Poins.

Welcome, Jack; where hast thou been?

Fal.

A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too, marry and Amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy—Ere I lead this life long, I'll sow nether socks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant?

P. Henry.

^{2 note}Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? (pitiful-hearted Titan!) that melted at the sweet tale of the Sun? if thou didst, then behold that compound.

Fal.

You rogue, ^{3 note}here's lime in this sack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man;

yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous coward—Go thy ways, old Jack, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring: there live not three good men unhang'd in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, God help, the while! a bad world; I say. ^{4 note}I would, I were a weaver; I could sing psalms, and all manner of songs. A plague of all cowards, I say still!

P. Henry.

How now, Woolsack, what mutter you?

Fal.

A King's son? if I do not beat thee out of thy Kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy Subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales?

P. Henry.

Why, you whorson round man! what's the matter?

Fal.

Are you not a coward? answer me to that, and Poins there?

P. Henry.

Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab thee.

Fal.

I call thee coward! I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are strait enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? a plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me— Give me a cup of sack; I am a rogue, if I drunk to day.

P. Henry.

O villain, thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou drunk'st last.

Fal.
All's one for that. [He drinks.
A plague of all cowards, still, say I!

P. Henry.

What's the matter?

Fal.

What's the matter! here be four of us, have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.

P. Henry.

Where is it, Jack? where is it?

Fal.

Where is it? taken from us, it is; a hundred upon poor four of us.

P. Henry.

What a hundred, man?

Fal.

I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have escap'd by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose, my buckler cut through and through, my sword hack'd like a hand-saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man; all would not do. A plague of all cowards!—let them speak; if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.

P. Henry.

Speak, Sirs, how was it?

Gads.

We four set upon some dozen.

Fal.

Sixteen, at least, my lord.

Gads.

And bound them.

Peto.

No, no, they were not bound.

Fal.

You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

Gads.

As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us.

Fal.

And unbound the rest, and then came in the other.

P. Henry.

What, fought ye with them all?

Fal.

All? I know not, what ye call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd creature.

Poins.

Pray heav'n, you have not murthered some of them.

Fal.

Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd two of them; two, I am sure, I have pay'd, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, If I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse; thou know'st my old ward; here I lay, and thus I bore my point; four rogues in buckram let drive at me.

P. Henry.

What, four? thou saidst but two, even now.

Fal.

Four, Hal, I told thee four.

Poins.

Ay, ay, he said four.

Fal.

These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me; I made no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus.

P. Henry.

Seven? why there were but four, even now.

Fal.

In buckram.

Poins.

Ay, four, in buckram suits.

Fal.

Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.

P. Henry.

Pr'ythee let him alone, we shall have more anon.

Fal.

Dost thou hear me, Hal?

P. Henry.

Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

Fal.

Do so, for it is worth the listning to: these nine in buckram, that I told thee of—

P. Henry.

So, two more already.

Fal.

Their points being broken—

Poins.

Down fell his hose.

Fal.

Began to give me ground; but I follow'd me close, came in foot and hand; and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I pay'd

P. Henry.

O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

Fal.

But as the devil would have it, three mis-begotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back, and let drive at me; (for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.)

P. Henry.

These lies are like the father that begets them, gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whorson obscene greasie tallow-catch—

Fal.

What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth?

P. Henry.

Why, how could'st thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was so dark, thou could'st not see thy hand? come, tell us your reason: what say'st thou to this?

Poins.

Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

Fal.

What, upon compulsion? no; were I at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on compulsion! if reasons were as plenty as black-berries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.

P. Henry.

I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,—

Fal.

Away, you starveling, you (a) ^note eel-skin, you dry'd neats-tongue, bull's pizzel, you stock-fish: O for breath to utter! What is like thee? You taylor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck,—

P. Henry.

Well, breathe a while, and then to't again; and when thou hast tir'd thy self in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.

Poins.

Mark, Jack.

P. Henry.

We two saw you four set on four, you bound them, and were masters of their wealth: mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four, and with a word, out-fac'd you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can shew it you here in the house. And, Falstaff, you carry'd your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and still ran and roar'd, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a slave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight— What trick? what device? what starting hole, canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?

Poins.

Come, let's hear, Jack: what trick hast thou now?

Fal.

By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my masters; was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true Prince? Why, thou knowest, I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware instinct, the Lion will not touch the true Prince: instinct is a great matter. I was a coward on instinct: I shall think the better of my self, and thee, during my life; I, for a valiant Lion, and thou for a true Prince. But, by the lord, lads, I am glad you have the mony. Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to night, pray to morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, shall we be merry? shall we have a play extempore?

P. Henry.

Content:—and the argument shall be thy running away.

Fal.

Ah!—no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me.

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