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 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.
-- 359 --
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 gallow's 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 with the very extreamest inch of possibility. I have founder'd
ninescore 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, 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 cynders of the element,
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.
-- 360 --
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.
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].
