Puslapio vaizdai

Fal. Doft thou hear me, Hal?

P. Henry. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

Fal. Do fo, for it is worth the liftning to: these nine in buckram, that I told thee of

P. Henry. So, two more already.
Fal. Their points being broken
Poins. Down fell 4 'their hose.

Fal. Began to give me ground; but I follow'd me close, came in foot and hand; and with a thought, feven of the eleven I pay'd.

P. Henry. O monftrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

Fal. But as the Devil would have it, three mif-begotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back, and let drive at me; (for it was fo dark, Hal, that thou could'st not fee thy hand.)

P. Henry. Thefe lies are like the father that begets them, grofs as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whorfon obfcene greafie tallow-ketch

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth?

P. Henry. Why, how could'ft thou know these men in Kendal green, when it was fo dark, thou could't not fee thy hand? come, tell us your reason: what fay'ft thou to this?

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reafon.

Fal. What, upon compulfion? no; were I at the ftrappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulfion. Give you a reafon on compulfion! if reasons were as plenty as black-berries, I would give no man a reason upon compulfion, I.

P. Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of this fin. This fanguine coward, this bed-preffer, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,

Fal. Away, you ftarveling, you 'Eel-skin, you dry'd neats-tongue, bull's-pizzel, you ftock-fifh: Ó for breath

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to utter what is like thee! You taylor's yard, you fheath, you bow-cafe, you vile standing tuck.

P. Henry. Well, breathe a while, and then to't again; and when thou haft tir'd thy felf in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.

Poins. Mark, Jack.

P. Henry. We two faw you four fet on four, you bound them, and were masters of their wealth: mark now, how a plain tale fhall put you down. Then did we two fet on you four, and with a word, outfac'd you from your prize, and have it, yea, and can fhew it you here in the houfe. And, Falstaff, you carry'd your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and ftill ran and roar'd, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a flave art thou, to hack thy sword as thou haft done, and then say it was in fight! What trick? what device? what ftarting-hole canft thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent fhame?

Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack: what trick haft thou now?

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my mafters; was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true Prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware inftinct, the Lion will not touch the true Prince: inftinct is a great matter. I was a coward on inftin&t: I fhall think the better of my felf, and thee, during my life; I, for a valiant Lion, and thou for a true Prince. But, by the Lords, lads, I am glad you have the mony. Hoftefs, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray tomorrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, fhall we be merry? hall we have a play extempore?

P. Henry. Content; and the argument fhall be, thy running away.

Fel. Ah, no more of that, Hal, if thou loveft me.



Enter Hoftefs.

Hoft. O fefu! my Lord the Prince!

P. Henry. How now, my Lady the hostess, what say'st

thou to me?

Hoft. Marry, my Lord, there is a Nobleman of the Court at door would fpeak with you; he fays he comes from your father.

P. Henry. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and fend him back again to my mother. Fal. What manner of man is he?

Hoft. An old man.

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his anfwer?

P. Henry. Pr'ythee do, Jack.

Fal. 'Faith, and I'll fend him packing.

[Exit. P. Henry. Now, Sirs, by'r Lady you fought fair; fo did you, Peto, fo 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 faw others run.

P. Henry. Tell me now in earneft; how came Falstaff's fword fo hackt?

Peto. Why, he hackt it with his dagger, and faid, he would fwear truth out of England, but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and perfuaded us to do the like.

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our nofes with fpear-grafs, to make them bleed, and then beslubber our garments with it, and fwear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not these seven years before, I blush'd to hear his monftrous devices.

P.Henry. O villain, thou ftoleft a cup of fack eighteen years ago, and wert taken in the "manour, and ever fince thou haft blush'd extempore; thou hadst fire and fword on thy fide, and yet thou ranneft away; what inftinct hadft thou for it? Bard. My Lord, do you fee these meteors? do you behold these exhalations?

6 manner,

P. Henry,

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.

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Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my fweet creature of bombaft, how long is't ago, Jack, fince thou faw'ft thy own knee?

Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an Eagle's talon in the wafte; I could have crept into any Alderman's thumb-ring: a plague of fighing and grief, it blows a man up like a bladder. There's villainous news abroad: here was Sir John Braby from your father; you must go to the Court in the morning. That fame mad fellow of the north, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the baftinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and fwore the Devil his true Liege-man upon the cross of a Welb-hook: what a plague call you


Poins. O, Glendower.

Fal. Owen, Owen; the fame, and his fon-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and the fprightly Scot of Scots, Dowglas, that runs a horfeback up a hill perpen


P. Henry. He that rides at high speed, and with a pistol kills a fparrow flying.

Fal. You have hit it.

P. Henry. So did he never the Sparrow.

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him, he will

not run.

P. Henry. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him fo for running?

Fal. A horfeback, ye cuckow, but afoot he will not budge a foot.

P. Henry.

P. Henry. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

Fal. I grant ye, upon inftinct: well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more. Worcefter is ftol'n away by night: thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as ftinking mackerel.

P. Henry. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffetting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred.

Fal. By the Mafs, lad, thou fay'ft true; it is like we fhall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horribly afeard? thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three fuch enemies again as that fiend Dowglas, that fpirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

P. Henry. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack fome of thy inftinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou com'ft to thy father: if thou do love me, practise an anfwer.

P. Henry. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life.

Fal. Shall I content: this chair fhall be my state, this dagger my scepter, and this cufhion my crown.

P. Henry. Thy ftate is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden fcepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown.

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now fhalt thou be moved Give me a cup of fack to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in paffion, and I will do it in King Cambyfes' vein.


P. Henry. Well, here is my leg.
Fal. And here is my speech


Stand afide, No


(a) An old Play entitled A lamentable Tragedie mixed full of pleafant mirth containing the life of Cambifes King of Percia. By Thomas Prefton.


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