Scœna Prima. Enter Hostesse, with two Officers, Fang, and Snare.

Hostesse.
Mr. Fang, haue you entred the Action?

Fang.
It is enter'd.

Hostesse.
Wher's your Yeoman? Is it a lusty yeoman?
Will he stand to it?

Fang.

Sirrah, where's Snare?

Hostesse.

I, I, good M. Snare.

Snare.

Heere, heere.

Fang.

Snare, we must Arrest Sir Iohn Falstaffe.

Host.

I good M. Snare, I haue enter'd him, and all.

Sn.

It may chance cost some of vs our liues: he wil stab

Hostesse.

Alas the day: take heed of him: he stabd me in mine owne house, and that most beastly: he cares not what mischeefe he doth, if his weapon be out. Hee will foyne like any diuell, he will spare neither man, woman, nor childe.

Fang.

If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.

Hostesse.

No, nor I neither: Ile be at your elbow.

Fang.

If I but fist him once: if he come but within my Vice.

Host.

I am vndone with his going: I warrant he is an infinitiue thing vpon my score. Good M. Fang hold him sure: good M. Snare let him not scape, he comes continuantly to Py-Corner (sauing your manhoods) to buy a saddle, and hee is indited to dinner to the Lubbars head in Lombardstreet, to M. Smoothes the Silkman. I pra'ye, since my Exion is enter'd, and my Case so openly known tothe world, let him be brought in to his answer: A 100. Marke is a long one, for a poore lone woman to beare: & I haue borne, and borne, and borne, and haue bin fub'doff, and fub'd-off, from this day to that day, that it is a shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing, vnles a woman should be made an Asse and a Beast, to beare euery Knaues wrong.

Yonder he comes, and that arrant Malmesey-Nose Bardolfe with him. Do your Offices, do your offices: M. Fang, & M. Snare, do me, do me, do me your Offices.

Fal.

How now? whose Mare's dead? what's the matter?

Fang.

Sir Iohn, I arrest you, at the suit of Mist. Quickly.

Falst.

Away Varlets, draw Bardolfe: Cut me off the Villaines head: throw the Queane in the Channel.

Host.

Throw me in the channell? Ile throw thee there. Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue. Murder, murder, O thou Hony-suckle villaine, wilt thou kill Gods officers, and the Kings? O thou hony-seed Rogue, thou art a honyseed, a Man-queller, and a woman-queller.

Falst.

Keep them off, Bardolfe.

Fang.

A rescu, a rescu.

Host.

Good people bring a rescu. Thou wilt not? thou wilt not? Do, do thou Rogue: Do thou Hempseed.

Page.

Away you Scullion, you Rampallian, you Fustillirian: Ile tucke your Catastrophe.

Iust.

What's the matter? Keepe the Peace here, hoa.

Host.

Good my Lord be good to mee. I beseech you stand to me.

Ch. Iust.
How now sir Iohn? What are you brauling here?
Doth this become your place, your time, and businesse?
You should haue bene well on your way to Yorke.
Stand from him Fellow; wherefore hang'st vpon him?

Host.

Oh my most worshipfull Lord, and't please your Grace, I am a poore widdow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.

Ch. Iust.

For what summe?

Host.

It is more then for some (my Lord) it is for all: all I haue, he hath eaten me out of house and home; hee hath put all my substance into that fat belly of his: but I will haue some of it out againe, or I will ride thee o'Nights, like the Mare.

Falst.

I thinke I am as like to ride the Mare, if I haue any vantage of ground, to get vp.

Ch: Iust.

How comes this, Sir Iohn? Fy, what a man of good temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? Are you not asham'd to inforce a poore Widdowe to so rough a course, to come by her owne?

Falst.

What is the grosse summe that I owe thee?

Host.

Marry (if thou wer't an honest man) thy selfe, & the mony too. Thou didst sweare to mee vpon a parcell gilt Goblet, sitting in my Dolphin-chamber at the round table, by a sea-cole fire, on Wednesday in Whitson week, when the Prince broke thy head for lik'ning him to a singing man of Windsor; Thou didst sweare to me then (as I was washing thy wound) to marry me, and make mee my Lady thy wife. Canst y^u deny it? Did not goodwife Keech the Butchers wife come in then, and cal me gossip Quickly? comming in to borrow a messe of Vinegar: telling vs, she had a good dish of Prawnes: whereby y^u didst desire to eat some: whereby I told thee they were ill for a greene wound? And didst not thou (when she was gone downe staires) desire me to be no more familiar with such poore people, saying, that ere long they should call me Madam? And didst y^u not kisse me, and bid mee fetch thee 30.s? I put thee now to thy Book-oath, deny it if thou canst?

