Dol. Do, if thou dar'ft for thy heart: if thou doft, I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.

Enter Mufic.

Page. The mufic is come, Sir.

Fal. Let them play; play, Sirs. Sit on my knee, Dol. A rafcal, bragging flave! the rogue fled from me like quick-filver.

Dol. I'faith, and thou follow'd'ft him like a church: thou whorefon little tydy Bartholomew Boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting on days, and foining on nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

Fal. head: do not bid me remember mine end.

EACE, good Dol, do not speak like a death's

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?

Fal. A good fhallow young fellow he would have made a good Pantler, he would have chipp'd bread well.

Dol. They fay Poins, has a good wit.

Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon!

-his

wit is as thick as Tewksbury muftard: there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet.

Dol. Why doth the Prince love him so then?

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bignefs: and he plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and jumps upon joint-ftools, and fwears with a good grace, and wears his boot very smooth like unto the fign of the leg, and breeds no hate with telling of indifcreet ftories; and fuch other gambol faculties he hath, that fhew a weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince admits him: for the Prince himself is fuch another; the weight of an hair will turn the scales between their Auerdupois.

P. Henry

P. Henry. Would not this Nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

Poins. Let us beat him before his whore.

P. Henry. Look, if the wither'd Elder hath not his poll claw'd like a Parrot.

Poins. Is it not ftrange, that defire fhould fo many years out-live performance?

Fal. Kifs me, Dol.

P. Henry. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what fays the almanack to that?

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not* clafping too his mafter's old Tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper?

Fal. Thou doft give me flattering buffes.

Dol. By my troth, I kiss thee with a moft conftant heart.

Fal. I am old, I am old.

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a fcurvy young boy of them all.

to-morrow.

Fal. What ftuff wilt thou have a kirtle of? I fhall receive money on Thursday: Thou fhalt have a cap A merry fong, come; it grows late, we will to bed. Thou wilt forget me when I an gone. Dol. By my troth, thou wilt fet me a weeping if thou fay'ft fo: prove, that ever I dress myself handfom till thy return- -Well, hearken the end.

Fal. Some fack, Francis.

P. Henry. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir.

Fal. Ha a baftard fon of the King's! and art not thou Poins his brother?

P. Henry. Why, thou globe of finful continents, what a life doft thou lead?

lifping-to his mafler's old Tables, &c.] We fhould read, clafping too his master's old Tables, &c. i. . embracing his master's caltoff Whore, and now his Bawd, [his Note-book, his Councel-keeper.] We have the fame Phrase again in Cymbaline,

You clafp young Cupid's Tables.

Fal.

Fal. A better than thou: I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.

P. Henry. Very true, Sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

Hoft. Oh, the lord preserve thy good Grace! Welcome to London.-Now heav'n blefs that fweet face of thine: what, are you come from Wales?

Fal. Thou whorefon-mad compound of majesty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. [Leaning his hand upon Dol.

Dol. How! you fat fool, I fcorn you.

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not

the heat.

P. Henry. You whorefon candle-myne, you, how vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honeft, virtuous, civil gentlewoman?

Hoft. 'Blefling on your good heart, and fo fhe is, by my troth.

Fal. Didft thou hear me?

P. Henry. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by Gads-hill; you knew, I was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to try my patience.

Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think, thou waft within hearing.

P. Henry. I fhall drive you then to confefs the wilful abuse, and then I know how to handle you. Fal. No abuse, Hal, on my honour, no abuse.

P. Henry. Not to dispraise me, and call me pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what !

Fal. No abufe, Hal.

Poins. No abuse!

Fal. No abufe, Ned, in the world; honeft Ned, none. I difprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him; in which doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a true fubject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal, none, Ned, none; no, boys, none. P. Henry.

P. Henry. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardife doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman, to close with us? Is fhe of the wicked? is thine Hoftefs here of the wicked? or is the boy of the wicked? or honeft Bardolph, whofe zeal burns in his nofe, of the wicked?

Poins. Anfwer, thou dead Elm, answer.

Fal. The fiend hath prickt down Bardolph irrecoverable, and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roaft malt-worms: for the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil outbids him too.

P. Henry. For the women,

Fal. For one of them, fhe is in hell already, and burns, poor foul! for the other, I owe her money; and whether the be damn'd for that, I know not. Hoft. No, I warrant you.

Fal. No, I think, thou art not: I think thou art quit for that. Marry there is another indictment upon thee, for fuffering flefh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law, for the which, I think, thou wilt howl.

Hoft. All victuallers do fo: what is a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent?

P. Henry. You, gentlewoman,

Dol. What fays your Grace?

Fal. His Grace fays That, which his flefh rebels againft

Hoft. Who knocks fo loud at door? look to the door there Francis.

P. Henry. PETO, how now? what news? Peto. The King your father is at Westminster.

And

And there are twenty weak and waried Posts
Come from the North; and, as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bear-headed, fweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

P. Henry. By heav'n, Poins, I feel me much to
blame,

So idly to profane the precious time;

When tempeft of commotion, like the South
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.

Give me my fword, and cloak: Falftaff, good night. [Exeunt Prince and Poins.

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morfel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpick't. More knocking at the door? how now? what's the matter? Bard. You muft away to Court, Sir, prefently: a `dozen captains stay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the musicians, Sirrah: farewel, Hoftefs; farewel, Dol. You fee, my good wenches, how men of merit are fought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is call'd on. Farewel, good wenches; if I be not fent away poft, I will fee you again, ere I go.

P

Dol. I cannot fpeak; if my heart be not ready to burft-well, fweet Jack, have a care of thyfelf. Fal. Farewel, farewel.

[Exit.

Hoft. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee thefe twenty nine years, come pefcod-time; but an honefter and truer-hearted man well, fare thee well.

Bard. Mrs. Tear-fheet,

Hoft. What's the matter?

Bard. Bid Mistress Tear-sheet come to my
Hoft. O run, Dol, run; run, good Dol.

mafter.

[Exeunt.

ACT