Poins.
P. Hen.
Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Poins.
Is it come to that? I had thought, weariness
durst not have attached one of so high blood.
-- 371 --
P. Hen.
'Faith, it does me, though it discolours the
complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth
it not show 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. Hen.
Belike then, my appetite was not princely
got; for, by my 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 name?
or to know thy face to-morrow? or to take note how
many pair of silk stockings thou hast; viz. these5 note, and
those that were thy 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 linen with
thee, when thou keepest not racket there; as thou hast
not done a great while, because the rest of thy low-countries
have made a shift to eat up thy holland: and
God knows, whether those that bawl out the ruins of
thy linen, shall inherit his kingdom; but the midwives
say, the children are not in the fault, whereupon the
world increases, and kindreds are mightily strengthened6 note.
Poins.
How ill it follows, after you have laboured so
hard, you should talk so idly7 note! Tell me, how many
good young princes would do so, their fathers being so
sick as yours at this time is8 note?
P. Hen.
Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
-- 372 --
Poins.
Yes, faith, and let it be an excellent good thing.
P. Hen.
It shall serve among wits of no higher
breeding than thine.
Poins.
Go to; I stand the push of your one thing
that you will tell.
P. Hen.
Marry, 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. Hen.
By this hand, 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 so sick;
and keeping such vile company as thou art, hath in
reason taken from me all ostentation of sorrow.
Poins.
The reason?
P. Hen.
What would'st thou think of me, if I should
weep?
Poins.
I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.
P. Hen.
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 hypocrite
indeed. And what accites your most worshipful
thought to think so?
Poins.
Why, because you have been so lewd, and so
much engraffed to Falstaff.
P. Hen.
And to thee.
Poins.
By this light, I am well spoken on9 note; I can
hear it with mine own ears: the worst that 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
-- 373 --
confess, I cannot help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph.
P. Hen.
And the boy that I gave Falstaff: he had
him from me christian; and look, if the fat villain have
not transformed him ape.
Enter Bardolph and Page.
Bard.
God save your grace.
P. Hen.
And yours, most noble Bardolph.
Bard.
Come, you virtuous ass1 note, [To the Page.] 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 pottlepot's
maidenhead?
Page.
He called me even now, my lord, through a
red lattice2 note, and I could discern no part of his face
from the window: at last, I spied his eyes; and, methought,
he had made two holes in the ale-wife's new
petticoat, and peeped through.
P. Hen.
Hath not the boy profited?
Bard.
Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away!
Page.
Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away!
P. Hen.
Instruct us, boy: what dream, boy?
Page.
Marry, my lord, Althea dreamed3 note she was
delivered of a fire-brand, and therefore I call him her
dream.
P. Hen.
A crown's worth of good interpretation.—
There it is, boy.
[Gives him money.
-- 374 --
Poins.
O, that this good blossom could be kept
from cankers!—Well, there is sixpence to preserve
thee.
Bard.
An you do not make him be hanged among
you, the gallows shall have wrong.
P. Hen.
And how doth thy master, Bardolph?
Bard.
Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's
coming to town: there's a letter for you.
Poins.
Delivered 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. Hen.
I do allow this wen to be as familiar with
me as my dog; and he holds his place, for look you
how he writes4 note.
Poins. [Reads.]
“John Falstaff, knight,”—every man
must know that, as oft as he has 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 borrower's cap; “I am the king's poor
cousin, sir.”
P. Hen.
Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will
fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter:—
Poins.
“Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the
king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.”
—Why,this is a certificate.
P. Hen.
Peace!
Poins.
“I will imitate the honourable Romans in
brevity:”—he sure means brevity in breath, short-winded.
—“I commend 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
-- 375 --
art to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as
thou may'st, and so farewell.
“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. Hen.
That's to make him eat twenty of his words. 11Q0625
But do you use me thus, Ned? must I marry your
sister?
Poins.
God send the wench no worse fortune! but I
never said so.
P. Hen.
Well, thus we play the fools 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. Hen.
Where sups he? doth the old boar feed in
the old frank5 note?
Bard.
At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.
P. Hen.
What company?
Page.
Ephesians, my lord; of the old church.
P. Hen.
Sup any women with him?
Page.
None, my lord, but old mistress Quickly, and
mistress Doll Tear-sheet.
P. Hen.
What pagan may that be?
Page.
A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman
of my master's.
P. Hen.
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. Hen.
Sirrah, you boy,—and Bardolph;—no word
to your master that I am yet come to town: there's for
your silence.
-- 376 --
Bard.
I have no tongue, sir.
Page.
And for mine, sir, I will govern it.
P. Hen.
Fare ye well; go. [Exeunt Bardolph and
Page.]—This Doll Tear-sheet should be some road.
Poins.
I warrant you, as common as the way between
Saint Alban's and London.
P. Hen.
How might we see Falstaff bestow himself
to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be
seen?
Poins.
Put on two leathern jerkins, and aprons, and
wait upon him at his table as drawers.
P. Hen.
From a god to a bull? a heavy descension6 note!
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.
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].
