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Poins. My Lord, I will steep this letter in fack, and make him eat it.
P. Henry. That's to make him eat plenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? mult 'I
marry your Sifler?
Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune ! But I never faid so.
P. Henry. Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us: is your master here in London? Bard. Yes, my
lord. P. Henry. Where fups he : doth the old Boar feed in the old frank? Bard. At the old place, my lord, in East-cheap. P. Henry. What company? Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. P. Henry, Sup any women with him? Page. None, ny lord, but old Mrs. Quickly, and Mrs. Doll Tear-Sheet.
P. Henry. What Pagan may that be?
Page. A proper gentlewoman, Sir, and a kinswoman of my
master's. P. Henry. Even such kin, as the parish heifers are to the town Bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper ?
Poins. I am your shadow, my lord, I'll follow you. P. Henry. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word
master that I am yet come to town. There's for your Glence. Bard. I have no tongue,
P. Henry. Fare ye well: go. This Del Tear-Sheet should be some road. Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way
between St. Albans and London.
P. Henry. How might we fee Falstaff beftow himself io night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen? * in the old frank?] i. 6. Hogsty.
Poins. Put on two leather jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his lable, as drawers.
P. Henry. From a God to a Bull? a heavy descenfion. It was Jove's cafe. From a Prince to a prentice? a low transformation ; that shall be mine: for in every thing, the purpose must weigh with the folly. Follow me, Ned.
S CE N E VI.
Changes to Northumberland's Cafle.
North. I Peythee boving wife, and gentle daughter
Give even way rough affairs.
L. North. I have giv'n over, I will speak no more:
North, Alas, sweet wife, my Honour is at pawn,
And speaking thick, which Nature made his blemish,
North. Belbrew your heart,
L. North. Fly to Scotland,
WHAT the devil haft thou brought
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
mind As with the tide swell'd up unto his height, That makes a ftill stand, running neither way. Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop, But many thousand reasons hold me back: I will resolve for Scotland ; there am I, 'Till time and 'vantage crave my company. (Excunt
S CE N E
Enter two Drawers. i Draw.
there ? Apple-Johns? thou know'st, Sir John cannot endure an Apple-John.
2 Draw. Mafs ! thou sayest true; the Prince once set a dish of Apple-Johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns; and, putting off his hat, said, I will now take my leave of these fix dry, round, old, wither'd knights. It angerd him to the heart ; but he hath forgot That.
i Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down; and see if thou canst find out Sneak's Noise; Mrs. TearSheet would fain bear some music. Dispatch ! the room where they supt is too hot, they'll come in straight.
2 Draw. Sirrah, here will be ihe Prince, and Master Poins
anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons, and Sir John must not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word.
I Draw. Then * here will be old Utis: it will be an excellent stratagem.
2 Draw. I'll see, if I can find out Sneak. (Exeunt. * here will behold Utis :) Utis, an old Word yet in use in someCoun. trics, fignifying a merry Festival.
Mr. Pope. SCENE
Enter Hoflefs and Dol.
are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would defire; and
is as red as any rose : but, i' faith, you have drank too much canarys, and that's a marvellous searching wine; and it perfumes the blood, ere we can say what's this. How do you now?
Dol. Better than I was: hem.
Hoft. Why, that was well said: a good heart's worth gold.' Look, here comes Sir John.
Enter Falstaff. Fal. When Arthur first in Court-empty the jorden and was a worthy King : how now, Mrs. Hol.
Hoft. Șick of a calm: yea, good footh.
Fal. So is all her feet ; if they be once in a calm, they are fick.
Dol. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?
Fal. You make fat rascals, Mrs. Dol.
Dol. I make them! gluttony and diseases make them, I make them not.
Fal. If the cook make the gluttony, you help to make the diseases, Dol; we catch of you, Dol, we catch of you; grant That, my poor Vertue, grant That.
Dol. Ay, marry, our chains and our jewels.
* Your brooches, pearls and owches:] Brooches were Chains of Gold that Women wore formerly about their Necks. Owches were Boffes of Gold set with Diamonds.