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 years ago, and wert taken in 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.