Snare.
Hostess.
Mr. Fang, have you enter'd the action?
Fang.
It is enter'd.
Host.
Where's your yeoman? is he a lusty
yeoman? Will he stand to it?
Fang.
Sirrah, where's Snare?
Host.
Ay, ay, good Mr. Snare.
Snare.
Here, here.
Fang.
Snare, we must arrest Sir John Falstaff.
Host.
Ay, good Mr. Snare, I have enter'd him and all.
Snare.
It may chance cost some of us our lives: he will stab.
Host.
Alas-the-day; take heed of him; he stab'd me in mine
own house, and that most beastly; he cares not what mischief
he doth, if his weapon be out. He will foin like any devil, he
will spare neither man, woman, nor child.
Fang.
If I can close with him, I care not for his thrust.
Host.
No, nor I neither; I'll be at your elbow.
Fang.
If I but fist him once; if he come but within my a notevice.
Host.
I am undone by his going; I warrant you he is an infinitive
thing upon my score. Good Mr. Fang, hold him sure;
good Mr. Snare, let him not scape. He comes continually to Piecorner,
saving your manhoods, to buy a saddle: and he is indited
to dinner to the Lubbar's-head in Lombard-street to Mr. Smooth's
the Silkman. I pray ye, since my action is enter'd, and my case
-- 310 --
so openly known to the world, let him be brought in to his answer.
A hundred mark is a long one, for a poor lone woman
to bear; and I have born, and born, and born: and have been
fub'd off, and fub'd off, from this day to that day, that it is a
shame to be thought on. There is no honesty in such dealing,
unless a woman should be made an Ass and a beast, to bear every
knave's wrong.
Enter Falstaff, Bardolph, and the boy.
Yonder he comes, and that arrant malmsey-nose knave, Bardolph
with him. Do your offices, do your offices: Mr. Fang
and Mr. Snare, do me, do me, do me your offices.
Fal.
How now? whose mare's dead? what's the matter?
Fang.
Sir John, I arrest you at the suit of Mrs. Quickly.
Fal.
Away varlets; draw, Bardolph: cut me off the villain's
head: throw the quean in the kennel.
Host.
Throw me in the kennel? I'll throw thee in the kennel.
Wilt thou? wilt thou? thou bastardly rogue. Murder, murder!
O thou hony-suckle villain, wilt thou kill God's officers and the
King's? O thou hony-seed rogue, thou art a hony-seed, a manqueller,
and a woman-queller.
Fal.
Keep them off, Bardolph.
Fang.
A rescue, a rescue!
Host.
Good people, bring a rescue or two; thou wo't, wo't
thou, thou wo't, wo't thou rogue: do, thou hempseed.
Fal.
Away you scullion, you rampallian, you fustilarian: I'll
tickle your catastrophe.
SCENE II.
Enter Chief Justice.
Ch. Just.
What's the matter? keep the peace here, hoa.
Host.
Good my lord, be good to me. I beseech you stand
to me.
-- 311 --
Ch. Just.
How now, Sir John? what, are you brawling here?
Doth this become your place, your time, and business?
You should have been well on your way to York.
Stand from him fellow, wherefore hang'st thou on him?
Host.
O my most worshipful lord, an't please your grace I
am a poor widow of Eastcheap, and he is arrested at my suit.
Ch. Just.
For what sum?
Host.
It is more than for some, my lord, it is for all; all I
have; he hath eaten me out of house and home; he hath put
all my substance into that fat belly of his; but I will have some
of it out again, or I'll ride thee o'nights, like the mare.
Fal.
I think I am as like to ride the mare, if I have any vantage
of ground to get up.
Ch. Just.
How comes this, Sir John? fie, what man of good
temper would endure this tempest of exclamation? are you not
asham'd to inforce a poor widow to so rough a course to come
by her own?
Fal.
What is the gross sum that I owe thee?
Host.
Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thy self, and the
mony too. Thou did'st swear to me on a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting
in my Dolphin-chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal
fire, on Wednesday in Whitson-week, when the Prince broke thy
head for likening him to a singing-man of Windsor; thou didst
swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me,
and make me my lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? did not
good-wife Keech the butcher's wife come in then, and call me
gossip Quickly? coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling
us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire
to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound?
and didst not thou, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to
be no more so familiarity with such poor people, saying that ere
long they should call me Madam? and didst thou not kiss me,
and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy
book-oath, deny it if thou can'st.
-- 312 --
Fal.
My lord, this is a poor mad soul; and she says up and
down the town, that her eldest son is like you. She hath been
in good case, and the truth is, poverty hath distracted her; but
for these foolish officers, I beseech you I may have redress against
them.
Ch. Just.
Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your
manner of wrenching the true cause the false way. It is not a
confident brow, nor the throng of words that come with such
more than impudent sawciness from you, can thrust me from
a level consideration. I know you have practis'd upon the easie-yielding
spirit of this woman.—
Host.
Yes in troth, my lord.
Ch. Just.
Pr'ythee, peace; pay her the debt you owe her, and
unpay the villany you have done her; the one you may do with
sterling mony, and the other with currant repentance.
Fal.
My lord, I will not undergo this † notesneap without reply.
You call honourable boldness impudent sawciness: If a man will
curt'sie and say nothing, he is virtuous. No, my lord, my humble
duty remember'd, I will not be your sutor: I say to you, I
desire deliverance from these officers, being upon hasty employment
in the King's affairs.
Ch. Just.
You speak, as having power to do wrong: but answer
in the effect your reputation, and satisfie the poor woman.
Fal.
Come hither, hostess.
[Aside.
SCENE III.
Enter Mr. Gower.
Ch. Just.
Now, master Gower, what news?
Gower.
The King, my lord, and Henry Prince of Wales
Are near at hand: the rest the paper tells.
Fal.
As I am a gentleman—
Host.
Nay, you said so before.
-- 313 --
Fal.
As I am a gentleman, come, no more words of it.
Host.
By this heav'nly ground I tread on, I must be fain to
pawn both my plate, and the tapestry of my dining chambers.
Fal.
Glasses, glasses, is the only drinking; and for thy walls,
a pretty slight drollery, or the story of the prodigal, or the German
hunting in water work, is worth a thousand of these bed-hangings,
and these fly-bitten tapestries: let it be ten pound, if
thou canst. Come, if it were not for thy humours, there is not
a better wench in England. Go, wash thy face, and draw thy
action: come, thou must not be in this humour with me; come,
I know thou wast set on to this.
Host.
Pr'ythee, Sir John, let it be but twenty nobles, I am
loth to pawn my plate, in good earnest la.
Fal.
Let it alone, I'll make other shift; you'll be a fool still.
Host.
Well, you shall have it, though I pawn my gown. I
hope you'll come to supper: you'll pay me all together?
Fal.
Will I live? go with her, with her; hook on, hook on.
Host.
Will you have Doll Tear-sheet meet you at supper?
Fal.
No more words. Let's have her.
[Exeunt Host. and Sergeant.
Ch. Just.
I have heard better news.
Fal.
What's the news, my good lord?
Ch. Just.
Where lay the King last night?
Gower.
At Basingstoke, my lord.
Fal.
I hope, my lord, all's well. What is the news, my
lord?
Ch. Just.
Come all his forces back?
Gower.
No; fifteen hundred foot, five hundred horse,
Are march'd up to my lord of Lancaster,
Against Northumberland and the Arch-bishop.
Fal.
Comes the King back from Wales, my noble lord?
Ch. Just.
You shall have letters of me presently.
Come, go along with me, good Mr. Gower.
-- 314 --
Fal.
My lord.
Ch. Just.
What's the matter?
Fal.
Master Gower, shall I entreat you with me to dinner?
Gower.
I must wait upon my good lord here.
I thank you, good Sir John.
Ch. Just.