Fal.

My Lord, this is a poore mad soule: and she sayes vp & downe the town, that her eldest fon is like you. She hath bin in good case, & the truth is, pouerty hath distracted her: but for these foolish Officers, I beseech you, I may haue redresse against them.

Iust.

Sir Iohn, sir Iohn, I am well acquainted with your maner of wrenching the true cause, the false way. It is not a confident brow, nor the throng of wordes, that come with such (more then impudent) sawcines from you, can thrust me from a leuell consideration, I know you ha' practis'd vpon the easie-yeelding spirit of this woman.

Host.

Yes in troth my Lord.

Iust.

Prethee peace: pay her the debt you owe her, and vnpay the villany you haue done her: the one you maydo with sterling mony, & the other with currant repentance.

Fal.

My Lord, I will not vndergo this sneape without reply. You call honorable Boldnes, impudent Sawcinesse: If a man wil curt'sie, and say nothing, he is vertuous: No, my Lord (your humble duty rem&ebar;bred) I will not be your sutor. I say to you, I desire deliu'rance from these Officers being vpon hasty employment in the Kings Affaires.

Iust.

You speake, as hauing power to do wrong: But answer in the effect of your Reputation, and satisfie the poore woman.

Falst.

Come hither Hostesse.

Ch. Iust.

Now Master Gower; What newes?

Gow.
The King (my Lord) and Henrie Prince of Wales
Are neere at hand: The rest the Paper telles.

Falst.

As I am a Gentleman.

Host.

Nay, you said so before.

Fal.

As I am a Gentleman. Come, no more words of it

Host.

By this Heauenly ground I tread on, I must be faine to pawne both my Plate, and the Tapistry of my dyning Chambers.

Fal.

Glasses, glasses, is the onely drinking: and for thy walles a pretty slight Drollery, or the Storie of the Prodigall, or the Germane hunting in Waterworke, is worih a thousand of these Bed-hangings, and these Fly-bitten Tapistries. Let it be tenne pound (if thou canst.) Come, if it were not for thy humors, there is not a better Wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw thy Action: Come, thou must not bee in this humour with me, come, I know thou was't set on to this.

Host.

Prethee (Sir Iohn) let it be but twenty Nobles, I loath to pawne my Plate, in good earnest la.

Fal.

Let it alone, Ile make other shift: you'l be a fool still.

Host.

Well, you shall haue it although I pawne my Gowne. I hope you'l come to Supper: You'l pay me altogether?

Fal.

Will I liue? Go with her, with her: hooke-on, hooke-on.

Host.

Will you haue Doll Teare-sheet meet you at supper?

Fal.

No more words. Let's haue her.

Ch. Iust.

I haue heard bitter newes.

Fal.

What's the newes (my good Lord?)

Ch. Iu.

Where lay the King last night?

Mes.

At Basingstoke my Lord.

Fal.

I hope (my Lord) all's well. What is the newes my Lord?

Ch. Iust.
Come all his Forces backe?

Mes.
No: Fifteene hundred Foot, fiue hundred Horse
Are march'd vp to my Lord of Lancaster,
Against Northumberland, and the Archbishop.

Fal.
Comes the King backe from Wales, my noble L?

Ch. Iust.
You shall haue Letters of me presently.
Come, go along with me, good M. Gowre.

Fal.
My Lord.

Ch. Iust.
What's the matter?

Fal.

Master Gowre, shall I entreate you with mee to dinner?

Gow.
I must waite vpon my good Lord heere.
I thanke you, good Sir Iohn.

Ch. Iust.

Sir Iohn, you loyter heere too long being you are to take Souldiers vp, in Countries as you go.

Fal.

Will you sup with me, Master Gowre?

Ch. Iust.

What foolish Master taught you these manners, Sir Iohn?

Fal.

Master Gower, if they become mee not, hee was a Foole that taught them mee. This is the right Fencing grace (my Lord) tap for tap, and so part faire.

Ch. Iust.

Now the Lord lighten thee, thou art a great Foole.

Scena Secunda. Enter Prince Henry, Pointz, Bardolfe, and Page.

Prin.

Trust me, I am exceeding weary.

Poin.

Is it come to that? I had thought wearines durst not haue attach'd one of so high blood.

Prin.

It doth me: though it discolours the complexion of my Greatnesse to acknowledge it. Doth it not shew vildely in me, to desire small Beere?

