"And when I am o'horfe back, I will fwear, No lady clofer. For I well believe, Thou wilt not utter what thou doft not know; Lady. How! fo far? Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate," Whither I go, thither fhall you go too; To-day will I fet forth, to-morrow you. Will this content you, Kate? Lady. It must of force. SCENE [Exeunt, VII. Changes to the Boar's-head tavern in Eaft-cheap. Enter Prince Henry and Poins. P. Henry. Ned, pr'ythee come out of that fat and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where haft been, Hal? room, P. Henry. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogfheads. I have founded the very bafe ftring of humility. Sirrah, I am fworn brother to a leafh of drawers, and can call them all by their Chriftian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their confcience, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of courtefy; telling me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy; (by the Lord, fo they call me); and when I am king of England, I fhall command all the good lads in Eaft-cheap. They call drinking deep, dying fearlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry, Hem! and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am fo 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 -- haft loft much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action; but, fweet Ned, (to fweeten which name of Ned I give thee this pennyworth of fugar, clapp'd even now into my hand by an under-fkinker, 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 baftard in the half moon, or fo): But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou ftand in fome by-room, while I queftion my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the fugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but Anon. Step afide, and I'll fhew thee a precedent. [Poins retires. Poins. Francis ! P. Henry. Thou art perfect. Peins. Francis!. 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 haft thou to ferve, Francis ? Fran. Forfooth, 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, dareft 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 fworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart be Poins. Francis ! Fran. Anon, anon, Sir. P. Henry. 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 fugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not? VOL. IV. Fran. Fran. O Lord, I would it had been two. P. Henry I will give thee for it a thousand pound: afk me when thou wilt, and thou fhalt have it. Poins Francis!. Fran. Anon, anon. P. Henry. Anon, Francis? no, Francis, but to morrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thurfday; or, indeed, . Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, Fran. My Lord ? P. Henry. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, cryftalbutton, knot-pated, agat-ring, puke-stocking, caddicegarter, fmooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch. Fran. O Lord, Sir, who do you mean? P. Henry. Why then your brown baftard is your only drink; for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will fully. In Barbary, Sir, it cannot come to fo much. Fran. What, Sir? Poins. Francis! P. Henry. Away, you rogue, doft thou not hear them call? [Here they both call; the drawer ftands amazed, not knowing which way to go. Enter Vintner. Vint. What, ftand'st thou fill, and hear't fuch a calling? Look to the guests within. My Lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door; fhall I let them in? P. Henry. Let them alone a while, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner. Poins, P. Henry. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves But hark ye, are at the door? fhall we be merry? Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the iffue? P. Henry. I am now of all humours, that have fhew'd themfelves humours, fince the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this prefent 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 induftry is up ftairs and down ftairs; 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 fome fix or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and fays to his wife, "Fy upon this quiet life! I want work." "O my fweet Harry, (fays fhe), how many haft thou kill'd to-day?" "Give my roan horfe a drench, (fays he), and answers, Some fourteen, (an hour after); a trifle, a trifle." I pr'ythee, call in Falftaff; I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall play dame Mortimer his wife. Ribi, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. Enter Falstaff, Gads-hill, Bardolph, and Peto. Poins. Welcome, Jack; where haft thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I fay, and a vengeance too, marry and Amen! Give me a cup of fack, boy— Ere I lead this life long, I'll fow 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. Didft thou never fee Titan kifs a dish of butter? (pitiful-hearted Titan) that melted at the fweet tale of the fun? if thou didft, 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 fay. I would I were a weaver; I could fing pfalms, and all manner of fongs *. A plague of all cowards, I fay ftill! P. Henry. * In the perfecution of the Proteftants in Flanders under Philip II. 02 thole 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 fubjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geefe, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales! P. Henry. Why, you whorfon 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 ftab thee. Fal. I call thee coward! I'll fee 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 fhoulders, you care not who fees your back: call you that backing of your friends? a plague upon fuch backing! give me them that will face me Give me a cup of fack; I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. P. Henry. O villain, thy lips are fcarce wip'd fince thou drank'ft laft. Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, ftill fay I ! P. Henry. What's the matter? [He drinks. 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? 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-fword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have efcap'd' by miracle. I am eight times thrust thro' the doublet, four through the hole, my buckler cut through and through, my fword hack'd like a hand-faw, ecce fignum. I never dealt better fince I was a man; all would not do. A plague of all cowards !-let them speak; 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 the occafion, brought with them the woollen manufactory. Thefe were Calvinitts, who were always diftinguished for their love of pfalmody. Mr. Warburton. Gads. |