Sir John, you loiter here too long, being you are
to take soldiers up in the countreys as you go.
Fal.
Will you sup with me, master Gower?
Ch. Just.
What foolish master taught you these manners, Sir
John?
Fal.
Master Gower, if they become me not, he was a fool
that taught them me. This is the right fencing grace, my lord,
tap for tap, and so part fair.
Ch. Just.
Now the lord lighten thee, thou art a great fool.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Continues in London.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins.
P. Henry.
Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Poins.
Is it come to that? I had thought weariness
durst not have attach'd one of so high blood.
P. Henry.
It doth me, though it discolours the complexion
of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not shew vilely in
me, to desire small beer?
Poins.
Why, a Prince should not be so loosely studied, as to
remember so weak a composition.
P. Henry.
Belike then my appetite was not princely got;
for, in troth, I do now remember the poor creature, small beer.
But indeed these humble considerations make me out of love with
my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember thy
-- 315 --
name? or to know thy face to-morrow? or to take note how
many pair of silk stockings thou hast? (viz. these, and those that
were the peach-colour'd ones;) or to bear the inventory of thy
shirts, as one for superfluity, and one other for use; but that the
tennis-court-keeper knows better than I, for it is a low ebb of
linnen with thee, when thou keepest not racket there, as thou
hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low countreys
have made a shift to eat up thy holland. † noteAnd God knows
whether those that bawl out of the ruins of thy linnen shall inherit
his kingdom: but the midwives say the children are not in
the fault, whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily
strengthened.
Poins.
How ill it follows, after you have labour'd so hard,
you should talk so idely? tell me how many good young Princes
should do so, their fathers lying so sick as yours is.
P. Henry.
Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
Poins.
Yes and let it be an excellent good thing.
P. Henry.
It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding
than thine.
Poins.
Go to; I stand the push of your one thing, that you'll
tell.
P. Henry.
Why I tell thee, it is not meet that I should be sad
now my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee, (as to one it
pleases me for fault of a better, to call my friend) I could be sad
and sad indeed too.
Poins.
Very hardly upon such a subject.
P. Henry.
Thou think'st me as far in the devil's book, as
thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and persistency. Let the end try
the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly that my father
is sick; and keeping such vile company as thou art hath in
reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.
Poins.
The reason?
P. Henry.
What would'st thou think of me, if I should weep?
-- 316 --
Poins.
I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
P. Henry.
It would be every man's thought; and thou art a
blessed fellow, to think as every man thinks; never a man's
thought in the world keeps the road-way better than thine; every
man would think me an hyprocrite indeed. And what excites your
most worshipful thought to think so?
Poins.
Why, because you have b noteseem'd so lewd, and so much
ingraffed to Falstaff.
P. Henry.
And to thee.
Poins.
Nay by this light I am well spoken of, I can hear it
with mine own ears; the worst they can say of me is, that I am
a second brother, and that I am a proper fellow of my hands:
and those two things I confess I cannot help. Look, look, here
comes Bardolph.
P. Henry.
And the boy that I gave Falstaff; he had him from
me christian, and see if the fat villain have not transform'd him
ape.
SCENE V.
Enter Bardolph and Page.
Bard.
Save your grace.
P. Henry.
And yours, most noble Bardolph.
Poins.
Come, you c notevirtuous ass, you bashful fool, must you
be blushing? wherefore blush you now? what a maidenly man
at arms are you become? Is it such a matter to get a pottle-pot's
maiden-head?
Page.
He call'd me even now, my lord, through a red lattice,
and I could discern no part of his face from the window;
at last I spy'd his eyes, and methought he had made two holes
in the ale-wives new petticoat, and peep'd through.
P. Henry.
Hath not the boy profited?
Bard.
Away, you whorson upright rabbet, away.
Page.
Away you rascally Althea's dream, away.
-- 317 --
P. Henry.
Instruct us, boy, what dream, boy?
Page.
Marry, my lord, Althea dream'd she was deliver'd of
a firebrand, and therefore I call him her dream.
