Fal.

Sirrah, you Giant, what says the Doctor to my Water?

Page.

He said, Sir, the Water it self was a good healing Water: But for the Party that own'd it, he might have more Diseases than he knew for.

Fal.

Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me. The Brain of this foolish compounded Clay-man, is not able to invent any thing that tends to Laughter, more than I invent, or is invented on me. I am not only witty in my self, but the Cause that Wit is in other Men. I do here walk before thee, like a Sow, that hath overwhelm'd all her Litter, but one. If the Prince put thee into my Service for any other Reason, than to set me off, why then I have no Judgment. Thou Horson Mandrake, thou art fitter to be worn in my Cap, than to wait at my Heels. I was never mann'd with an Agot 'till now: But I will set you neither in Gold nor Silver, but in vile Apparel, and send you back again to your Master, for a Jewel. The

Juvenal! the Prince your Master! whose Chin is not yet fledg'd; I will sooner have a Beard grow in the Palm of my Hand, then he shall get one on his Cheek: Yet he will not stick to say, his Face is a Face-Royal. Heav'n may finish it when he will, it is not a Hair amiss yet: He may keep it still as a Face-Royal, for a Barber shall never earn Sixpence out of it; and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ Man ever since his Father was a Batchelor. He may keep his own Grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure him. What said Mr. Dombledon, about the Satten for my short Cloak, and Slops?

Page.

He said, Sir, you should procure him better assurance than Bardolph: He would not take his Bond and yours, he lik'd not the Security.

Fal.

Let him be damn'd like the Glutton, may his Tongue be hotter, a horson Achitophel, a Rascally-yea-forsooth-knave, to bear a Gentleman in Hand, and then stand upon Security? The horson smooth-pates do now wear nothing but high Shooes, and Bunches of Keys at their Girdles; and if a Man is through with them in honest taking up, then they must stand upon Security: I had as lief they would put Rats-bane in my Mouth, as offer to stop it with Security. I look'd he should have sent me two and twenty Yards of Satten, as I am a true Knight, and he sends me Security. Well, he may sleep in Security, for he hath the horn of Abundance: And the lightness of his Wise shines through it, and yet cannot he see, though he have his own Lanthorn to light him. Where's Bardolph?

Page.

He's gone into Smithfield to buy your Worship a Horse.

Fal.

I bought him in Pauls, and he'll buy me a Horse in Smithfield. If I could get me a Wife in the Stews, I were Mann'd, Hors'd, and Wiv'd.

Page.

Sir, here comes the Nobleman that committed the Prince for striking him, about Bardolph.

Fal.

Wait close, I will not see him.

Ch. Just.

What's he that goes there?

Serv.

Falstaff, and't please your Lordship.

Ch. Just.

He that was in question for the Robbery?

Serv.

He, my Lord. But he hath since done good Service at Shrewsbury: And, as I hear, is now going with some Charge to the Lord John of Lancaster.

Ch. Just.

What, to York? Call him back again.

Serv.

Sir John Falstaff.

Fal.

Boy, tell him I am deaf.

Page.

You must speak lowder, my Master is deaf.

Ch. Just.

I am sure he is, to the hearing of any thing good. Go pluck him by the Elbow. I must speak with him.

Serv.

Sir John.

Fal.

What! A young Knave and beg! Are there not Wars? Is there not Employment? Doth not the King lack Subjects? Do not the Rebels want Soldiers? Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it is worse shame to beg, than to be on the worst side, were it worse than the Name of Rebellion can tell how to make it.

Serv.

You mistake me, Sir.

Fal.

Why, Sir, did I say you were an honest Man? Setting my Knight-hood, and my Soldiership aside. I had lied in my Throat, if I had said so.

Serv.

I pray you, Sir, then set your Knight-hood and your Soldier-ship aside, and give me leave to tell you, you lie in your Throat, if you say I am any other than an honest Man.

Fal.

I give thee leave to tell me so! I lay aside that which grows to me! If thou gett'st any leave of me, hang me; if thou tak'st leave, thou wer't better be hang'd: You Hunt counter, hence; avaunt.

Serv.

Sir, my Lord would speak with you.

Ch. Just.

Sir John Falstaff, a word with you.

Fal.

My good Lord! give your Lordship good time of the Day. I am glad to see your Lordship abroad; I heard say, your Lordship was sick. I hope your Lordship goes abroad by advice. Your Lordship, though not clean past your Youth, hath yet some smack of Age in you: Some relish of the Saltness of time; and I most humbly beseech your Lordship, to have a reverend care of your Health.

Ch. Just.

Sir John, I sent for you before your Expedition to Shrewsbury.

Fal.

If it please your Lordship, I hear his Majesty is return'd with some discomfort from Wales.

Ch. Just.

I talk not of his Majesty: You would not come when I sent for you?

Fal.

And I hear moreover, his Highness is fall'n into this same whorson Apoplexy.

Ch. Just.

Well, Heav'n mend him. I pray let me speak with you.

Fal.

This Apoplexy is, as I take it, a kind of Lethargy, a sleeping of the Blood, a whorson Tingling.

Ch. Just.

What tell you me of it? Be it as it is.

Fal.

It hath its original from much Grief; from Study and Perturbation of the Brain. I have read the Cause of its Effects in Galen. It is a kind of Deafness.

Ch. Just.

I think you are fal'n into that Disease: For you hear not what I say to you.

Fal.

