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

Enter Music.
Page. The music is come, Sir. :!

Fal. Let them play play, Sirs. Sit on my knee, Dol. A rascal, bragging slave! the rogue fled from me like quick-silver.

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


Enter Prince Henry and Poins.
EACE, good Dol, do not speak like a death's-

head: do not bid me remember mine end. Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?

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

Dol. They say Poins, has a good wit. Fal. He a good wít? hang him, baboon! -whis wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard: there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet.

Dol. Why doth the Prince love him fo then ?

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness: 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-stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears his boot very smooth like unto the sign of the leg, and breeds no hate with telling of indiscreet stories; and such other gambol faculties he hath, that fhew a weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince admits him: for the Prince hinself is such 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 desire should so many years out-live performance?

Fal. Kiss me, Dol.

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

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

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses.

Dol. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

Fal. I am old, I am old.

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

Fal. What stuff wilt thou have a kirtle of? I shall receive money on Thursday: Thou shalt have a cap

A merry song, come: it grows late, we will to bed. Thou wilt forget me when I an gone.

Dol. By my troth, thou wilt set me a weeping if thou say'st so: prove, that ever I dress myself handsom till thy return-Well, hearken the end.

Fal. Some sack, Francis,
P. Henry. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir.

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

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


* lisping-to his master's old Tables, &c.] We should read, clasping tao his master's old Tables, &c. i. 6. embracing his master's castoff Whore, and now his Bawd, his Nole-book, his Councel-keeper.] We have the same Phrase again in Cymbaline,

You clasp young Cupid's Tables.


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 bless that sweet face of thine: what, are you come from Wales ?

Fal. Thou whoreson-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 scorn you.

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment,


you the heat.

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

Hoft. 'Blefling on your good heart, and so she is,

take not

by my troth,


Fal. Didst 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 shall drive you then to confess 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 abuse, Hal.
Poins. No abuse !

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, none. I disprais'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 subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal, none, Ned, none; no, boys, none.

B. Henry.

P. Henry. See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardise doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman, to close with us? Is she of the wicked ? is thine Hostess here of the wicked? or is the boy of the wicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked ?

Poins. Answer, 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, she is in hell already, and burns, poor soul! for the other, I owe her money; and whether she be damn'd for that, I know not,

Hoft. No, I warrant you.

Fai. No, I think, thou art not: I think thou art quit for that. Marry there is another indi&tment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law, for the which, I think, thou wilt howl.

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

P. Henry. You, gentlewoman.-
Dol. What says your Grace ?

Fal. His Grace fays That, which his flesh rebels against

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

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Enter Peto.
P. Henry. PETO, how pow? what news ?

Peto. The King your father is at Weft-


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, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And alking every one for Sir John Falstaff.
P. Henry. By heav'n, Poins, I feel me much to

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 sword, and cloak: Falstaff, good night.

Exeunt Prince and Poins. Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel 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 must away to Court, Sir, presently; a dozen captains stay at door for you.

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

Dol. I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to burst--well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. Fal. Farewel, farewel.

[Exit. Hoft. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty nine years, come pescod-time; but an honefter and truer-hearted man — well, fare thee well.

Bard. Mrs. Tear-Sheet,
Hoft. What's the matter?
Bard. Bid Mistress Tear-sheet come to my master,
Hoft. O run, Dol, run; run, good Dol.



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