Bard.

I have been looking all about, Sir John, but I cannot find one.

Quick.

What is it Sir John wants, Mr. Bardolph?

Bar.

A bawdy-house, mistress.

Quick.

O Jesu-Maria! Mrs. Dorothy.

Fal.

How, sirrah! did not I send thee to look out for a house of civil entertainment, where I might repose myself after my fatigue? What, you rogue, would you make of me, here, before these superabundantly-virtuous gentlewomen?

Quick.

Yes, indeed, Sir John, and so to be sure we are: for, in good sooth, no-body need be asham'd of their

civilities to your honour's knighthood. And as to a house of civil entertainment, Sir John; here is one hard by, where the knights and lords, and all the great gentlemen of the court, are entertained, both by night and by day, as civilly as at their own homes; and by gentlewomen as kind to them, I warrant ye, as their own ladies themselves.—A house of civil entertainment, a bawdy-house truly! Why, I keep a house of civility myself, and I would have you to know Mr. Bardolph—

Bar.

Nay, nay, 'tis all one: what Sir John pleases.

Quick.

Yes, by my truly, and so I think it ought, for if Sir John recommends you to the king.—

Dol.

Nay, were I Sir John, I'm sure I would never promote such a clown as Bardolph at court.

Bar.

Ah! Dol, Dol, I am afraid our promotion will be at the gallows. If Sir John has any interest with the hangman, he may get me preferr'd, perhaps, to the top of the ladder.

Dol.

Why, how now, varlet?

Quick.

Do you hear? do you hear, sweet Sir John?

Fal.

Ay hostess, Bardolph is somewhat blunt: but, as for the king—

Quick.

Heav'ns bless him! a sweet young prince he was; and, to be sure, a gracious king he is. But what of him, Sir John?

Fal.

Why, marry,—hang him, hostess—Treason must out as well as murder.

Quick.

I am 'maz'd Sir John; why, how is this? what a goodness! when—where—

Dol.

How is this, good Bardolph?

Fal.

Why, I will tell ye how it is. That same ungrateful, sneaking, pitiful rascal, we are speaking of, is turn'd fanatick.

Quick.

Fanatick! the king a fanatick!

Fal.

Ay, fanatick, presbyter, bishop, if you will. Let his crown be his mitre; I care not.

Dol.

We don't take your meaning, Sir John.

Fal.

You must know then, Dol, that after having, in pure love and affection, ridden post day and night fourscore and odd miles, to congratulate him on his accession, and condole with him on his father's death; instead of

bidding me welcome to court, he preach'd me my own funeral sermon.

Quick.

A funeral sermon!

Fal.

Ay, hostess: for at the end of his discourse he order'd me to be buried alive, at ten miles distance from the court. And, to make this unnatural interment the surer, he has appointed my Lord-chief-justice his undertaker, to see to the disposal of my corpse.

Quick.

Buried alive, quoth he! what, what is in all this?

Fal.

In plain terms, dame Quickly, your gracious king hath banish'd me the presence; and, till he grows a graceless prince again, I am forbidden to approach his person, within ten miles, on penalty of being hang'd. Take ye me now?

Quick.

O Jesu! is it possitable?

Dol.

Ah, ha! is it so? sits the wind in that quarter?

Quick.

Well, as I am an honest woman, who would have thought it? it is a world to see!

Dol.

And so, Sir John is in disgrace; still plain Jack Falstaff and one of us! ha! ha! ha! poor blown Jack!

Quick.

A sad disappointment, indeed, Sir John! but, in good faith, things fall out so odd, and the world goes so wrong, and the times are so hard; that here, there, why, no longer ago now than yesterday, was I obliged to pay the lord-knows-what-all away for one thing or other: and then my misfortune to day; an angel to the constables; and beside this comes the day after to morrow, when I must make up a sum for the wine-merchant: wherefore if your honour would but discharge your score in East-cheap; because, as why, your honour knows—

Fal.

How's this, dame Quickly?

Quick.

Because, I say, as why, your honour knows, seventy odd pound is a great deal of money for a poor widow woman to lose.

Fal.

What talk you of losing, hostess?

Quick.

True, Sir John, as you say, to be sure, I shall not be willing to lose it: for the law is open, and I know which way to get my money.

Fal.

I am glad thou dost hostess: as in that case I need not give myself the trouble to pay thee. The law is open, say'st thou? Ay, like a mouse-trap, on the catch for nibbling clients. Enter thy action, and I will hold thee a gallon of sack, thy departed husband will get out of purgatory ere thou out of the hands of thy lawyer.

Quick.

Nay, Sir John, you need not twit me upon that. You need not fling my poor husband's soul in my teeth. He has not been gone so long; tho' for the matter of that, he might have been in heav'n before now, hadn't I lent you the money Mr. Dumb should have had to say masses for him. Yes, Sir John, you have put into that great belly of yours what should have got my poor husband out of purgatory, and now you reproach me for it. Had he been still alive you would not have us'd his disconsolate widow thus. You wouldn't. Sir John.

Fal.

No, I'll be sworn I should not.

Quick.

Well then, Sir John, out of charity, if it were nothing else, you ought to repay the money. Nay, if you don't, I'll pray night and day that you may be haunted by his ghost. Heav'n rest his soul. I would he might never sleep quietly in his grave, till he has made you pay me.

Fal.

Go to, thou art a foolish woman: with good words thou mayst be paid.

Quick.

No, Sir John, good words will not do. I must have money Sir John. The priests won't get a soul out of purgatory without money. Besides, Sir John, good words are no payment, I can get no body to take them: good words will not do with me.

Fal.

Well, well, I say you may be paid—

Quick.

May! Sir John, I must.—You have thus shuffled off and on me, a good while; but I must, I must be paid, I must—

Fal.

Heigh! heigh! wilt thou raise the neighbourhood upon us? If thou art clamorous, I will have thee duck'd in the Thames, for a bawd. What, a-plague, art thou drunk? A good-natur'd wench, as thou art, if it were not for thy shrill tongue and vixen humours. On the honour of my knighthood thou shalt be paid. Dost thou doubt mine honour?

Quick.

Why, Sir John, to be sure, no-body would scruple to confide in your honour's honour: but then you know Sir John (no-body better) what honour is. It will buy neither coals nor candles; nor will my landlord take it for rent, nor the merchant for sack or sherry. But would you give me only the half in money, and leave the rest to honour; so that a body might keep open house, Sir John. That would be doing something.

Fal.

Nay, if thou wilt be advis'd, I will do more for thee.—Bardolph! forget not to go (when I send thee) to the cashier, with whom I left a thousand pound this morning, and tell him to satisfy Mrs. Quickly forthwith.

Quick.

A thousand pound!

Fal.

The times are not so bad, hostess (thanks to our friend Shallow) but we may yet have a merry bout in East-cheap. —How says my Dol?

Dol.

Nay, you know, sweet Jack, I was always at your pleasure there.

Quick.

That I will say for her, and a sweeter-natur'd better hearted creature never lay by the side of a true man. But, goodness heart! why do we tarry here, when Sir John complain'd of his being fatigued, and was looking for a house of civil entertainment? I will shew you the way incontinently, Sir John.

Fal.

I thank thee, hostess; I am now somewhat recruited, and will endeavour to reach Eastcheap. And yet a cup of sack, by the way, I think, would not be amiss. Let us in.