Very well, my Lord, very well: Rather, an't please you, it is the Disease of not Listning, the Malady of not Marking, that I am troubled withal.

Ch. Just.

To punish you by the Heels, would amend the attention of your Ears, and I care not if I be your Physician.

Fal.

I am as poor as Job, my Lord; but not so patient: Your Lordship may minister the Potion of Imprisonment to me, in respect of Poverty: But how I should be your Patient to follow your Prescriptions, the Wise may make some dram of a scruple, or indeed, a scruple it self.

Ch. Just.

I sent for you, when there were matters against you for your Life, to speak with me.

Fal.

As I was then advis'd by my learned Counsel, in the Laws of this Land-service, I did not come.

Ch. Just.

Well, the truth is, Sir John, you live in great Infamy.

Fal.

He that buckles him in my Belt, cannot live in less.

Ch. Just.

Your Means is very slender, and your Waste great.

Fal.

I would it were otherwise: I would my Means were greater, and my Waste slenderer.

Ch. Just.

You have miss-led the youthful Prince.

Fal.

The young Prince hath miss-led me. I am the Fellow with the great Belly, and he my Dog.

Ch. Just.

Well, I am loth to gall a new-heal'd Wound; your Day's Service at Shrewsbury, hath a little gilded over

your Night's Exploit on Gads-hill. You may thank the unquiet time, for your quiet o'er-posting that Action.

Fal.

My Lord?

Ch. Just.

But since all is well, keep it so: Wake not a sleeping Wolf.

Fal.

To wake a Wolf, is as bad as to smell a Fox.

Ch. Just.

What? You are as a Candle, the better part burnt out.

Fal.

A Wassel-Candel, my Lord; all Tallow: If I did say of Wax, my growth would approve the truth.

Ch. Just.

There is not a white Hair on your Face, but should have his Effect of Gravity.

Fal.

His Effect of gravy, gravy, gravy.

Ch. Just

You follow the young Prince up and down, like his evil Angel.

Fal.

Not so, my Lord, your ill Angel is light: But I hope, he that looks upon me, will take me without weighing; and yet, in some respects I grant, I cannot go; I cannot tell—Virtue is of so little regard in these Costor-mongers Days, that true Valour is turn'd Bear-herd. Pregnancy is made a Tapster, and hath his quick Wit wasted in giving Recknings; all the other Gifts appertinent to Man, as the malice of this Age shapes them, are not worth a Goose-berry. You that are old, consider not the Capacities of us that are young; you measure the heat of our Livers, with the bitterness of your Galls; and we that are in the vaward of our youth, I must confess, are Wags too.

Ch. Just.

Do you set down your Name in the Scrowl of youth, that are written down old, with all the Characters of Age? Have you not a moist Eye? a dry Hand? a yellow Cheek? a white Beard? a decreasing Leg? an increasing Belly? is not your Voice broken? your Wind short? your Wit single? and every part about you blasted with Antiquity? and will you call your self young? fie, fie, fie, Sir John.

Fal.

My Lord, I was born with a white Head, and something a round Belly. For my Voice, I have lost it with hollowing and singing of Anthems. To approve my youth further, I will not. The truth is, I am only old in Judgment and Understanding; and he that will caper with me for a thousand Marks, let him lend me the Mony, and have

at him. For the Box o'th' Ear that the Prince gave you, he gave it like a rude Prince, and you took it like a sensible Lord. I have checkt him for it, and the young Lion repents: Marry not in Sack-cloth, but in new Silk, and old Sack.

Ch. Just.

Well, Heav'n send the Prince a better Companion.

Fal.

Heav'n send the Companion a better Prince: I cannot rid my Hands of him.

Ch. Just.

Well, the King hath sever'd you and Prince Harry, I hear you are going with Lord John of Lancaster, against the Archbishop, and the Earl of Northumberland.

Fal.

Yes, I thank your pretty sweet Wit for it; but look you pray, all you that kiss my Lady Peace at home, that our Armies join not in a hot Day: For I take but two Shirts out with me, and I mean not to sweat extraordinarily: If it be a hot Day, if I brandish any thing but my Bottle, would I might never spit white again. There is not a dangerous Action can peep out his Head, but I am thrust upon it. Well, I cannot last ever.

Ch. Just.

Well, be honest, be honest, and Heav'n bless your Expedition.

Fal.

Will your Lordship lend me a thousand Pound, to furnish me forth?

Ch. Just.

Nor a Penny, not a Penny; you are too impatient to bear Crosses. Fare you well. Commend me to my Cousin Westmorland.

Fal.

If I do, fillop me with a three-man-Beetle. A Man can no more separate Age and Covetousness, than he can part young Limbs and Letchery: But the Gout galls the one, and the Pox pinches the other; and so both the Degrees prevent my Curses. Boy.

Page.

Sir.

Fal.

What Mony is in my Purse?

Page.

Seven Groats, and two Pence.

Fal.

I can get no Remedy against this Consumption of the Purse. Borrowing only lingers, and lingers it out, but the Disease is incurable. Go bear this Letter to my Lord of Lancaster, this to the Prince, this to the Earl of Westmorland, and this to old Mistress Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry, since I perceiv'd the first white Hair on

my Chin. About it; you know where to find me. A Pox of this Gout, or a Gout of this Pox; for the one or th'other plays the Rogue with my great Toe: It is no matter, if I do halt, I have the Wars for my Colour, and my Pension shall seem the more reasonable: A good Wit will make use of any thing; I will turn Diseases to commodity.