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P. Henry. Five years; by’rlady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?
Fran. O Lord, Sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart ;
Fran. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be
Poins. Francis, -
P. Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gaveft me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not? - Fran. O lord, I would it had been two.
P. Henry. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.
P. Henry. Anon, Francis ? no, Francis, but to-morrow, Francis, or Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,
Fran. My lord?
P. Henry. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystalbutton, knot-pated, agat-ring, puke-stocking, cảd. dice-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch.
Fran. O lord, Sir, who do you mean?
P. Henry. Why then your brown baftard is your only drink; for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, Sir, it cannot come to so much.
Fran. What Sir ?
P. Henry. Away, you rogue, dost thou not hear them call?
Here they both call; the drawer stands amazel,
Enter. Vintner. Vint. What, ftand'st thou still, and hear'ft such a Calling? Look to the guests within. My lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door; shall I let them in ?
P. Henry. Let them alone a while, and then open the door. . Poins,
[Exit Vintner. Enter Poins. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir;
P. Henry. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door; shall we be merry?
Poins. As merry as Crickets, my lad. But hark ye, what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue ?
P. Henry. I am now of all humours, that have shew'd themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. What's o'clock, Francis?
Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.
P. Henry. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a Parrot, and yet the son of a Woman! · His industry is up stairs and down flairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the hot-fpur of the north ; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, walhes his hands and says to his wife, fie upon this quiet life! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says the, how many haft thou kill'd' to day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he, and answers, some fourteen, an hour after; a trifle, a trifle. I prythee, call in Falstaff; l'll play Percy, and that damnd Brawn shall play dame Mortimer his wife. Ribi, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.
Enter Falstaff, Gads-hill, Bardolph, and Peto. Poins. Wal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and
; a vengeance too, marry and Amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy-Ere I lead this life long, I'll few nether socks, and mend them, and foot them too. А plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant ?
[He drinks. P. Henry. Didst thou ever see Titan kiss a dish of butter? (pitiful-hearted Titan!) that melted at the sweet tale of the Sun? if thou didst, then behold that compound.
Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this fack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man; yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villainous coward-Go thy ways, old. Jack, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a fhotten herring; there live not three good men unhang'd in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, God help, the while ! a bad world; I say. I would, I were a weaver; I could sing psalms, and all manner of songs. A plague of all cowards, I say ftill !
P. Henry. How now, Woolfack, what mutter you ? Fal A King's son? if I do not beat thee out of thy: Kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy Subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, l'll néver wear hair on my face more. You Prince of 1Vales?
P. Henry. Why, you whoreson round man! what's the matter?
Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that, and Poins there?
P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll ftab thee.
Fal. I call thee coward; I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are strait enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? a plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me -Give me a cup of sack; I am a rogue, if I drunk to day.
P. Henry, O villain, thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou drunk'st last. Fal. All's one for that.
[He drinks. A plague of all cowards, still, fay I!
P. Henry. What's the matter?
Fal. What's the matter! here be four of us, have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.
P. Henry. Where is it, Jack? where is it?
Fal. Where is it?' taken from us, it is; a hundred upon poor four of us.
P: Henry. What a hundred, man?
Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have escap'd by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose, my buckler cut through and through, my sword hack'd like a handsaw, ecce fignum. I never dealt better since I was a man; all would not do. A plague of all cowards !let them fpeak; if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
P. Henry. Speak, Sirs, how was it?
fome dozen. Fal. Sixteen, at least, my lord.
. Gads. And bound them. · Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.
Gads. As we were sharing, some fix or seven fresh
set Fal. And unbound the rest, and then came in the other.
P. Henry. What, fought you with them all ? Fal. All? I know not, what ye call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, 'I am a bunch' of ra-' dish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then I am no two-legg'd creature.
Poins. Pray heav'n, you have not murdered some of them.
Fal. Nay, that's paft praying for. 'I have pepper'd two of them; two, I am sure, I have pay'd, two rogués in buckram suits, I tell thee what, Hal, If I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse; thou know ift my old ward; here I lay, and thus I bore my point; four rogues in buckram let drive at me.
P. Henry. What, four? thou said'st but two, even
I made no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus,
P. Henry. Seven ? why there were but four, even now.
Fal. In buckram.
Fal, Dost thou hear me, Hal?
Fal. Do fo, for it is worth the liftning to these nine in buckram, that I told thee of
P. Henry. So, two more already.