P. Henry.
A crowns-worth of good interpretation; there it
is, boy.
[Gives him mony.
Poins.
O that this good blossom could be kept from cankers:
well, there is six pence to preserve thee.
Bard.
If you do not make him be hang'd among you, the
gallows shall be wrong'd.
P. Henry.
And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
Bard.
Well, my good lord; he heard of your grace's coming
to town. There's a letter for you.
P. Henry.
Deliver'd with good respect; and how doth the
Martlemas, your master?
Bard.
In bodily health, Sir.
Poins.
Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but that
moves not him; though that be sick, it dies not.
P. Henry.
I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as
my dog; and he holds his place: for look you how he writes.
Poins reads.
John Falstaff, knight—every man must know
that, as oft as he hath occasion to name himself: even like those
that are kin to the King, for they never prick their finger but
they say there is some of the King's blood spilt. How comes that?
says he that takes upon him not to conceive: the answer is as
ready as a borrowed cap; I am the King's poor cousin, Sir.
P. Henry.
Nay, they will be kin to us, but they will fetch
it from Japhet. But to the letter:—Sir John Falstaff, knight,
to the son of the King, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales,
greeting.
Poins.
Why this is a certificate.
P. Henry.
Peace.
I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity.
Poins.
Sure he means brevity in breath; short-winded. I commend
-- 318 --
me to thee, I commend thee and I leave thee. Be not too familiar
with Poins, for he misuses thy favours so much, that he swears
thou art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou may'st,
and so farewel. Thine, by yea and no: which is as much as to
say, as thou usest him, Jack Falstaff with my familiars: John with
my brothers and sisters: and Sir John with all Europe.
My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him eat it.
P. Henry.
That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But
do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your sister?
Poins.
May the wench have no worse fortune. But I never
said so.
P. Henry.
Well, thus we play the fool with the time, and the
spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us: is your master
here in London?
Bard.
Yes, my lord.
P. Henry.
Where sups he? doth the old Boar feed in the old
† notefrank?
Bard.
At the old place, my lord, in East-cheap.
P. Henry.
What company?
Page.
Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.
P. Henry.
Sup any women with him?
Page.
None, my lord, but old Mrs. Quickly, and Mrs. Dol
Tear-sheet.
P. Henry.
What Pagan may that be?
Page.
A proper gentlewoman, Sir, and a kinswoman of my
master's.
P. Henry.
Even such kin, as the parish heifers are to the
town Bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?
Poins.
I am your shadow, my lord, I'll follow you.
P. Henry.
Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your
master that I am yet come to town. There's for your silence.
Bard.
I have no tongue, Sir.
Page.
And for mine, Sir, I will govern it.
-- 319 --
P. Henry.
Fare ye well: go. This Dol Tear-sheet should be
some road.
Poins.
I warrant you, as common as the way between St. Albans
and London.
P. Henry.
How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night
in his true colours, and not our selves be seen?
Poins.
Put on two leather jerkins and aprons, and wait upon
him at his table, like drawers.
P. Henry.
From a God to a Bull? a heavy d notedescension. It
was Jove's case. From a Prince to a prentice, a low transformation;
that shall be mine: for in every thing, the purpose must
weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Northumberland.
Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland, and Lady Percy.
North.
I pr'ythee loving wife, and gentle daughter,
Give even way unto my rough affairs.
Put not you on the visage of the times,
And be like them to Percy, troublesome.
L. North.
I have giv'n over, I will speak no more:
Do what you will: your wisdom be your guide.
North.
Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn,
And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.
L. Percy.
Oh yet, for heav'ns sake, go not to these wars.
The time was, father, that you broke your word,
When you were more endear'd to it, than now;
When your own Percy, when my heart-dear Harry
Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his pow'rs: but he did long in vain!
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
-- 320 --
There were two honours lost; yours and your son's.