Poin.

Why, a Prince should not be so loosely studied, as to remember so weake a Composition.

Prince.

Belike then, my Appetite was not Princely got: for (in troth) I do now remember the poore Creature, Small Beere. But indeede these humble considerations make me out of loue with my Greatnesse. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Or to know thy face to morrow? Or to take note how many paire of Silk stockings y^u hast? (Viz. these, and those that were thy peach-colour'd ones:) Or to beare the Inuentorie of thy shirts, as one for superfluity, and one other, for vse. But that the Tennis-Court-keeper knowes better then I, for it is a low ebbe of Linnen with thee, when thou kept'st not Racket there, as thou hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy Low Countries, haue made a shift to eate vp thy Holland.

Poin.

How ill it followes, after you haue labour'd so hard, you should talke so idlely? Tell me how many good yong Princes would do so, their Fathers lying so sicke, as yours is?

Prin.

Shall I tell thee one thing, Pointz?

Poin.

Yes: and let it be an excellent good thing.

Prin.

It shall serue among wittes of no higher breeding then thine.

Poin.

Go to: I stand the push of your one thing, that you'l tell.

Prin.

Why, I tell thee, it is not meet, that I should be sad now my Father is sicke: albeit I could tell to thee (as to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend) I could be sad, and sad indeed too.

Poin.

Very hardly, vpon such a subiect.

Prin.

Thou think'st me as farre in the Diuels Booke, as thou, and Falstaffe, for obduracie and persistencie. Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inwardly, that my Father is so sicke: and keeping such vild company as thou art, hath in reason taken from me, all ostentation of sorrow.

Poin.

The reason?

Prin.

What would'st thou think of me, if I shold weep?

Poin.

I would thinke thee a most Princely hypocrite.

Prin.

It would be euery mans thought: and thou art a blessed Fellow, to thinke as euery man thinkes: neuer a mans thought in the world, keepes the Rode-way better then thine: euery man would thinke me an Hypocrite indeede. And what accites your most worshipful thought to thinke so?

Poin.

Why, because you haue beene so lewde, and so much ingraffed to Falstaffe.

Prin.

And to thee.

Pointz.

Nay, I am well spoken of, I can heare it with mine owne eares: the worst that they can say of me is, that I am a second Brother, and that I am a proper Fellowe of my hands: and those two things I confesse I canot helpe. Looke, looke, here comes Bardolfe.

Prince.

And the Boy that I gaue Falstaffe, he had him from me Christian, and see if the fat villain haue not transform'd him Ape.

Bar.

Saue your Grace.

Prin.

And yours, most Noble Bardolfe.

Poin.

Come you pernitious Asse, you bashfull Foole, must you be blushing? Wherefore blush you now? what a Maidenly man at Armes are you become? Is it such a matter to get a Pottle-pots Maiden-head?

Page.

He call'd me euen now (my Lord) through a red Lattice, and I could discerne no part of his face from the

window: at last I spy'd his eyes, and me thought he had made two holes in the Ale-wiues new Petticoat, & peeped through.

Prin.

Hath not the boy profited?

Bar.

Away, you horson vpright Rabbet, away.

Page.

Away, you rascally Altheas dreame, away.

Prin.

Instruct vs Boy: what dreame, Boy?

Page.

Marry (my Lord) Althea dream'd, she was deliuer'd of a Firebrand, and therefore I call him hir dream.

Prince.

A Crownes-worth of good Interpretation: There it is, Boy.

Poin.

O that this good Blossome could bee kept from Cankers: Well, there is six pence to preserue thee.

Bard.

If you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallowes shall be wrong'd.

Prince.

And how doth thy Master, Bardolph?

Bar.

Well, my good Lord: he heard of your Graces comming to Towne. There's a Letter for you.

Poin.

Deliuer'd with good respect: And how doth the Martlemas, your Master?

Bard.

In bodily health Sir.

Poin.

Marry, the immortall part needes a Physitian: but that moues not him: though that bee sicke, it dyes not.

Prince.

I do allow this Wen to bee as familiar with me, as my dogge: and he holds his place, for looke you he writes.

Poin.

Letter. Iohn Falstaffe Knight: (Euery man must know that, as oft as hee hath occasion to name himselfe:) Euen like those that are kinne to the King, for they neuer pricke their finger, but they say, there is som of the kings blood spilt. How comes that (sayes he) that takes vpon him not to conceiue? the answer is as ready as a borrowed cap: I am the Kings poore Cosin, Sir.

Prince.

