P. Henry. These lies are like the father that begets them, grofs as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whorfon obfcene greafy tallow-catch Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth? P. Henry. Why, how couldst thou know thefe men in Kendal-green, when it was fo dark thon couldft not fee thy hand? come, tell us your reafon: what fay'st thou to this? Poins. Come, your reafon, Jack, your reason. Fal. What, upon compulfion? no; were I at the ftrappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulfion. Give you a reason on compulfion if reafons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reafon upon compulfion—I! P. Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of this fin. This fanguine coward, this bed-preffer, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh, Fal. Away, you ftarveling, you elf-skin*, you dry'd neat's tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fifh. for breath to utter what is like thee-You tailor's yard, you fheath, you bow-cafe, you vile ftanding tuck, P. Henry. Well, breathe a while, and then to't again; and when thou haft tir'd thyfelf in bafe comparisons, hear me fpeak but this. Poins. Mark, Jack.t P. Henry. We two faw you four fet on four, you bound them, and were mafters of their wealth.Mark now, hew a plain tale fhall put you down.— Then did we two fet on you four, and with a word out-fac'd you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can fhew it you here in the house. And, Faltaff, your carry'd you guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and ftill ran and roar'd, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a flave art thou to hack thy fword as thou haft done, * The true reading, I believe, is elf kin, or little fairy. Jobufone VOL. V. D and then fay it was in fight! What trick, what device, what ftarting hole canft thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent fhame? Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack: what trick haft thou now? Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my mafters; was it for me to kill the heir-apparent? Should I turn upon the true Prince? Why, thou knoweft I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware inftinct, the lion will not touch the true Prince. Inftinct is a great matter; I was a coward on instinct. I fhall think the better of myself, and thee, during my life; I, for a valiant lion, thou for a true Prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good-fellowship come to you! What, fhall we be merry? fhall we have a play extempore? P. Henry. Content :-and the argument shall be thy running away. me. Hal. Ah! -no more of that, Hal, if thou loveft Hoft. O Jefu! my Lord the Prince! P. Henry. How now, my lady the Hoftefs, what fay'st thou to me? Hoft. Marry, my Lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door would speak with you; he says he comes from your father. P. Henry. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again to my mother. Fal. What manner of man is he? Hoft. An old man. Fal. What doth Gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his answer? P. Henry. Pr'ythee do, Jack. Fal. Faith, and I'll fend him packing. [Exit. P. Henry. Now, Sirs, by'r lady you fought fair; fo did you, Peto; fo did you, Bardolph; you are lions too, you ran away upon instinct; you will not touch the true Prince; no. Fy. Bard.' Faith I ran when I faw others run. P. Henry. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falftaff's fword fo hack'd? Peto. Why he hack'd it with his dagger, and faid he would fwear truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and perfuaded us to do the like. Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrafs, to make them bleed; and then beflubber our garments with it, and fwear it was the blood of true I did that I did not these seven years before, I blufh'd to hear his monftrous devices. men. P. Henry. O villain, thou ftoleft a cup of fack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever fince thou haft blufh'd extempore. Thou hadft fire and fword on thy fide, and yet. thou ranneft away; what inftinct hadit thou for it? Bard. My Lord, do you fee these meteors? do. you behold these exhalations? P. Henry. I do. Bard. What think you they portend? Here comes lean Jack, here comes Bare-bone.. How now, my fweet creature of bombaft? How long is't ago, Jack, fince thou faw'ft thy own knee? Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waift; Í could have crept into any alderman's thumb-ring. A plague on fighing and grief, it blows up a man like a bladder. There's villainous news abroad; here was Sir John Braby from your father; you muft go to the court in the morning. That fame mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the baftinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and fwore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook: what a plague call you him Poins. O, Glendower. Fal. Owen, Owen; the fame; and his fon-inlaw Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that fprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a horseback up a hill perpendicular. P. Henry. He that rides at high speed, and with a piftol kills a fparrow flying. Fal. You have hit it. P. Henry So did he never the fparrow. Fal. Well; that rafcal has good mettle in him, he will not run. P. Henry. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praife him fo for running? Fal. A horfeback, ye cuckow! but afoot, he will not budge a foot. P. Henry. Yes, Jack, upon inftinet. Fal. I grant ye, upon inftinét: well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue caps * more. Worcester is ftoln away by night. Thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news. You may buy land now as cheap as ftinking mackerel. P. Henry. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffetting hold, we fhall buy maiden-heads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred. Fal. By the mass, lad, thou say'st true; it is like we fhall have good trading that way. -But tell me, Hal, art not thou horribly afeard, thou being heir-apparent? Could the world pick thee out three fuch enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that fpirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it? A name of ridicule given to the Scots from their blue bonnets. Johnson. P. Henry. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack fome of thy instinct. Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thon com'ft to thy father; if thou do love me, practise an answer. P. Henry. Do thou ftand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life. Fal Shall I content. This chair fhall be my ftate, this dagger my fceptre, and this cushion my crown. P. Henry. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden fceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown. Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now fhalt thou be moved-Give me a cup of fack to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in pasfion, and I will do it in King Cambyfes' vein *. P. Henry. Well, here is my leg†. Fal. And here is my fpeech-Stand afide, nobi-· lity 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 floodgates of her eyes. Hoft. O rare, he doth it as like one of thofe har lotry players as I ever fee. Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendeft thy time, but also how thou art accompany'd; for though the camomile 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 A lamentable tragedy, mixed full of pleasant mirth, containing the life of Cambyfes King of Perfia. By Tho-mas Prefton. Theobald. That is, My obeisance to my father. Johnson.. |