*

Gads. That's ev'n as fair, as at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking of purfes, than giving direction doth from labouring. Thou lay'ft the plot how.

Cham. Good-morrow, mafter Gads-hill; it holds current, that I told you yefternight. There's a Franklin, in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold; I heard him tell it to one of his company laft night at fupper; a kind of auditor, one that hath abundance of Charge too, God knows what they are up already, and call for eggs and butter. They will away prefently.

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with * St. Nicholas' clerks, I'll give thee this neck.

Cham. No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that for the hangman; for I know thou worshipp'ft St. Nicholas as truly as a man of falfhood may.

Gads. What talk'ft thou to me of hangman? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows. For if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou know'ft, he's no ftarveling. Tut, there are other Trojans that thou dream'ft not of, the which, for fport-fake, are content to do the profeffion fome grace; that would, if matters fhould be look'd into, for their own credit fake, make all whole. I am join'd with no footland-rakers, no long-staff-fix-penny-strikers, none of those mad Mustachio-purple-hu'd-malt-worms; but with nobility and tranquillity; burgomafters, and great Moneyers; fuch as can hold in, fuch as will ftrike fooner than speak; and speak fooner than I think; and think sooner than pray; and yet I lie, for they pray continually unto their Saint the Common-wealth; or rather, not pray to her, but prey on her; for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.

St. Nicholas' clerks, St. Nicholas was the Patron Saint of Scholars And Nicholas, or Old Nick, is a cant Name for the Devil. Hence he equivocally calls Robbers, St. Nicholas's Clerks. VOL: V. Cham.

C

Cham. What, the common-wealth their boots ? will fhe hold out water in foul way ?

Gads. She will, fhe will; juftice hath liquor'd her. We fteal as in a caftle, cock-fure; we have the receipt of Fern-feed, we walk invisible.

Cham. Nay, I think rather, you are more beholden to the night, than the Fern-feed, for your walking invifible.

Gads. Give me thy hand: thou fhalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man.

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a

false thief.

Gads. Go to, Homo is a common name to all Bid the oftler bring my Gelding out of the ftable. Farewel, ye muddy knave.

men.

[Exeunt.

Poins.

velvet.

Changes to the Highway.

Enter Prince Henry, Poins, and Peto.
OME, fhelter, fhelter; I have removed
Falstaff's horfe, and he frets like a gumm'd

P. Henry. Stand close.

Enter Falftaff.

Fal. Poins, Poins, and be hanged, Poins!

P. Henry. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rafcal, what a brawling doft thou keep?

Fal. What, Poins! Hal!.

P. Henry. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill, I'll go feek him.

Fal. I am accurft to rob in that thief's company : the rascal hath remov'd my horfe, and ty'd him, I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the fquare farther afoot, I fhall break 'my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I '[cape

'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forfworn his company hourly any time this two and twenty year, and yet I am bewitch'd with the rogue's company. If the rafcal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd; it could not be elfé; I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a Plague upon you both. Bardolph! Peto! I'll ftarve, ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as to drink, to turn true-man, and to leave these rogues, I am the verieft varlet that ever chew'd with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground, is threefcore and ten miles afoot with me: and the ftony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true one to another. [They while. Whew! a plague upon you all. Give me my horfe; you rogues, give me my horse, and be hang'd.

P. Henry. Peace, ye fat guts, lie down, lay thine ear close to the ground, and lift if thou canft, hear the tread of travellers.

Fal. Have you any leavers to lift me up again, being down? Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye, to colt me thus ? P. Henry. Thou lieft, thou art not colted, thou art

uncolted.

Fal. I pr'ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horfe, good King's fon.

P. Henry. Out, you rogue! fhall I be your oftler? Fal. Go hang thyfelf in thy own heir-apparent garters; if I be ta'en, I'll peach for this; an I have not ballads made on you all, and fung to filthy tunes, let a cup of fack be my poison; when a jeft is fo forward, and afoot too! I hate it.

Enter Gads-hill and Bardolph.

Gads. Stand,

Fal. So I do against my will.

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Poins.

Poins. O, 'tis our Setter, I know his voice: Bardolph, what news?

Bard. Cafe ye, cafe ye; on with your visors; there's money of the King's coming down the hill, 'tis going to the King's Exchequer.

Fal. You lie, you rogue, 'tis going to the King's

tavern.

Gads. There's enough to make us all.
Fal. To be hang'd.

P. Henry. Sirs, you four fhall front them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower; if they 'scape from your encounter, then they light on

us.

Peto. But how many be of them?

Gads. Some eight or ten.

Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us?

P. Henry. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch. Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal.

P. Henry. Well, we'll leave that to the proof.

Poins. Sirrah, Jack, thy horse ftands behind the hedge; when thou need'ft him, there shalt thou find him; farewel, and ftand faft

Fal. Now cannot I ftrike him, if I fhould be hang'd.

P. Henry. Ned, where are our disguises?

Poins. Here, hard by: ftand close.

Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, fay I; every man to his business.

Trav.

Enter Travellers.

OME, neighbour; the boy fhall lead our horfes down the hill: we'll walk a foot

a while, and ease our legs.

Thieves. Stand,

Trav. Jefu blefs us!

Fal.

Fal. Strike; down with them, cut the villains' throats; ah ! whorefon caterpillars; bacon-fed knaves; they hate us youth; down with them, fleece them.

Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours for

ever.

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are you undone ? no, ye fat chuffs, I would your ftore were here. On, bacons, on! what, ye knaves? young men muft live; you are grand jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, i'faith. [Here they rob and bind them: Exeunt.

Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

P. Henry. The thieves have bound the true men: now could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jeft for ever. Poins. Stand clofe, I hear them coming.

Enter Thieves again.

Fal. Come, my mafters, let us fhare, and then to horse before day; an the Prince and Poins be not two arrant Cowards, there's no equity ftirring. There's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild Duck. P. Henry. Your money.

Poins. Villains!

[As they are fharing, the Prince and Poins fet upon them. They all run away, and Falstaff after a blow or two runs away too, leaving the booty behind

them.

[horfe:
P. Henry. Got with much eafe. Now merrily to
The thieves are scatter'd, and possest with fear
So ftrongly, that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.

Away, good Ned. Now Falstaff sweats to death,
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd!
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[Exeunt. SCENE