P. Henry.

Ned, pr'ythee come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poins.

Where hast been, Hal?

P. Henry.

With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their Christian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already

upon their conscience, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of courtesie; telling me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy: (by the Lord, so they call me;) and when I am King of England, I shall command all the good lads in East-cheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry, hem! and bid you play it off.—To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action; but, sweet Ned,—(to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this penny-worth of sugar, clapt even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life, than Eight Shillings and Six Pence, and You are welcome, Sir: with this shrill addition, Anon, anon, Sir; Score a pint of bastard in the half moon, or so.) But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some bye-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but, anon. Step aside, and I'll shew thee a precedent.

Poins.

Francis,—

P. Henry.

Thou art perfect.

Poins.

Francis.—