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And when I am o'horse back, I will fwear," **!**

I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate,
*I must not have you henceforth question me,
Whither I go; nor reafon whereabout.
Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude,
This evening must I leave thee, gentle Kate.
I know you wise; but yet no further wise
Than Harry Percy's wife. Constant you are,
But yet a woman; and for secrecy,
No lady closer. For I well believe,
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate.

Lady. How! so far?

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate, Whither I go, thither shall you go too; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate ? Lady. It must of force.

[Exeunt, S CE NE VII. Changes to the Boar's-head tavern in East-cheap.

Enter Prince Henry and Poins. P. Henry. Ned, pr’ythee come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poins. Where hast been, Hal ?

P. Henry. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have founded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their Christian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their conscience, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of courtesy; telling me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy; (by the Lord, so they call me); and when I am king of England, I shall command all the good lads in East-cheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry, Hem! and bid you play it off. ---To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter

of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned thou



hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with me in
this action ; but, sweet Ned, -(to sweeten which
name of Ned I give thee this pennyworth of sugar,
clapp'deven now into my hand by an under-skinker, one
that never spake other English in his life, than Eight :
shillings and fix pence, and You are welcome, Sir; with
this fhrill addition, Anon, anon, Sir; Score a pint of
bastard in the half moon, or so): But, Ned, to drive a-
way the time till Falstaff come, I prythee, do thou
stand in some by-room, while I question my puny
drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; and do
thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me
may be nothing but Anon. Step aside, and I'll shew
thee a precedent.

[Poins retires.
Poins. Francis !
P. Henry. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis !

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SCENE VIII. Enter Francis the drawer.

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir; look down into the pomgranet, Ralph.

P. Henry. Come hither, Francis. Fran. My Lord. P. Henry. How long halt thou to serve, Francis ? Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to Poins. Francis ! Fran. Anon, anon, Sir. P. Henry. Five years ; by’rlady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be fo valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and thew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it ?

Fran. O Lord, Sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart

Poins. Francis !
Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.
P. Kenry. How old art thou, Francis ?
Fran. Let me fee, about Michaelmas next I shall

Poins. Francis !
Fran. Anon, Sir; pray you stay a little, my Lord.

P. Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar
thou gavelt me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not?


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Fran. O Lord, I would it had been two.

P. Henry I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

Poins. Francis ! ---Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Henry. Anon, Francis? no, Francis, but to morrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,

Fran. My Lord ?

P. Henry. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystalbutton, knot-pated, agat-ring, puke-stocking, caddicegarter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch.

Fran. O Lord, Sir, who do you mean?

P. Henry. Why then your brown bastard is your only drink; for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will fully. In Barbary, Sir, it cannot come to so much.

Fran. What, Sir'?
Poins. Francis!

P. Henry. Away, you rogue, dost thou not hear them call ?

[Here they both call; the drawer fiands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner, Vint. What, stand'st thou fill, and hear'lt such a calling? Look to the guests within. My Lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door; shall I let them in ? P, Henrz. Let them alone a while, and then

open the door. Poins,

[Exit Vintner. Enter Poins. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry'. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door? shall we be merry? Poins. As inerry as crickets, my lad.

But hark ye, what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue ?

P. Henry. I am now of all humours, that have shew'd themselves humours, fince the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. What's o'clock, Francis ? Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry.

P. Henry. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman !His industry is up stairs and down stairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the hot-spur of the north; he that kills me some fix or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife, “ Fy upon this quiet life! I want work.” “O my sweet Harry, (fays the), how many hast thou kill'd to-day ?” Give my roan horse a drench, (fays he), and answers, Some fourteen, (an hour after); a trifle, a trifle.” I prythee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Percy, and that damn'd' brawn fhall play dame Mortimer his wife. Ribi; says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.


Sc Ε Ν Ε ΙΧ. .

Enter Falstaff, Gads-hill, Bardolph, and Peto. Poins. Welcome, Jack; where haft thou been?

Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too, marry and Amen! Give me a cup of fack, boyEre I lead this life long, I'll sow nether focks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards ! Give me a cup of fack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant ?

He drinks. P. Henry. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? (pitiful-hearted Titan !) that 'melted at the sweet tale of the sun? if thou didst, then behold that compound.

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this fack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man ; yet a coward is worse than a cup of fack with lime in it. A villanous coward -Go thy ways, old Jack, die when thou wilt; if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a fhotten herring. There live not three good men unhang'd in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, God help, the while! a bad world ; I say. I would I were a weaver; I could fing psalms, and all manner of songs *. A plague of all cowards, I say ftill!

P. Henry. * In the persecution of the Protestants in Flanders under Philip 11.



P. Henry. How now, Woolfack, what mutter you ?

Fal. A King's fon! if I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales !

P. Henry. Why, you whorson round man ! what's the matter?

Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that, and Poins there?

P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an' ye call me coward, I'll stab thee.

Fal. I call thee coward ! I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are ftrait enough in the shoulders, you care not who fees your back: call you that backing of your friends ? a plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me

Give me a cup of fack; I am à rogue, if I drunk to-day.

P. Henry. O villain, thy lips are scarce wip'd fince thou drank'st last. Fal. All's one for that.

[He drinks. A plague of all cowards, ftill say I !

P. Henry. What's the matter?

Fal. What's the matter? here be four of us have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.

P. Henry. Where is it, Jack? where is it? 1

Fal. Where is it? taken from us, it is; a hundred upon poor four of us. P. Henry. What, a hundred, man?

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have escap'd by miracle. I am eight times thrust thro’ the doublet, four through the hole, my buckler cut through and through, my sword hack'd like a hand-faw, ecce lignum. I never dealt better since I was a man; all would not do. A plague of all cowards !--- let them fpeak; if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and the fons of darkness.

P. Henry. Speak, Sirs, how was it? those who came over into England on tha occasion, brou he with them the woollen manufactory. There were Calvinitts, who were always iftinguished for their love of psalmody. Mr: Warburton,


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