Nay, they will be kin to vs, but they wil fetch it from Iaphet. But to the Letter:—Sir Iohn Falstaffe, Knight, to the Sonne of the King, neerest his Father, Harrie Prince of Wales, greeting.

Poin.

Why this is a Certificate.

Prin.
Peace.
I will imitate the honourable Romaines in breuitie.

Poin.

Sure he meanes breuity in breath: short-winded.

I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leaue thee. Bee not too familiar with Pointz, for hee misuses thy Fauours so much, that he sweares thou art to marrie his Sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.

Thine, by yea and no: which is as much as to say, as thou vsest him. Iacke Falstaffe with my Familiars: Iohn with my Brothers and Sister: & Sir Iohn, with all Europe.

My Lord, I will steepe this Letter in Sack, and make him eate it.

Prin.

That's to make him eate twenty of his Words. But do you vse me thus Ned? Must I marry your Sister?

Poin.

May the Wench haue no worse Fortune. But I neuer said so.

Prin.

Well, thus we play the Fooles with the time, & the spirits of the wise, sit in the clouds, and mocke vs: Is your Master heere in London?

Bard.

Yes my Lord.

Prin.

Where suppes he? Doth the old Bore, feede in the old Franke?

Bard.

At the old place my Lord, in East-cheape.

Prin.

What Company?

Page.

Ephesians my Lord, of the old Church.

Prin.

Sup any women with him?

Page.

None my Lord, but old Mistris Quickly, and M. Doll Teare-sheet.

Prin.

What Pagan may that be?

Page.

A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswoman of my Masters.

Prin.

Euen such Kin, as the Parish Heyfors are to the Towne-Bull?

Poin.
I am your shadow, my Lord, Ile follow you.

Prin.
Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your
Master that I am yet in Towne.
There's for your silence.

Bar.
I haue no tongue, sir.

Page.
And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it.

Prin.
Fare ye well: go.
This Doll Teare-sheet should be some Rode.

Poin.

I warrant you, as common as the way betweene S. Albans, and London.

Prin.

How might we see Falstaffe bestow himselfe to night, in his true colours, and not our selues be seene?

Poin.

Put on two Leather Ierkins, and Aprons, and waite vpon him at his Table, like Drawers.

Prin.

From a God, to a Bull? A heauie declension: It was Ioues case. From a Prince, to a Prentice, a low transformation, that shall be mine: for in euery thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me Ned.

Scena Tertia. Enter Northumberland, his Ladie, and Harrie Percies Ladie.

North.
I prethee louing Wife, and gentle Daughter,
Giue an euen way vnto my rough Affaires:
Put not you on the visage of the Times,
And be like them to Percie, troublesome.

Wife.
I haue giuen ouer, I will speak no more,
Do what you will: your Wisedome, be your guide.

North.
Alas (sweet Wife) my Honor is at pawne,
And but my going, nothing can redeeme it.

La.
Oh yet, for heauens sake, go not to these Warrs;
The Time was (Father) when you broke your word,
When you were more endeer'd to it, then now,
When your owne Percy, when my heart-deere-Harry,
Threw many a Northward looke, to see his Father
Bring vp his Powres: but he did long in vaine.
Who then perswaded you to stay at home?
There were two Honors lost; Yours, and your Sonnes.
For Yours, may heauenly glory brighten it:
For His, it stucke vpon him, as the Sunne
In the gray vault of Heauen: and by his Light
Did all the Cheualrie of England moue
To do braue Acts. He was (indeed) the Glasse
Wherein the Noble-Youth did dresse themselues.
He had no Legges, that practic'd not his Gate:
And speaking thicke (which Nature made his blemish)
Became the Accents of the Valiant.
For those that could speake low, and tardily,
Would turne their owne Perfection, to Abuse,
To seeme like him. So that in Speech, in Gate,
In Diet, in Affections of delight,
In Militarie Rules, Humors of Blood,

He was the Marke, and Glasse, Coppy, and Booke,
That fashion'd others. And him, O wondrous! him,
O Miracle of Men! Him did you leaue
(Second to none) vn-seconded by you,
To looke vpon the hideous God of Warre,
In dis-aduantage, to abide a field,
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspurs Name
Did seeme defensible: so you left him.
Neuer, O neuer doe his Ghost the wrong,
To hold your Honor more precise and nice
With others, then with him. Let them alone:
The Marshall and the Arch-bishop are strong.
Had my sweet Harry had but halfe their Numbers,
To day might I (hanging on Hotspurs Necke)
Haue talk'd of Monmouth's Graue.

