lady, inclining to threescore, and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me, now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month? P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father. Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a poulterer's hare. P. Hen. Well, here I am set. Fal. And here I stand.-Judge, my masters. P. Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false.-Nay, I'll tickle thee for a young prince, i' faith. P. Hen. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace there is a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that hulk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree-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 taste sack 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. Hen. That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Fal. My lord, the man I know. P. Hen. I know thou dost. Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it: but that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know, is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord: banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet 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 not him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. [Exeunt Hostess, FRANCIS, and BARDOLPH. Re-enter BARDOLPH, running. Bard. O! my lord, my lord! the sheriff, with a most monstrous 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 Hostess. Host. O Jesu! my lord, my lord !— P. Hen. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides stick. What's the matter? upon a fiddle Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house. Shall I let them in? Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without seeming so. P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; 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 shall as soon be strangled with a halter Now, master sheriff, what's your will with me? Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord; A gross fat man. As fat as butter. Car. Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen men, He shall be answerable; and so, farewell. P. Hen. I think it is good morrow, is it not? Peto. Falstaff!-fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse. P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets. [PETO searches.] What hast thou found? Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord. P. Hen. Let's see what they be read them. Item, Sack, two gallons, Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, Item, Bread, 2s. 2d. 4d. 58. 8d. 2s. 6d. ob. P. Hen. O monstrous! but one half-pennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack!-What there is else, keep close: we'll read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning : we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and, I know, his death will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good morrow, Peto. [Exeunt. Peto. Good morrow, good my lord. ACT III. SCENE I.-Bangor. A Room in the Archdeacon's House. SCEN By telling truth: tell truth, and shame the devil.— DOWER. Mort. These promises are fair, the parties sure, And our induction full of prosperous hope. Hot. Lord Mortimer, and cousin Glendower, will you sit down?-And, uncle Worcester.-A plague upon it! I have forgot the map. No, here it is. Glend. Sit, cousin Percy; sit, good cousin Hotspur; For by that name as oft as Lancaster Doth speak of you, His cheek looks pale, and with a rising sigh He wisheth you in heaven. Hot. And you in hell, as oft as he hears Owen Glen dower spoke of. Glen. I cannot blame him: at my nativity, The frame and huge foundation of the earth Hot. Why, so it would have done at the same season, if your mother's cat had but kitten'd, though yourself had never been born. Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was born. Hot. And I say the earth was not of my mind, If you suppose as fearing you it shook. Glend. The heavens were all on fire; the earth did tremble. No more of this unprofitable chat. Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made Against my power: thrice from the banks of Wye, Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather too! Glend. Come, here's the map: shall we divide our According to our three-fold order ta'en? That chides the banks of England, Scotland, Wales,— Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it Into three limits, very equally. Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better Welsh. I'll to dinner. England, from Trent and Severn hitherto, Mort. Peace, cousin Percy! you will make him mad. Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, [To Glendower. Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentlemen. Glend. A shorter time shall send me to you, lords; And in my conduct shall your ladies come: From whom you now must steal, and take no leave; For there will be a world of water shed, Upon the parting of your wives and you. Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton here, It shall not wind with such a deep indent, Glend. Not wind? it shall; it must: you see, it doth. runs me up With like advantage on the other side; Wor. Yea, but a little charge will trench him here, Hot. I'll have it so: a little charge will do it. Glend. No, nor you shall not. Glend. Why, that will I. Will not you? Who shall say me nay? Let me not understand you then: G The Or T Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how you cross my father. A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven, But mark'd him not a word. O! he's as tedious Worse than a smoky house: I had rather live Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman; Wor. In faith, my wilful lord, you are to blame, You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault : She'll be a soldier too; she'll to the wars. Mort. Good father, tell her, that she, and my aunt Percy, Shall follow in your conduct speedily. [GLENDOWER speaks to her in Welsh, and she answers him in the same. Glend. She's desperate here; A peevish self-will'd harlotry, and one [She speaks to MORTIMER in Welsh. [She speaks again. Glend. Nay, if thou melt, then will she e'en run mad. down, And rest your gentle head upon her lap, Mort. With all my heart I'll sit, and hear her sing: And those musicians that shall play to you Hot. Come, Kate, thou art perfect in lying down: Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my head in thy lap. Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose. [The Music plays. Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands Welsh; And 'tis no marvel, he is so humorous. By'r lady, he's a good musician. Lady P. Then, should you be nothing but musical, For you are altogether governed by humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady sing In Welsh. Hot. I had rather hear, lady, my brach, howl in Irish. Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken? Lady P. Then be still. Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault. Lady P. Now, God help thee! Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed. A a Hot. Peace? she sings. [A Welsh Song by Lady M. So stale and cheap to vulgar company, Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. Not yours, in good sooth; and, as true as I live; Lady P. I will not sing. Hot. 'Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be red- Mort. Must have some private conference: but be near at For we shall presently have need of you. Opinion, that did help me to the crown, That men would tell their children, "This is he :" That, being daily swallow'd by men's eyes, To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little I know not whether God will have it so, Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean attempts, As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to, P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would, I could Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear But rather drowz'd, and hung their eye-lids down, Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more; Make blind itself with foolish tenderness. P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord, Be more myself. K. Hen. For all the world, As thou art to this hour, was Richard then, K. Hen. God pardon thee!-yet let me wonder, Harry, He hath more worthy interest to the state, At thy affections, which do hold a wing Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors. Of all the court, and princes of my blood: Than thou the shadow of succession: And military title capital, But wherefore do I tell these news to thee? P. Hen. Do not think so; you shall not find it so: Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame with it. 'Would they were multitudes; and on my head K. Hen. A hundred thousand rebels die in this! How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. 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. Our hands are full of business: let's away; Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do Í 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 bawdyhouse 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 not 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 upon 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 oath should be, By this fire, that's God's angel: 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: God 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 heartburned. 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 K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day, searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; For this advertisement is five days old. On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set forward; Shall march through Glostershire; by which account, 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? No. I defy thee: God's light! I was never called so in mine own house before. Fal. Go to; I know you well enough. |