For yours, may heav'nly glory brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
In the grey vault of heav'n: and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts. He was indeed the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
e noteHe had no legs, that practis'd not his gait:
And speaking thick, which nature made his blemish,
Became the accents of the valiant:
For those that could speak low and tardily,
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him. So that in speech, in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,
In military rules, humours of blood,
He was the mark and glass, copy and book,
That fashion'd others. And him, wond'rous him!
O miracle of men! him did you leave
To look upon the hideous God of war
In disadvantage, to abide a field
Where nothing but the sound of Hot-spur's name
Did seem defensible: so you left him.
Never, O never do his ghost the wrong,
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others, than with him. Let them alone:
The Marshal and the Arch-bishop are strong.
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I (hanging on Hot-spur's neck)
Have talk'd of Monmouth's grave.
North.
Beshrew your heart,
Fair daughter, you do draw my spirits from me,
With new lamenting ancient over-sights.
But I must go and meet with danger there;
-- 321 --
Or it will seek me in another place,
And find me worse provided.
L. North.
Fly to Scotland,
'Till that the nobles and the armed commons
Have of their puissance made a little taste.
L. Percy.
If they get ground and 'vantage of the King,
Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger. But for all our loves,
First let them try themselves. So did your son:
He was so suffer'd; so came I a widow:
And never shall have length of life enough,
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
That it may grow and sprout as high as heav'n,
For recordation to my noble husband.
North.
Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my mind
As with the tide swell'd up unto his height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back:
I will resolve for Scotland; there am I,
'Till time and vantage crave my company.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Tavern in Eastcheap.
Enter two Drawers.
1 Draw.
What the devil hast thou brought there? Apple-Johns?
thou know'st Sir John cannot endure
an Apple-John.
2 Draw.
Mass! thou say'st true; the Prince once set a dish
of Apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five more
Sir Johns; and, putting off his hat, said, I will now take my
-- 322 --
leave of these six dry, round, old, wither'd knights. It anger'd
him to the heart; but he hath forgot that.
1 Draw.
Why then cover, and set them down; and see if
thou can'st find out Sneak's noise; Mrs. Tear-sheet would fain
hear some musick. f noteDispatch! the room where they supt is too
hot, they'll come in strait.
2 Draw.
Sirrah, here will be the Prince, and Master Poins
anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons, and
Sir John must not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word.
1 Draw.
Then here will be old † noteUtis: it will be an excellent
stratagem.
2 Draw.
I'll see if I can find out Sneak.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Hostess and Dol.
Host.
Sweet heart, methinks now you are in an excellent good
temperality; your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would
desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose:
but you have drank too much canary, and that's a marvellous
searching wine; and it perfumes the blood ere we can say what's
this. How do you now?
Dol.
Better than I was: hem.
Host.
Why, that was well said: a good heart's worth gold.
Look, here comes Sir John.
Enter Falstaff.
Fal.
When Arthur first in court—empty the jordan—and
was a worthy King: how now, Mrs. Dol?
Host.
Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth.
Fal.
So is all her sect, if they be once in a calm they are sick.
Dol.
You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?
Fal.
You make fat rascals, Mrs. Dol.
-- 323 --
Dol.
I make them! gluttony and diseases make them, I make
them not.
Fal.
If the cook make the gluttony, you help to make the
diseases, Dol; we catch of you, Dol, we catch of you; grant
that, my poor virtue, grant that.
Dol.
Ay marry, our chains and our jewels.
Fal.
Your † notebrooches, pearls and owches: for to serve bravely,
is to come halting off, you know; to come off the breach with
his pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon
the charg'd chambers bravely—
Dol.
Hang your self, you muddy Conger, hang your self!
Host.
By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never
meet but you fall to some discord; you are both, in good troth,
as rheumatick as two dry toasts, you cannot one bear with another's
confirmities. What the good-year? one must bear, and
that must be you: you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the
emptier vessel.
[To Dol.
Dol.
Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead?
there's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him; you
have not seen a hulk better stuft in the hold. Come, I'll be friends
with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars, and whether I shall
ever see thee again or no, there is no body cares.