North.
Beshrew your heart,
(Faire Daughter) you doe draw my Spirits from me,
With new lamenting ancient Ouer-sights.
But I must goe, and meet with Danger there,
Or it will seeke me in another place,
And finde me worse prouided.

Wife.
O flye to Scotland,
Till that the Nobles, and the armed Commons,
Haue of their Puissance made a little taste.

Lady.
If they get ground, and vantage of the King,
Then ioyne you with them, like a Ribbe of Steele,
To make Strength stronger. But, for all our loues,
First let them trye themselues. So did your Sonne,
He was so suffer'd; so came I a Widow:
And neuer shall haue length of Life enough,
To raine vpon Remembrance with mine Eyes,
That it may grow, and sprowt, as high as Heauen,
For Recordation to my Noble Husband.

North.
Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my Minde
As with the Tyde, swell'd vp vnto his height,
That makes a still-stand, running neyther way.
Faine would I goe to meet the Arch-bishop,
But many thousand Reasons hold me backe.
I will resolue for Scotland: there am I,
Till Time and Vantage craue my company. Exeunt.

Scæna Quarta. Enter two Drawers.

1. Drawer.

What hast thou brought there? Apple-Iohns? Thou know'st Sir Iohn cannot endure an Apple-Iohn.

2. Draw.

Thou say'st true: the Prince once set a Dish of Apple-Iohns before him, and told him there were fiue more Sir Iohns: and, putting off his Hat, said, I will now take my leaue of these sixe drie, round, old-wither'd Knights. It anger'd him to the heart: but hee hath forgot that.

1. Draw.

Why then couer, and set them downe: and see if thou canst finde out Sneakes Noyse; Mistris Teare-sheet would faine haue some Musique.

2. Draw.

Sirrha, heere will be the Prince, and Master Points, anon: and they will put on two of our Ierkins, and Aprons, and Sir Iohn must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word.

1. Draw.

Then here will be old Vtis: it will be an excellent stratagem.

2. Draw.

Ile see if I can finde out Sneake.

Host.

Sweet-heart, me thinkes now you are in an excellent good temperalitie: your Pulsidge beates as extraordinarily, as heart would desire; and your Colour (I warrant you) is as red as any Rose: But you haue drunke too much Canaries, and that's a maruellous searching Wine; and it perfumes the blood, ere wee can say what's this. How doe you now?

Dol.

Better then I was: Hem.

Host.

Why that was well said: A good heart's worth Gold. Looke, here comes Sir Iohn.

Falst.

When Arthur first in Court—(emptie the Iordan) and was a worthy King: How now Mistris Dol?

Host.

Sick of a Calme: yea, good-sooth.

Falst.

So is all her Sect: if they be once in a Calme, they are sick.

Dol.

You muddie Rascall, is that all the comfort you giue me?

Falst.

You make fat Rascalls, Mistris Dol.

Dol.

I make them? Gluttonie and Diseases make them, I make them not.

Falst.

If the Cooke make the Gluttonie, you helpe to make the Diseases (Dol) we catch of you (Dol) we catch of you: Grant that, my poore Vertue, grant that.

Dol.

I marry, our Chaynes, and our Iewels.

Falst.

Your Brooches, Pearles, and Owches: For to serue brauely, is to come halting off: you know, to come off the Breach, with his Pike bent brauely, and to Surgerie brauely; to venture vpon the charg'd-Chambers brauely.

Host.

Why this is the olde fashion: you two neuer meete, but you fall to some discord: you are both (in good troth) as Rheumatike as two drie Tostes, you cannot one beare with anothers Confirmities. What the good-yere? One must beare, and that must bee you: you are the weaker Vessell; as they say, the emptier Vessell.

Dol.

Can a weake emptie Vessell beare such a huge full Hogs-head? There's a whole Marchants Venture of Burdeux-Stuffe in him: you haue not seene a Hulke better stufft in the Hold. Come, Ile be friends with thee Iacke: Thou art going to the Warres, and whether I shall euer see thee againe, or no, there is no body cares.

Drawer.

Sir, Ancient Pistoll is below, and would speake with you.

Dol.

Hang him, swaggering Rascall, let him not come hither: it is the foule-mouth'dst Rogue in England.

Host.

If hee swagger, let him not come here: I must liue amongst my Neighbors, Ile no Swaggerers: I am in good name, and fame, with the very best: shut the doore, there comes no Swaggerers heere: I haue not liu'd all this while, to haue swaggering now: shut the doore, I pray you.

Falst.

Do'st thou heare, Hostesse?

