Bardolph.
Fal.
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me
a bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march
through: we'll to Sutton-cop-hill to night.
Bard.
Will you give me mony, captain?
Fal.
Lay out, lay out.
Bard.
This bottle makes an angel.
Fal.
And if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it
make twenty, take them all, I'll answer the coynage.
Bid my lieutenant Peto meet me at the town's end.
Bar.
I will, captain; farewel.
[Exit.
Fal.
If I be not asham'd of my soldiers, I am a
sowc'd gurnet: I have mis-us'd the King's Press damnably.
&plquo;I have got, in exchange of an hundred and
fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press
me none but good housholders, yeomens' sons; enquire
me out contracted batchelors, such as had been
ask'd twice on the banes: such a commodity of warm
slaves, as had as lieve hear the devil, as a drum;
such as fear the report of a culverin, worse than a
-- 176 --
struck (a) note deer, or a hurt wild duck. I press me
none but such toasts and butter, with hearts in their
bellies no bigger than pins' heads, and they have
bought out their services: and now my whole Charge
consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen
of companies, slaves as ragged as Lazarus in
the painted cloth, where the Glutton's dogs licked
his sores; and such as indeed were never soldiers,
but discarded unjust servingmen, younger sons to
younger brothers; revolted tapsters, and ostlers
trade-fall'n, the cankers of a calm world and a long
peace; 6 note
ten times more dishonourably ragged, than
an old-feast ancient; and such have I to fill up the
rooms of them that have bought out their services;
that you would think, I had a hundred and fifty
tatter'd Prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping,
from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me
on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the
gibbets, and prest the dead bodies. No eye hath
seen such skare-crows: I'll not march through
Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the villains
march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had
7 notegyves on; for, indeed, I had the most of them
-- 177 --
out of prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all
my company; and the half shirt is two napkins tack'd
together, and thrown over the shoulders like a herald's
coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth,
stoll'n from my Host of St. Albans; or the red-
nos'd Inn-keeper of Daintry. But that's all one,
they'll find linnen enough on every hedge.&prquo;
Enter Prince Henry, and Westmorland.
P. Henry.
How now, blown Jack? how now, quilt?
Fal.
What, Hal? How now, mad wag, what a
devil dost thou in Warwickshire? My good lord of
Westmorland, I cry you mercy; I thought, your Honour
had already been at Shrewsbury.
West.
'Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I
were there, and you too; but my Powers are there
already. The King, I can tell you, looks for us all;
we must away all to night.
Fal.
Tut, never fear me, I am as vigilant, as a Cat
to steal cream.
P. Henry.
I think, to steal cream, indeed; for thy
theft hath already made thee butter; but tell me, Jack,
whose fellows are these that come after?
Fal.
Mine, Hal, mine.
P. Henry.
I did never see such pitiful rascals.
Fal.
Tut, tut, good enough to toss: food for powder,
food for powder; they'll fill a pit, as well as better;
tush, man, mortal men, mortal men.
West.
Ay, but, Sir John, methinks, they are exceeding
poor and bare, too beggerly.
Fal.
Faith, for their poverty, I know not where
they had that; and for their bareness, I am sure, they
never learn'd that of me.
P. Henry.
No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three
fingers on the ribs, bare. But, Sirrah, make haste.
Percy is already in the field.
Fal.
What, is the King encamp'd?
-- 178 --
West.
He is, Sir John: I fear, we shall stay too long.
Fal.
Well,
The latter end of a fray, and beginning of a feast,
Fits a dull Fighter, and a keen Guest.
[Exeunt.
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].
