Bard.

The army is discharged all, and gone.

Fal.

Let them go. I'll through Glocestershire; and there will I visit master Robert Shallow, esquire: ^{8 note}