Falst.

Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry, fill me a Bottle of Sack, our Souldiers shall march through: we'll to Sutton-cop-hill to Night.

Bard.

Will you give me Money, Captain?

Falst.

Lay out, lay out.

Bard.

This Bottle makes an Angel.

Falst.

And if it do, take it for thy labour: And if it make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the Coynage. Bid my Lieutenant Peto meet me at the Towns end.

Bard.

I will Captain: farewell.

Falst.

If I be not asham'd of my Souldiers, I am a sowc't Gurnet: I have mis-us'd the Kings Press damnably. I have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty Souldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me none but good House-holders, Yeomens Sons: enquire me out contracted Batchelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the Banes: such a Commodity of warm Slaves, as had as lieve hear the Devil, as a Drum; such as fear the report of a Caliver, worse than a struck-Fool, or a hurt Wild-Duck. I prest me none but such Tostes and Butter, with hearts in their Bellies no bigger than Pins heads, and they have bought out their Services: And now my whole Charge consists of Ancients, Corporals, Lieutenants, Gentlemen of Companies, Slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the painted Cloth, where the Gluttons Dogs licked his Sores; and such as indeed were never Souldiers, but dis-carded unjust Servingmen, younger Sons to younger Brothers: Revolted Tapsters and Ostlers, Trade-faln, the Cankers of a calm World, and long Peace, ten times more dishonourable, ragged, than an old-fac'd Ancient; and such have I to fill up the Rooms of them that have bought out their Services: That you would think, that I had a hundred and fifty tatter'd Prodigals, lately come from Swine-keeping, from eating Draff and Husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the Gibbets, and prest the dead Bodies. No eye hath seen such Skar-Crows: I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the Villains march wide betwixt the Legs, as if they had Gyves on; for indeed, I had the most of them out of Prison. There's not a Shirt and a half in all my Company: and the half Shirt is two Napkins tack'd together, and thrown over the Shoulders like a Heralds Coat, without sleeves: And the Shirt, to say the truth, stoln from my Host of S. Albans; or the Red-Nose Inn-keeper of Dayntry. But that's all one, they'l find Linnen enough on every Hedge.

Prince.

How now, blown Jack? how now, Quilt?

Falst.

What, Hal? How now, mad Wag, what a Devil do'st thou in Warwick-shire? My good Lord of Westmerland, I cry you mercy, I thought your Honour had already been at Shrewsbury.

West.

'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there, and you too: But my Powers are there already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us all: we must away all to Night.

Falst.

Tut, never fear me, I am as vigilant as a Cat, to steal Cream.

Prince.

I think to steal Cream indeed, for thy theft hath already made thee Butter: But tell me, Jack, whose Fellows are these that come after?

Falst.

Mine, Hal, mine.

Prince.

I did never see such pitiful Rascals.

Falst.

Tut, tut, good enough to toss: food for Powder, food for Powder: they'll fill a Pit, as well as better: tush Man, mortal Men, mortal Men.

Westm.

I, but Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and bare, too beggarly.

Fal.

Faith, for their poverty, I know not where they had that; and for their bareness, I am sure they never learn'd that of me.

Prin.

No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the Ribs, bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy is already in the Field.

Falst.

What, is the King encamp'd?

West.

He is, John, I fear we shall stay too long.

Falst.

Well, to the latter end of a Fray, and the beginning of a Feast, fits a dull Fighter, and a keen Guest.