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, an'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 louder, 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 need 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 soldiership 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 wert 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! God give your lordship good time of 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 fallen 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, an't please your lordship, a kind of sleeping in 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 it in Galen. It is a kind of deafness.

Ch. Just.

I think, you are fallen 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 list'ning, 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 do become 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 come speak with me.

Fal.

As I was then advis'd by my Counsel learned 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 are very slender, and your waste is great.

Fal.

I would it were otherwise: I would, my means were greater, and my waste slenderer.

Ch. Just.

You have mis-led the youthful Prince.

Fal.

The young Prince hath mis-led me. I am the fellow with the great belly, and he my dog.

Ch. Just.

Well, I'm 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 candle, my lord; all tallow: but 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 ^{5 note}ill angel.

Fal.

Not so, my lord, your 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 coster-mongers' days, that true valour is turned bear-herd. Pregnancy is made a tapster, and hath his quick wit wasted in giving reckonings; 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 ^{6 note}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 chin double? your wit single? and every part about you blasted with antiquity? and will you yet call yourself young? fie, fie, fie, Sir John.

&wlquo;Fal.

&wlquo;My lord, I was born about three of the clock in the afternoon, with a white head, and something a round belly.&wrquo; For my voice, I have lost it with hallowing 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 money, 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 ashes and 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, by the Lord, 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 a 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.—&wlquo;but it was always yet the trick of our English Nation, if they have a good

thing, to make it too common.&wrquo; If ye will needs say, I am an old man, you should give me Rest: I would to God, my name were not so terrible to the enemy as it is! I were better to be eaten to death with a rust, than to be scour'd to nothing with perpetual motion.

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.

Not 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, fillip me with ^{7 note}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 money 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 Mrs. Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I perceived 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 t'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.