SCENE II.
London. A Street.
Enter Sir John Falstaff, with his Page bearing his Sword and Buckler.
Fal.
Sirrah, you giant, what says the doctor to my
water?
Page.
He said, sir, the water itself was a good healthy
water; but for the party that owed it, he might have
more diseases than he knew for.
Fal.
Men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me:
the brain of this foolish-compounded clay, man, is not
able to invent any thing that tends to laughter4 note, more
than I invent, or is invented on me: I am not only
witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
I do here walk before thee, like a sow that hath overwhelmed
all her litter but one: if the prince put thee
into my service for any other reason than to set me off,
why then, I have no judgment. Thou whoreson mandrake,
thou art fitter to be worn in my cap, than to
wait at my heels. I was never manned with an agate
till now: but I will in-set you neither in gold nor silver5 note,
but in vile apparel, and send you back again to your
master, for a jewel; the juvenal, the prince your master,
-- 352 --
whose chin is not yet fledged. I will sooner have
a beard grow in the palm of my hand, than he shall get
one on his cheek6 note; and yet he will not stick to say, his
face is a face-royal. God may finish it when he will, it
is not a hair amiss yet: he may keep it still as a face-royal7 note,
for a barber shall never earn sixpence out of it;
and yet he will be crowing, as if he had writ man ever
since his father was a batchelor. He may keep his
own grace, but he is almost out of mine, I can assure
him.—What said master Dumbleton about the satin
for my short cloak, and my slops?
Page.
He said, sir, you should procure him better
assurance than Bardolph; he would not take his bond
and yours: he liked not the security.
Fal.
Let him be damned like the glutton: may his
tongue be hotter!—A whoreson Achitophel! a rascally
yea-forsooth knave, to bear a gentleman in hand8 note, and
then stand upon security!—The whoreson smooth-pates
do now wear nothing but high shoes, and bunches of
keys at their girdles; and if a man is thorough with
them in honest taking up9 note, then must they stand upon
security. I had as lief they would put ratsbane in
my mouth, as offer to stop it with security. I looked
he should have sent me two and twenty yards of satin,
as I am a true knight, and he sends me security. Well,
he may sleep in security; for he hath the horn of abundance,
and the lightness of his wife shines through it:
-- 353 --
and yet cannot he see, though he have his own lantern
to light him.—Where's Bardolph?
Page.
He's gone into Smithfield to buy your worship
a horse.
Fal.
I bought him in Paul's1 note, and he'll buy me a
horse in Smithfield: an I could get me but a wife in
the stews, I were manned, horsed, and wived.
Enter the Lord Chief Justice2 note, and an Attendant.
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?
Atten.
Falstaff, an't please your lordship.
Ch. Just.
He that was in question for the robbery?
Atten.
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.
Atten.
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.
Atten.
Sir John,—
Fal.
What! a young knave, and begging3 note? Is 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
-- 354 --
shame to beg than to be on the worst side, were it
worse than the name of rebellion can tell how to make
it.
Atten.
You mistake me, sir.
Fal.
Why, sir, did I say you were an honest man?
setting my knighthood and my soldiership aside, I had
lied in my throat if I had said so.
Atten.
I pray you, sir, then set your knighthood 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 get'st any leave of
me, hang me: if thou takest leave, thou wert better be
hanged. You hunt-counter4 note, hence! avaunt!
Atten.
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 you5 note before your expedition
to Shrewsbury.
Fal.
An't please your lordship, I hear his majesty is
returned with some discomfort from Wales.
-- 355 --
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 whoreson apoplexy.
Ch. Just.
Well, heaven mend him.—I pray you, 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
blood6 note, a whoreson 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 his effects in Galen: it is a kind of deafness.
Ch. Just.
I think you are fallen into the disease, for
you hear not what I say to you.
Fal.
Very well, my lord7 note, very well: rather, an't
please you, it is the disease of not listening, 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 physician8 note.
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
itself.
Ch. Just.
I sent for you, when there were matters
against you for your life, to come speak with me.
-- 356 --
Fal.
As I was then advised by my learned counsel
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 waist slenderer.
Ch. Just.
You have misled the youthful prince.
Fal.
The young prince hath misled me: I am the
fellow with the great belly, and he my dog9 note.
Ch. Just.
Well, I am loath to gall a new-healed
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: 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 ill angel1 note.
-- 357 --
Fal.
Not so, my lord; your ill 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-monger times2 note, that true valour is turned bearherd.
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 them3 note, are not worth a gooseberry. 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 vaward
of our youth, I must confess, are wags too.
Ch. Just.
Do you set down your name in the scroll
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 single4 note, and every
part about you blasted with antiquity, and will you yet
call yourself young? Fie, fie, fie, sir John!
Fal.
My lord, I was born about three of the clock
in the afternoon5 note, with a white head, and something a
round belly. For my voice,—I have lost it with hollaing,
and singing of anthems. To approve my youth
farther, 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' the ear
that the prince gave you, he gave it like a rude prince,
-- 358 --
and you took it like a sensible lord. I have checked
him for it, and the young lion repents; marry, not
in ashes, and sackcloth, but in new silk, and old sack.
Ch. Just.
Well, God send the prince a better companion!
Fal.
God send the companion a better prince! I
cannot rid my hands of him.
Ch. Just.
Well, the king hath severed you and prince
Harry6 note. I hear, you are going with lord John of Lancaster
against the archbishop, and the earl of Northumberland.
Fal.
Yea; 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 shirts7 note out with me, and I
mean not to sweat extraordinarily: if it be a hot day,
and I brandish any thing but my bottle, I would I might
never spit white again8 note. There is not a dangerous
action can peep out his head, but I am thrust upon it:
well, I cannot last ever. [But it was always yet the
trick of our English nation, if they have a good thing,
to make it too common. If you 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
rust, than to be scoured to nothing with perpetual
motion9 note.]
Ch. Just.
Well, be honest, be honest; and God bless
your expedition.
-- 359 --
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 crosses1 note. Fare you well: commend
me to my cousin Westmoreland.
[Exeunt Chief Justice and Attendant.
Fal.
If I do, fillip me with a three-man beetle2 note.
A man can no more separate age and covetousness,
than he can part young limbs and lechery; but the
gout galls the one, and the pox pinches the other,
and so both the degrees prevent my curses3 note.—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 Westmoreland; and this to old mistress
Ursula, whom I have weekly sworn to marry since I
perceived the first white hair of my chin4 note
. About it:
you know where to find me. [Exit Page.] A pox of
this gout! or, a gout of this pox! for the one, or the
other, plays the rogue with my great toe. 'Tis 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.
[Exit.
-- 360 --
J. Payne Collier [1842–1844], The works of William Shakespeare. The text formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions: with the various readings, notes, a life of the poet, and a history of the Early English stage. By J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. In eight volumes (Whittaker & Co. [etc.], London) [word count] [S10101].