Offic.

There, good friar, thou hast it: it would indeed little conduce to raise the king's wisdom in the general estimation of the world, to have it thought in the power of such unworthy men as Falstaff and his fellows, to lead him implicitly into all those extravagances under which the character of his youth suffer'd: and yet so it would go near to be suspected, if his highness should now act towards them with an ill-tim'd severity.

Friar.

Son, well observ'd: I commend, therefore, my Lord-chief-justice's prudence, in treating their wickedness

as infirmity, and will readily undertake to commune with them, on the grievous enormity of their dissolute lives. I have already a goodly penitent in a fair she-companion of his highness.

Offic.

A she-companion! who is that?

Friar.

I may not tell her name, unless indeed to a friend, under the veil of secresy. Thou knew'st Ned Poins: he has a sister—

Offic.

A fav'rite of the prince, belike. I never heard of this before; his highness then, it seems, had discretion in his wildness.

Friar.

This wench is also of such good accomplishments, that 'tis no wonder he should pay her deference.

Offic.

Nay, it appears the king held Poins in less disdain than any of his fellows, by his providing him with an honourable post, unless—

Friar.

Yet this thou seest he has done prudently, by placing him at distance from his person.

Offic.

That's true; and yet, for all that, if one might whisper the truth, Poins is perhaps more indebted, for his preferment, to his sister's beauty, than his own deserts.

Friar.

With this we've naught to do. Let us not hint at censure now; having so just cause, from his highness's sudden reformation, to be thankful that England is so well king'd.

Offic.

Therefore, good father Paul, to the business in hand.—My Lord-chief-justice would have you begin with Sir John Falstaff, the captain-general and ring-leader of this vicious troop. If you can dispose him to any good, something may be hoped for in the rest.

Friar.

I will use the means; and yet that Falstaff has been untoward from his youth up. I knew him, when a boy and page to Mowbray, duke of Norfolk; even then he surpassed in roguery all the unlucky pages about the court. For indeed he had a shrewd wit: but what a miserable use he has made of it!—Well, heav'n pardon him.

Offic.

And convert him too, good father.

Friar.

Amen to that. But, pray, where am I to find this wicked knight? I am told he is seldom out of some house of carnal recreation: must I teach morality in a bawdy-house?

Offic.

There are few places, father, where it is more wanting.

Friar.

But the honour of my function—I may perhaps be indecently insulted.

Offic.

Of that you need not be afraid. The eye of the law is on them, and they will no doubt stand on their good behaviour; being sensible it is only through the lenity of my Lord-chief-justice, that the king's order of banishment is not rigorously executed against them.

Friar.

I will attend these reprobates.

Offic.

His Lordship would have you bring Falstaff over to retire into a monastery, if possible; but thou wilt see what may best be done with him; and on thy report his Lordship's farther pleasure will be known. Farewel, good father, I will see thee again at the priory.

Friar.

God be with you, Son.