Host.

'Pray you pacifie your selfe (Sir Iohn) there comes no Swaggerers heere.

Falst.

Do'st thou heare? it is mine Ancient.

Host.

Tilly-fally (Sir Iohn) neuer tell me, your ancient Swaggerer comes not in my doores. I was before Master Tisick the Deputie, the other day: and as hee said to me, it was no longer agoe then Wednesday last: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee;) Master Dombe, our Minister, was by then: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee) receiue those that are Ciuill; for (sayth hee) you are in an ill Name: now hee said so, I can tell whereupon: for (sayes hee) you are an honest Woman, and well thought on; therefore take heede what Guests you receiue: Receiue (sayes hee) no swaggering Companions. There comes none heere. You would blesse you to heare what hee said. No, Ile no Swaggerers.

Falst.

Hee's no Swaggerer (Hostesse:) a tame Cheater, hee: you may stroake him as gently, as a Puppie Greyhound: hee will not swagger with a Barbarie Henne, if her feathers turne backe in any shew of resistance. Call him vp (Drawer.)

Host.

Cheater, call you him? I will barre no honest man my house, nor no Cheater: but I doe not loue swaggering; I am the worse when one sayes, swagger: Feele Masters, how I shake: looke you, I warrant you.

Dol.

So you doe, Hostesse.

Host.

Doe I? yea, in very truth doe I, if it were an Aspen Leafe: I cannot abide Swaggerers.

Pist.

'Saue you, Sir Iohn.

Falst.

Welcome Ancient Pistol. Here (Pistol) I charge you with a Cup of Sacke: doe you discharge vpon mine Hostesse.

Pist.

I will discharge vpon her (Sir Iohn) with two Bullets.

Falst.

She is Pistoll-proofe (Sir) you shall hardly offend her.

Host.

Come, Ile drinke no Proofes, nor no Bullets: I will drinke no more then will doe me good, for no mans pleasure, I.

Pist.

Then to you (Mistris Dorothie) I will charge you.

Dol.

Charge me? I scorne you (scuruie Companion) what? you poore, base, rascally, cheating, lacke-Linnen-Mate: away you mouldie Rogue, away; I am meat for your Master.

Pist.

I know you, Mistris Dorothie.

Dol.

Away you Cut-purse Rascall, you filthy Bung, away: By this Wine, Ile thrust my Knife in your mouldie Chappes, if you play the sawcie Cuttle with me. Away you Bottle-Ale Rascall, you Basket-hilt stale Iugler, you. Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two Points on your shoulder? much.

Pist.

I will murther your Ruffe, for this.

Host.

No, good Captaine Pistol: not heere, sweete Captaine.

Dol.

Captaine? thou abhominable damn'd Cheater, art thou not asham'd to be call'd Captaine? If Captaines were of my minde, they would trunchion you out, for taking their Names vpon you, before you haue earn'd them. You a Captaine? you slaue, for what? for tearing a poore Whores Ruffe in a Bawdy-house? Hee a Captaine? hang him Rogue, hee liues vpon mouldie stew'd-Pruines, and dry'de Cakes. A Captaine? These Villaines will make the word Captaine odious: Therefore Captaines had neede looke to it.

Bard.

'Pray thee goe downe, good Ancient.

Falst.

Hearke thee hither, Mistris Dol.

Pist.

Not I: I tell thee what, Corporall Bardolph, I could teare her: Ile be reueng'd on her.

Page.

'Pray thee goe downe.

Pist.

Ile see her damn'd first: to Pluto's damn'd Lake, to the Infernall Deepe, where Erebus and Tortures vilde also. Hold Hooke and Line, say I: Downe: downe Dogges, downe Fates: haue wee not Hiren here?

Host.

Good Captaine Peesel be quiet, it is very late: I beseeke you now, aggrauate your Choler.

Pist.

These be good Humors indeede. Shall Pack-Horses, and hollow-pamper'd Iades of Asia, which cannot goe but thirtie miles a day, compare with Cæsar, and with Caniballs, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather damne them with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roare: shall wee fall foule for Toyes?

Host.

By my troth Captaine, these are very bitter words.

Bard.

Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to a Brawle anon.

Pist.
Die men, like Dogges; giue Crownes like Pinnes:
Haue we not Hiren here?

Host.
On my word (Captaine) there's none such here.
What the good-yere, doe you thinke I would denye her?
I pray be quiet.

Pist.

