[Exeunt Lords. I know not whether God will have it so, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, Such barren pleasures, rude society, K. Hen. God pardon thee !—yet let me won- a At thy affections, which do hold a wing And then I stole all courtesy from heaven, Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new; That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, Be more myself. K. Hen. For all the world, As thou art to this hour, was Richard then Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge Thrice hath this Hotspur, Mars in swathing clothes, This infant warrior in his enterprizes Enlarged him, and made a friend of him, The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer, Capitulate against us, and are up. But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find And God forgive them that have so much sway'd And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights, Thou shalt have charge, and sovereign trust herein. Enter BLUNT. How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. Biunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of. Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,That Douglas, and the English rebels, met, The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury: A mighty and a fearful head they are, If promises be kept on every hand, As ever offer'd foul play in a state. K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day; With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; Our business valued, some twelve days hence [Exeunt. SCENE III.-Eastcheap. A room in the Boar's Head Tavern. Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me. Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. Fal. Why, there is it :-come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced, not above seven times a week: went to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter-of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass. Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, sir John. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop,-but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's-head, or a memento mori: I never see thy face, but I think on hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my cath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it! Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned. Enter Hostess. How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you inquired yet, who picked my pocket? Host. Why, sir John! what do you think, sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked: Go to, you are a woman, go. Host. Who I? I defy thee: I was never called so in mine own house before. Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. Host. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. Enter Prince HENRY and POINS, marching. FALSTAFF meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon like a fife. Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith? must we all march? Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion? P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honest man. Host. Good my lord, hear me. Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets. P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's. P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said, he would cudgel you. P. Hen. What! he did not? Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else. Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. on. Host. Say, what thing? what thing? Host. I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou should'st know it; I am an honest man's wife: and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolt-art a knave to call me so. ers of them. Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound. Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay. Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; What call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. Host. O Jesu! I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ring was copper. Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so. Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise. Host. Say, what beast, thou knave thou? P. Hen. An otter, sir John? why an otter? Fal. Why? she's neither fish, nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her. Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou or any man knows where to have me, thou knave thou! P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly. Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day, you ought him a thousand pound. P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Fal. A thousand pound, Hal! a million: thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love. Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said, he would cudgel you. Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? Bard. Indeed, sir John, you said so. Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. P. Hen. And why not, as the lion? Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion: Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break! P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty, in this bosom of thine; it is filled up with guts, and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were any thing in thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of bawdyhouses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar-candy to make thee long winded; if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong: Art thou not ashamed? Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in | the state of innocency, Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do, in the days of villainy? thou seest, I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty.-You confess then, you picked my pocket? P. Hen. It appears so by the story. Fal Hostess, I forgive thee: Go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: thou seest, I am pacified. Still?-Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. [Exit Hostess. Now, Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery, lad,-How is that answered? P. Hen. O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee:-The money is paid back again. Fal. O, I do not like that paying back, 'tis a double labour. P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do any thing. Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too. Bard. Do, my lord. P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot. Fal. I would, it had been of horse. Where P. Hen. Go bear this letter to lord John of My brother John; this to my lord of Westmore- Go, Poins, to horse, to horse; for thou, and I, Meet me to-morrow in the Temple-hall Money, and order for their furniture. [Exeunt Prince, Poins, and Bardolph. [Exit. ACT IV. SCENE I.-The rebel camp near Shrewsbury. In this fine age, were not thought flattery, In such a justling time? Who leads his power? And at the time of my departure thence, Wor. I would, the state of time had first been whole, Ere he by sickness had been visited; His health was never better worth than now. Hot. Sick now! droop now! this sickness doth infect The very life-blood of our enterprize; 'Tis catching hither, even to our camp. He writes me here,-that inward sicknessAnd that his friends by deputation could not So soon be drawn ; nor did he think it meet, To lay so dangerous and dear a trust On any soul remov'd, but on his own. Yet doth he give us bold advertisement,That with our small conjunction, we should on, To see how fortune is dispos'd to us: For, as he writes, there is no quailing now; Because the king is certainly possess'd Of all our purposes. What say you to it? Wor. Your father's sickness is a maim to us. Hot. A perilous gash, a very limb lopp'd off: And yet, in faith, 'tis not; his present want Seems more than we shall find it :-Were it good, To set the exact wealth of all our states All at one cast? to set so rich a main On the nice hazard of one doubtful hour? It were not good: for therein should we read The very bottom and the soul of hope; The very list, the very utmost bound Of all our fortunes. Doug. Faith, and so we should ; Where now remains a sweet reversion : We may boldly spend upon the hope of what Is to come in: A comfort of retirement lives in this. Hot. A rendezvous, a home to fly unto, If that the devil and mischance look big Upon the maidenhead of our affairs. Wor. But yet, I would your father had been here. Hot. You strain too far. I, rather, of his absence make this use ;It lends a lustre, and more great opinion, A larger dare to our great enterprize, Than if the earl were here: for men must think, If we, without his help, can make a head To push against the kingdom; with his help, We shall o'erturn it topsy-turvy down.Yet all goes well, yet all our joints are whole. Doug. As heart can think: there is not such a word Spoke of in Scotland, as this term of fear. The quality and hair of our attempt Brooks no division: It will be thought By some, that know not why he is away, That wisdom, loyalty, and mere dislike Of our proceedings, kept the earl from hence; And think, how such an apprehension May turn the tide of fearful faction, And breed a kind of question in our cause: For, well you know, we of the offering side Must keep aloof from strict arbitrement; And stop all sight-holes, every loop, from whence eye of reason may pry in upon us: This absence of your father's draws a curtain, That shows the ignorant a kind of fear The Before not dreamt of. Enter Sir RICHARD VERNON. Hot. My cousin Vernon! welcome, by my soul. Ver. Pray God, my news be worth a welcome, lord. The earl of Westmoreland, seven thousand strong, Ismarching hitherwards; with him, prince John. Hot. No harm: What more? Ver. And further, I have learn'd,— The king himself in person is set forth, Or hitherwards intended speedily, With strong and mighty preparation. Hot. He shall be welcome too. Where is his son, The nimble-footed mad-cap prince of Wales, And his comrades, that daff'd the world aside, And bid it pass? Ver. All furnish'd, all in arms, All plum'd like estridges that wing the wind; And witch the world with noble horsemanship. in March, This praise doth nourish agues. Let them come; O, that Glendower were come! Ver. There is more news: I learn'd in Worcester, as I rode along, |