SCENE IX.
Enter Drawer.
Draw.
Sir, antient Pistol is below, and would speak with you.
Dol.
Hang him, swaggering rascal, let him not come hither;
it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England.
Host.
If he swagger, let him not come here: no by my faith: I
must live amongst my neighbours, I'll no swaggerers: I am in
good name and fame with the very best: shut the door, there
-- 324 --
comes no swaggerers here: I have not liv'd all this while to have
swaggering now: shut the door, I pray you.
Fal.
Do'st thou hear, hostess—
Host.
Pray you pacifie your self, Sir John, there comes no
swaggerers here.
Fal.
Do'st thou hear—it is mine Ancient.
Host.
Tilly-fally, Sir John, never tell me, your ancient swaggerer
comes not in my doors. I was before master Tisick the deputy
the other day; and as he said to me—it was no longer
ago than Wednesday last—neighbour Quickly, says he;—master
Domb our minister was by then:—neighbour Quickly, says
he, receive those that are civil; for, saith he, you are in an ill
name: now he said so, I can tell whereupon; for, says he, you
are an honest woman, and well thought on, therefore take heed
what guests you receive: receive, says he, no swaggering companions.
—There come none here. You would bless you to hear
what he said. No, I'll no swaggerers.
Fal.
He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i'faith;
you may stroak him as gently as a puppey-grey-hound; he will
not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any
shew of resistance. Call him up, drawer.
Host.
Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my
house, nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering; I am the
worse when one says swagger: feel, masters, how I shake, look
you, I warrant you.
Dol.
So you do, hostess.
Host.
Do I? yea, in a very truth do I, as if it were an aspen
leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.
SCENE X.
Enter Pistol, Bardolph and Page.
Pist.
Save you, Sir John.
-- 325 --
Fal.
Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you
with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess.
Pist.
I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.
Fal.
She is pistol proof, Sir, you shall hardly offend her.
Host.
Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets: I will drink
no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.
Pist.
Then to you, Mistress Dorothy, I will charge you.
Dol.
Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion! what?
you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linnen mate; away, you,
mouldy rogue, away, I am meat for your master.
Pist.
I know you, mistress Dorothy.
Dol.
Away, you cut-purse rascal, you filthy bung away: by
this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps if you play,
the sawcy cuttle with me. Away you bottle-ale rascal, you basket-hilt
stale jugler you. Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with
two points on your shoulder? much.
Pist.
I will murther your ruff for this.
g noteFal.
No more, Pistol; I wou'd not have you go off here:
discharge your self of our company, Pistol.
Host.
No, good captain Pistol: not here, sweet captain.
Dol.
Captain! thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not
asham'd to be call'd captain? if captains were of my mind they
would truncheon you out h noteof taking their names upon you, before
you have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave! for what?
for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy house? he a captain!
hang him, rogue, he lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dry'd
cakes. A captain! these villains will make the word captain i noteas
odious as the word occupy; which was an excellent good word
before it was ill sorted: therefore captains had need look to it.
Bard.
Pray thee go down, good Ancient.
Fal.
Hark thee hither, mistress Dol.
Pist.
Not I: I tell thee what, corporal Bardolph, I could tear
her: I'll be reveng'd on her.
-- 326 --
Page.
Pray thee go down.
Pist.
I'll see her damn'd first: to Pluto's damned lake, to the
infernal deep, where Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold hook
and line, say I: down! down dogs, down fates: have we not
Hiren here?
Host.
Good captain Peesel be quiet, it is very late: I beseech
you now, aggravate your choler.
Pist.
These be good humours indeed. Shall pack-horses
And hollow-pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,
Compare with Cæsar, and with Cannibal,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar:
Shall we fall foul for toys?
Host.
By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.
Bard.
Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon.
Pist.
Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins: have we
not Hiren here?
Host.
On my word, captain, there's none such here. What
the good-year? do you think I would deny her? I pray be quiet.