Then feed, and be fat (my faire Calipolis.) Come, giue me some Sack, Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contente. Feare wee broad-sides? No, let the Fiend giue fire: Giue me some Sack: and Sweet-heart lye thou there: Come wee to full Points here, and are et cetera's nothing?

Fal.

Pistol, I would be quiet.

Pist.

Sweet Knight, I kisse thy Neaffe: what? wee haue seene the seuen Starres.

Dol.

Thrust him downe stayres, I cannot endure such a Fustian Rascall.

Pist.

Thrust him downe stayres? know we not Galloway Nagges?

Fal.

Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a shoue-groat shilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but speake nothing, hee shall be nothing here.

Bard.

Come, get you downe stayres.

Pist.

What? shall wee haue Incision? shall wee embrew? then Death rocke me asleepe, abridge my dolefull dayes: why then let grieuous, gastly, gaping Wounds, vntwin'd the Sisters three: Come Atropos, I say.

Host.

Here's good stuffe toward.

Fal.

Giue me my Rapier, Boy.

Dol.

I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw.

Fal.

Get you downe stayres.

Host.

Here's a goodly tumult: Ile forsweare keeping house, before Ile be in these tirrits, and frights. So: Murther I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Weapons, put vp your naked Weapons.

Dol.

I prethee Iack be quiet, the Rascall is gone: ah, you whorson little valiant Villaine, you.

Host.

Are you not hurt i'th' Groyne? me thought hee made a shrewd Thrust at your Belly.

Fal.

Haue you turn'd him out of doores?

Bard.

Yes Sir: the Rascall's drunke: you haue hurt him (Sir) in the shoulder.

Fal.

A Rascall to braue me.

Dol.

Ah, you sweet little Rogue, you: alas, poore Ape, how thou sweat'st? Come, let me wipe thy Face: Come on, you whorson Chops: Ah Rogue, I loue thee: Thou

art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth fiue of Agamemnon, and tenne times better then the nine Worthies: ah Villaine.

Fal.

A rascally Slaue, I will tosse the Rogue in a Blanket.

Dol.

Doe, if thou dar'st for thy heart: if thou doo'st, Ile canuas thee betweene a paire of Sheetes.

Page.

The Musique is come, Sir.

Fal.

Let them play: play Sirs. Sit on my Knee, Dol. A Rascall, bragging Slaue: the Rogue fled from me like Quick-siluer.

Dol.

And thou followd'st him like a Church: thou whorson little tydie Bartholmew Bore-pigge, when wilt thou leaue fighting on dayes, and foyning on nights, and begin to patch vp thine old Body for Heauen?

Fal.

Peace (good Dol) doe not speake like a Deaths-head: doe not bid me remember mine end.

Dol.

Sirrha, what humor is the Prince of?

Fal.

A good shallow young fellow: hee would haue made a good Pantler, hee would haue chipp'd Bread well.

Dol.

They say Poines hath a good Wit.

Fal.

Hee a good Wit? hang him Baboone, his Wit is as thicke as Tewksburie Mustard: there is no more conceit in him, then is in a Mallet.

Dol.

Why doth the Prince loue him so then?

Fal.

Because their Legges are both of a bignesse: and hee playes at Quoits well, and eates Conger and Fennell, and drinkes off Candles ends for Flap-dragons, and rides the wilde-Mare with the Boyes, and iumpes vpon Ioyn'd-stooles, and sweares with a good grace, and weares his Boot very smooth, like vnto the Signe of the Legge; and breedes no bate with telling of discreete stories: and such other Gamboll Faculties hee hath, that shew a weake Minde, and an able Body, for the which the Prince admits him; for the Prince himselfe is such another: the weight of an hayre will turne the Scales betweene their Haber-de-pois.

Prince.

Would not this Naue of a Wheele haue his Eares cut off?

Poin.

Let vs beat him before his Whore.

Prince.

Looke, if the wither'd Elder hath not his Poll claw'd like a Parrot.

Poin.

Is it not strange, that Desire should so many yeeres out-liue performance?

Fal.

Kisse me Dol.

Prince.

Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction? What sayes the Almanack to that?

Poin.

And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man, be not lisping to his Masters old Tables, his Note-Booke, his Councell-keeper?

Fal.

Thou do'st giue me flatt'ring Busses.

Dol.

Nay truely, I kisse thee with a most constant heart.

Fal.

I am olde, I am olde.

Dol.

I loue thee better, then I loue ere a scuruie young Boy of them all.

Fal.

What Stuffe wilt thou haue a Kirtle of? I shall receiue Money on Thursday: thou shalt haue a Cappe to morrow. A merrie Song, come: it growes late, wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I am gone.

