Peto.
Poins.
Come Shelter, Shelter, I have removed Falstaff's
Horse, and he frets like a gumm'd Velvet.
P. Henry.
Stand close.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
Poins, Poins, and be hang'd Poins.
P. Henry.
Peace ye fat-kidney'd Rascal, what a bawling dost
thou keep?
Fal.
What Poins, Hal?
-- 1144 --
Prince.
He is walk'd up to the Top of the Hill, I'll go
seek him.
Fal.
I am accurst to rob in that Thief's Company: That
Rascal hath remov'd my Horse, and ty'd him I know not
where. If I travel but four Foot by the Square further
afoot, I shall break my Wind. Well, I doubt not but to
die a fair Death for all this, if I 'scape hanging for killing
that Rogue. I have forsworn his Company hourly any
time this two and twenty Year, and yet I am bewitcht with
the Rogue's Company. If the Rascal have not given me
Medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd, it could
not be else; I have drunk Medicines. Poins, Hal, a
Plague upon you both. Bardolph, Peto; I'll starve e'er I
rob a foot further. And 'twere not as good a Deed as to
drink, to turn True-man, and to leave these Rogues, I am
the veriest Varlet that ever chew'd with a Tooth. Eight
Yards of uneven Ground, is threescore and ten Miles afoot
with me; and the stony hearted Villains know it well
enough. A plague upon't, when Thieves cannot be true
one to another.
[They whistle.
Whew, a Plague light upon you all. Give me my Horse;
you Rogues, give me my Horse, and be hang'd.
P. Henry.
Peace ye fat Guts, lye down, lay thine Ear close to
the Ground, and list if thou can hear the Tread of Travellers.
Fal.
Have you any Leavers to lift me up again being
down? I'll not bear mine own Flesh so far afoot again,
for all the Coin in thy Father's Exchequer. What a Plague
mean ye to colt me thus?
P. Henry.
Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.
Fal.
I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my Horse,
good King's Son.
P. Henry.
Out you Rogue, shall I be your Ostler?
Fal.
Go hang thy self in thy own Heir-apparent Garters;
if I be ta'en, I'll peach for this; and I have not Ballads
made on you all, and sung to filthy Tunes, let a Cup of Sack
be my Poison; when a Jest is so forward, and afoot too,
I hate it.
Enter Gads-hill and Bardolph.
Gads.
Stand.
Fal.
So I do against my Will.
-- 1145 --
Poins.
O 'tis our Setter, I know his Voice:
Bardolph, what News?
Bard.
Case ye, case ye; on with your Vizards, there's
Mony of the King's coming down the Hill, 'tis going to
the King's Exchequer.
Fal.
You lie, you Rogue, 'tis going to the King's Tavern.
Gads.
There's enough to make us all.
Fal.
To be hang'd.
P. Henry.
You four shall front them in the narrow Lane:
Ned and I will walk lower; if they scape from your encounter,
then they light on us.
Peto.
But how many be of them?
Gads.
Some eight or ten.
Fal.
Will they not rob us?
P. Henry.
What, a Coward, Sir John Paunch?
Fal.
Indeed I am not John of Gaunt, your Grandfather;
but yet no Coward, Hal.
P. Henry.
We'll leave that to the Proof.
Poins.
Sirrah, Jack, thy Horse stands behind the Hedge,
when thou need'st him, there shalt thou find him; farewel,
and stand fast.
Fal.
Now cannot I strike him if I should be hang'd.
P. Henry.
Ned, where are our Disguises?
Poins.
Here hard by: Stand close.
Fal.
Now my Masters, happy Man be his dole say I;
every Man to his Business.
Enter Travellers.
Trav.
Come, Neighbour; the Boy shall lead our Horses
down the Hill: We'll afoot awhile, and ease our Legs.
Thieves.
Stay.
Trav.
Jesu bless us.
Fal.
Strike; down with them, cut the Villains Throats;
ah! whorson Caterpillars; Bacon-fed Knaves, they hate us
Youth; down with them, fleece them.
Trav.
O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever.
Fal.
Hang ye gorbellied Knaves, are you undone? No
ye Fat Chuffs, I would your store were here. On Bacons
on, what ye Knaves? Young Men must live, you are Grand
Jurors? We'll jure ye i'faith.
[Here they rob them and bind them.
-- 1146 --
Enter Prince Henry and Poins.
P. Henry.
The Thieves have bound the True-men: Now
could thou and I rob the Thieves and go merrily to London,
it would be Argument for a Week, Laughter for a Month,
and a good Jest for ever.
Poins.
Stand close, I hear them coming.
Enter Thieves again.
Fal.
Come my Masters, let us share, and then to Horse
before Day; and the Prince and Poins be not two arrant
Cowards, there's no equity stirring. There's no more Valour
in that Poins, than in a wild Duck.
P. Henry.
Your Mony.
Poins.
Villains.
[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them. They all run away, leaving the Booty behind them.
P. Henry.
Got with much ease. Now merrily to Horse:
The Thieves are scattered, and possest with fear so strongly,
that they dare not meet each other; each takes his Fellow
for an Officer. Away good Ned, Falstaff sweats to Death,
and Lards the lean Earth as he walks along; wer't not for
laughing, I should pity him.
Poyns.
How the Rogue roar'd.
[Exeunt.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
