Colevile.
Fal.
What's your name, Sir? of what condition are
you? and of what place, I pray?
Cole.
I am a Knight, Sir: and my name is Colevile
of the dale.
Fal.
Well then, Colevile is your name, a Knight is
your degree, and your place, the dale. Colevile shall
still be your name, a traitor your degree, and the dungeon
your place, a place deep enough: so shall you
still be Colevile of the dale.
Cole.
Are not you Sir John Falstaff?
Fal.
As good a man as he, Sir, who e'er I am: do
ye yield, Sir, or shall I sweat for you? if I do sweat,
they are the drops of thy lovers, and they weep for thy
death; therefore rowze up fear and trembling, and do
observance to my mercy.
Cole.
I think, you are Sir John Falstaff, and in that
thought yield me.
Fal.
I have a whole school of tongues in this belly
of mine, and not a tongue of them all speaks any
other word but my name: an I had but a belly of any
indifferency, I were simply the most active fellow in
-- 279 --
Europe: my womb, my womb, my womb undoes
me. Here comes our General.
Enter Prince John of Lancaster, and Westmorland.
Lan.
The heat is past, follow no farther now,
Call in the Pow'rs, good cousin Westmorland.
[Exit West.
Now, Falstaff, where have you been all this while?
When every thing is ended, then you come.
These tardy tricks of yours will, on my life,
One time or other break some Gallows' back.
Fal.
I would be sorry, my lord, but it should be thus:
I never knew yet, but rebuke and check was the reward
of valour. Do you think me a swallow, an arrow, or
a bullet? have I, in my poor and old motion, the expedition
of thought? I speeded hither 7 notewith the very
extreamest inch of possibility. I have founder'd nine-score
and odd posts: and here, travel-tainted as I am,
have in my pure and immaculate valour taken Sir
John Colevile of the dale, a most furious Knight and
valorous enemy: but what of that? he saw me and
yielded; that I may justly say with the hook-nos'd fellow
of Rome there, Cæsar,—I came, saw, and
overcame.
Lan.
It was more of his courtesie than your deserving.
Fal.
I know not; here he is, and here I yield him;
and I beseech your Grace, let it be book'd with the rest
of this day's deeds; or, by the lord, I will have it in a
particular ballad else, with mine own picture on the top
of it, Colevile kissing my foot: to the which course if I
be enforc'd, if you do not all shew like gilt two-pences
to me; and I, in the clear sky of fame, o'ershine you
as much as the full Moon doth the cinders of the element,
-- 280 --
which shew like pins' heads to her; believe not
the word of the noble. Therefore let me have Right,
and let desert mount.
Lan.
Thine's too heavy to mount.
Fal.
Let it shine then.
Lan.
Thine's too thick to shine.
Fal.
Let it do something, my good lord, that may
do me good, and call it what you will.
Lan.
Is thy name Colevile?
Cole.
It is, my lord.
Lan.
A famous Rebel art thou, Colevile.
Fal.
And a famous true Subject took him.
Cole.
I am, my lord, but as my betters are,
That led me hither; had they been rul'd by me,
You should have won them dearer than you have.
Fal.
I know not how they sold themselves; but thou,
like a kind fellow, gav'st thy self away gratis; and I
thank thee for thee.
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].