Dol.

Thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou say'st so: proue that euer I dresse my selfe handsome, till thy returne: well, hearken the end.

Fal.

Some Sack, Francis.

Prin. Poin.

Anon, anon, Sir.

Fal.

Ha? a Bastard Sonne of the Kings? And art not thou Poines, his Brother?

Prince.

Why thou Globe of sinfull Continents, what a Life do'st thou lead?

Fal.

A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou art a Drawer.

Prince.

Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you out by the Eares.

Host.

Oh, the Lord preserue thy good Grace: Welcome to London. Now Heauen blesse that sweete Face of thine: what, are you come from Wales?

Fal.

Thou whorson mad Compound of Maiestie: by this light Flesh, and corrupt Blood, thou art welcome.

Dol.

How? you fat Foole, I scorne you.

Poin.

My Lord, hee will driue you out of your reuenge, and turne all to a merryment, if you take not the heat.

Prince.

You whorson Candle-myne you, how vildly did you speake of me euen now, before this honest, vertuous, ciuill Gentlewoman?

Host.

'Blessing on your good heart, and so shee is by my troth.

Fal.

Didst thou heare me?

Prince.

Yes: and you knew me, as you did when you ranne away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose, to trie my patience.

Fal.

No, no, no: not so: I did not thinke, thou wast within hearing.

Prince.

I shall driue you then to confesse the wilfull abuse, and then I know how to handle you.

Fal.

No abuse (Hall) on mine Honor, no abuse.

Prince.

Not to disprayse me? and call me Pantler, and Bread-chopper, and I know not what?

Fal.

No abuse (Hal.)

Poin.

No abuse?

Fal.

No abuse (Ned) in the World: honest Ned none. I disprays'd him before the Wicked, that the Wicked might not fall in loue with him: In which doing, I haue done the part of a carefull Friend, and a true Subiect, and thy Father is to giue me thankes for it. No abuse (Hal:) none (Ned) none; no Boyes, none.

Prince.

See now whether pure Feare, and entire Cowardise, doth not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentlewoman, to close with vs? Is shee of the Wicked? Is thine Hostesse heere, of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of the Wicked? Or honest Bardolph (whose Zeale burnes in his Nose) of the Wicked?

Poin.

Answere thou dead Elme, answere.

Fal.

The Fiend hath prickt downe Bardolph irrecouerable, and his Face is Lucifers Priuy-Kitchin, where hee doth nothing but rost Mault-Wormes: for the Boy, there is a good Angell about him, but the Deuill outbids him too.

Prince.

For the Women?

Fal.

For one of them, shee is in Hell alreadie, and burnes poore Soules: for the other, I owe her Money; and whether shee bee damn'd for that, I know not.

Host.

No, I warrant you.

Fal.

No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee, for suffering flesh to bee eaten in thy house, contrary to the Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle.

Host.

All Victuallers doe so: What is a Ioynt of Mutton, or two, in a whole Lent?

Prince.

You, Gentlewoman.

Dol.

What sayes your Grace?

Falst.

His Grace sayes that, which his flesh rebells against.

Host.

Who knocks so lowd at doore? Looke to the doore there, Francis?

Prince.
Peto, how now? what newes?

Peto.
The King, your Father, is at Westminster,
And there are twentie weake and wearied Postes,
Come from the North: and as I came along,
I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the Tauernes,
And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falstaffe.

Prince.
By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame,
So idly to prophane the precious time,
When Tempest of Commotion, like the South,
Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt,
And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads.
Giue me my Sword, and Cloake:
Falstaffe, good night. Exit.

Falst.

Now comes in the sweetest Morsell of the night, and wee must hence, and leaue it vnpickt. More knocking at the doore? How now? what's the matter?

Bard.
You must away to Court, Sir, presently,
A dozen Captaines stay at doore for you.

Falst.

Pay the Musitians, Sirrha: farewell Hostesse, farewell Dol. You see (my good Wenches) how men of Merit are sought after: the vndeseruer may sleepe, when the man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches: if I be not sent away poste, I will see you againe, ere I goe.

Dol.

I cannot speake: if my heart bee not readie to burst—Well (sweete Iacke) haue a care of thy selfe.

Falst.

Farewell, farewell.

Host.

Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne thee these twentie nine yeeres, come Pescod-time: but an honester, and truer-hearted man—Well, fare thee well.

Bard.

Mistris Teare-sheet.

Host.

What's the matter?

Bard.

Bid Mistris Teare-sheet come to my Master.

Host.

Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol.