Puslapio vaizdai
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Hoft. This is excellent fport, i' faith.

Fal. Weep not, fweet Queen, for trickling tears are

vain.

Hoft. O the father! how he holds his countenance ! Fal. For God's fake, Lords, convey my triftful Queen, For tears do ftop the flood-gates of her eyes.

Hoft. O rare, he doth it as like one of thofe harlotry players, as 'ever I fee.`

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot, peace, good tickle-brain Harry, I do not only marvel, where thou fpendeft thy time; but also, how thou art accompany'd: for though the camomil, the more it is trodden on, the fafter it grows: yet youth, the more it is wafted, the fooner it wears. Thou art my fon; I have partly thy mother's word, partly my opinion; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be fon to me, here lyeth the point; why, being fon to me, art thou fo pointed at? Shall the bleffed 7'Sun of heav'n prove a micher, and eat blackberries? a queftion not to be ask'd. Shall the fon of England prove a thief, and take purfes? a question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou haft often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; fo doth the company thou keep'ft; for, Harry, now do I not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in paffion; not in words only, but in woes alfo; and yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

P. Henry. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?

Fal. A goodly portly man i' faith, and a corpulent; of a chearful look, a pleafing eye, and a moft noble carriage; and as I think, his age fome fifty, or, by'rlady, inclining to threefcore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man fhould be lewdly given, he deceives me; for, Harry, I fee virtue in his looks. If then

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the

the fruit may be known by the tree, as the tree by the fruit, then peremptorily I fpeak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the reft banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where haft thou been this month?

P. Henry. Doft thou speak like a King? do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depofe me? If thou doft it half fo gravely, fo majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbet-fucker, or a poulterer's hare. P. Henry. Well, here I am fet.

Fal. And here I ftand; judge, my masters.
P. Henry. Now, Harry, whence come you?
Fal. My noble Lord, from Eaft-cheap.

P. Henry. The complaints 1 hear of thee are grievous.
Fal. 'Sblood, my Lord, they are false. --

tickle ye for a young

Prince.

Nay, I'll P. Henry. Sweareft thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me; thou art violently carry'd away from grace; there's a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man a tun of man is thy companion. Why doft thou converse with that trunk of humours, that boultinghutch of beastlinefs, that fwoln parcel of dropfies, that huge bombard of fack, that ftuft cloak-bag of guts, that roafted Manning-tree Ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to tafte fack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villainy? wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace?

P. Henry. That villainous abominable mif-leader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Sathan.

Fal. My Lord, the man I know.

P. Henry. I know thou doft.

& tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree,

Fal.

Fal. But to fay, I know more harm in him than in my self, were to say more than I know. That he is old, the more's the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, (faving your reverence,) a whoremafter, that I utterly deny. If fack and fugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be old and merry be a fin, then many an old hoft that I know is damn'd: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be lov'd. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banifh Poins; but for fweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff; banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

P. Henry. I do, I will. [Knocking, and Hoftefs goes out. Enter Bardolph running.

Bard. O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sheriff with a most monftrous watch, is at the door.

Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the Play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

Re-enter the Hoftefs.

Hoft. O, my Lord, my Lord!

Fal. Heigh, heigh, the Devil rides upon a fiddle-ftick: what's the matter?

Hoft. The Sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to fearch the house: fhall I let them in? Fal. Doft thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art effentially mad, without feeming fo.

P. Henry. And, thou a natural coward, without inftinct.

Fal. I deny your major; if you will deny the Sheriff, fo; if not, let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up! I hope I fhall as foon be ftrangled with a halter, as ano

ther.

P. Henry. Go hide thee behind the arras, the reft walk

above.

above. Now, my mafters, for a true face and good con

science.

Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.

[Exeunt Falstaff, Bardolph, &c.

P. Henry. Call in the Sheriff.

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Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.

P. Henry. Now, mafter Sheriff, what is your will with

me?

Sher. First, pardon me, my Lord. A hue and cry Hath follow'd certain men unto this houfe.

P. Henry. What men?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious Lord, A gross fat man.

Car. As fat as butter.

P. Henry. The man, I do affure you, is not here,
For I my felf at this time have imploy'd him;
And, Sheriff, I engage my word to thee,
That I will, by to-morrow dinner time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he fhall be charg'd withal:
And fo let me intreat you leave the house.

Sher. I will, my Lord: there are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery loft three hundred marks.

P. Henry. It may be fo; if he have robb'd these men, He fhall be anfwerable; and fo farewel.

Sher. Good night, my noble Lord.

P. Henry. I think it is good morrow, is it not?
Sher. Indeed, my Lord, I think it be two a clock.

[Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. P. Henry. This oily rafcal is known as well as Paul's ; go call him forth.

Peto.

Falstaff! faft afleep behind the arras, and fnorting like a horse. VOL. III.

X

P. Henry,

P. Henry. Hark, how hard he fetches his breath: fearch

his pockets.

[He fearches bis pockets, and finds certain papers. What haft thou found?

Peto. Nothing but papers, my Lord.

P. Henry. Let's fee, what be they? read them.
Peto. Item, a capon, 2 s. 2 d.

Item, Sawce, 4 d.

Item, Sack, two gallons, 5 s. 8d.

Item, Anchoves and fack after fupper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, a halfpenny.

P. Henry. O monftrous! but one half penny-worth of bread to this intolerable deal of fack? What there is elfe, keep close, we'll read it at more advantage; there let him fleep 'till day. I'll to the Court in the morning: we muft all to the wars, and thy place fhall be honourable : I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot, and I know his death will be a amarch of twelvefcore. The mony fhall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and fo good morrow, Peto. Peto. Good-morrow, good my Lord.

[Exeunt.

ACT

III.

SCENE I.

The Arch-deacon of Bangor's Houfe in Wales.

Enter Hot-fpur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, and Owen Glendower.

Will

MORTIMER.

Hefe promises are fair, the parties fure,
And our induction full of profperous hope.
Hot. Lord Mortimer, and coufin Glendower,
fit down?

you

And

(a) i. e. it will kill him to march fo far as twelve Score foot.

Pope.

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