Pist.
Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis; come, give
me some sack. Si fortuna me tormente, sperato me contente.
Fear we broad sides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack: and sweet-heart, lye thou there:
Come we to full points here; and are & cætera's nothing?
Fal.
Pistol I would be quiet.
Pist.
Sweet knight, I kiss thy † noteneif: what! we have seen the
seven stars.
Dol.
Thrust him down stairs, I cannot endure such a fustian
rascal.
Pist.
Thrust him down stairs? know we not galloway nags?
Fal.
Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling:
nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing
here.
-- 327 --
Bard.
Come, get you down stairs.
Pist.
What shall we have incision? shall we embrew? then
death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days: why then let
grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds, untwine the sisters three: come,
Atropos, I say.
[Drawing his sword.
Host.
Here's goodly stuff toward.
Fal.
Give me my rapier, boy.
Dol.
I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee do not draw.
Fal.
Get you down stairs.
[Drawing, and driving Pistol out.
Host.
Here's a goodly tumult; I'll forswear keeping house, before
I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murther, I warrant
now. Alas, alas, put up your naked weapons, put up your naked
weapons.
Dol.
I pr'ythee, Jack, be quiet, the rascal is gone: ah you
whorson, little valiant villain you.
Host.
Are you not hurt i'th' groin? methought he made a
shrewd thrust at your belly.
Fal.
Have you turn'd him out of doors?
Bard.
Yes, Sir, the rascal's drunk: you have hurt him, Sir,
in the shoulder.
Fal.
A rascal to brave me!
Dol.
Ah, you sweet little rogue you: alas, poor ape, how
thou sweat'st? come, let me wipe thy face—come on you whorson
chops—ah rogue, I love thee—thou art as valorous as
Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon; and ten times better
than the nine worthies: a villain!
Fal.
A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.
Dol.
Do if thou dar'st for thy heart: if thou do'st, I'll canvass
thee between a pair of sheets.
Enter Musick.
Page.
The musick is come, Sir.
Fal.
Let them play; play, Sirs. Sit on my knee, Dol. A rascal,
bragging slave! the rogue fled from me like quick-silver.
-- 328 --
Dol.
I' faith and thou follow'dst him like a church: thou
whorson little tydie Bartholomew Boar-pig, when wilt thou leave
fighting on days, and foyning on nights, and begin to patch up
thine old body for heaven?
SCENE X.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins disguis'd.
Fal.
Peace, good Dol, do not speak like a death's-head: do
not bid me remember mine end.
Dol.
Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?
Fal.
A good shallow young fellow: he would have made a
good pantler, he would have chipp'd bread well.
Dol.
They say Poins hath a good wit.
Fal.
He a good wit? hang him, baboon, his wit is as thick
as Tewksbury mustard: there is no more conceit in him, than is
in a mallet.
Dol.
Why doth the Prince love him so then?
Fal.
Because their legs are both of a bigness: and he plays
at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles
end for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys,
and jumps upon joint stools, and swears with a good grace, and
wears his boot very smooth like unto the sign of the leg, and
breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories; and such other
gambol faculties he hath, that shew a weak mind and an able body,
for the which the Prince admits him: for the Prince himself
is such another: the weight of an hair will turn the scales
between their Averdupois.
P. Henry.
Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?
Poins.
Let us beat him before his whore.
P. Henry.
Look, if the wither'd elder hath not his poll claw'd
like a Parrot.
Poins.
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive
performance?
-- 329 --
Fal.
Kiss me, Dol.
P. Henry.
Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what
says the almanack to that?
Poins.
And look, whether the fiery Trigon his man be not
lisping to his master's old tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper?
Fal.
Thou dost give me flattering busses.
Dol.
By my troth I kiss thee with a most constant heart.
Fal.
I am old, I am old.
Dol.
I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy
of them all.
Fal.
What stuff wilt thou have a kirtle of? I shall receive mony
on Thursday: Thou shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry
song, come: it grows late, we will to bed. Thou wilt forget
me when I am gone.
