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Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
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SCENE X. Enter Hostess.

Host.

O Jesu! my lord the Prince!

P. Henry.

How now, my lady the hostess, what say'st thou to me?

Host.

Marry, my lord, there is a Nobleman of the Court at door would speak with you; he says, he comes from your father.

P. Henry.

Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again to my mother.

Fal.

What manner of man is he?

Host.

An old man.

Fal.

What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his answer?

P. Henry.

Pr'ythee, do, Jack.

Fal.

Faith, and I'll send him packing.

[Exit.

P. Henry.

Now, Sirs, by'r lady, you fought fair; so did you, Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you are Lions too, you ran away upon instinct; you will not touch the true Prince; no, fie!

Bard.

'Faith, I ran when I saw others run.

P. Henry.

Tell me now in earnest; how came Falstaff's sword so hackt?

Peto.

Why, he hackt it with his dagger, and said, he would swear truth out of England, but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and persuaded us to do the like.

Bard.

Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass, to make them bleed; and then beslubber our garments with it, and swear it was the blood of true men. I did That I did not these seven years before, I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.

P. Henry.

O villain, thou stollest a cup of sack eighteen

-- 142 --

years ago, and wert 5 note


taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blush'd extempore; thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou rannest away; what instinct hadst thou for it?

Bard.

My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations?

P. Henry.

I do.

Bard.

What think you they portend?

P. Henry.

Hot livers, and cold purses.

Bard.

Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

P. Henry.

No, if rightly taken, halter.

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Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
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