Dol.
By my troth thou wilt set me a weeping if thou say'st
so: prove that ever I dress my self handsom 'till thy return—
Well, hearken the end.
Fal.
Some sack, Francis.
P. Henry. Poins.
Anon, anon, Sir.
Fal.
Ha! a bastard son of the King's! and art not thou Poins
his brother?
P. Henry.
Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life
dost thou lead?
Fal.
A better than thou: I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.
P. Henry.
Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you out by
the ears.
Host.
Oh, the lord preserve thy good grace. Welcome to
London. Now heav'n bless that sweet face of thine: what, are
you come from Wales?
Fal.
Thou whorson-made compound of majesty, by this light
flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.
[Leaning his hand upon Dol.
-- 330 --
Dol.
How! you fat fool, I scorn you.
Poins.
My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and
turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.
P. Henry.
You whorson candle-myne you, how vilely did you
speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman?
Host.
'Blessing on your good heart, and so she is by my troth.
Fal.
Didst thou hear me?
P. Henry.
Yes; and you knew me as you did when you ran
away by Gads-hill, you knew I was at your back, and spoke it
on purpose to try my patience.
Fal.
No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within
hearing.
P. Henry.
I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse,
and then I know how to handle you.
Fal.
No abuse, Hal, on my honour, no abuse.
P. Henry.
Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler, and bread-chipper,
and I know not what?
Fal.
No abuse, Hal.
Poins.
No abuse!
Fal.
No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, none. I
disprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall
in love with him; in which doing, I have done the part of a
careful friend, and true subject, and thy father is to give me
thanks for it. No abuse, Hal, none, Ned, none; no, boys, none.
P. Henry.
See now whether pure fear and entire cowardise
doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman, to close
with us? Is she of the wicked? is thine hostess here of the wicked?
or is the boy of the wicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal
burns in his nose, of the wicked?
Poins.
Answer, thou dead Elm, answer.
Fal.
The fiend hath prickt down Bardolph irrecoverable, and
his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but
-- 331 --
roast mault-worms: for the boy, there is a good angel about
him, but the devil† note out-bids him too.
P. Henry.
For the women?
Fal.
For one of them, she in is hell already, and burns poor
souls: for the other, I owe her mony; and whether she be damn'd
for that, I know not.
Host.
No, I warrant you.
Fal.
No, I think thou art not: I think thou art quit for that.
Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, for suffering flesh
to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law, for the which I
think thou wilt howl.
Host.
All victuallers do so: what is a joint of mutton or two
in a whole Lent?
P. Henry.
You, gentlewoman.
Dol.
What says your grace?
Fal.
His grace says that which his flesh rebels against.
Host.
Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door there,
Francis.
SCENE XI.
Enter Peto.
P. Henry.
Peto, how now? what news?
Peto.
The King your father is at Westminster,
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north; and as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.
P. Henry.
By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
So idly to profane the precious time;
When tempest of commotion, like the South
Born with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
-- 332 --
Give me my sword, and cloak: Falstaff, good night.
[Exeunt Prince and Poins.
Fal.
Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we
must hence, and leave it unpickt. More knocking at the door?
how now? what's the matter?
Bard.
You must away to court, Sir, presently: a dozen captains
stay at door for you.
Fal.
Pay the musicians, Sirrah: farewel hostess, farewel Dol.
You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after;
the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is call'd on.
Farewel, good wenches; if I be not sent away post, I will see
you again, ere I go.
Dol.
I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to burst—
well, sweet Jack, have a care of thy self.
Fal.
Farewel, farewel.
[Exit.
Host.
Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty
nine years, come pescod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted
man—well, fare thee well.
Bard.
Mrs. Tear-sheet.
Host.
What's the matter?
Bard.
Bid Mistress Tear-sheet come to my master.
Host.
O run, Dol. run; run, good Dol.
[Exeunt.
-- 333 --
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
