Fal. For God's fake, lords, convey my triftful Queen, For tears do ftop the flood-gates of her eyes.

Hoft. O rare, he doth it as like one of those harlotry Players, as I ever fee.

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brainHarry, I do not only marvel, where thou spendeft thy time; but also, how thou art accompany'd: for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the fafter it grows: yet youth, the more it is wafted, the fooner it wears. Thou art my fon; I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion; but chiefly, a villainous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be fon to me, here lieth the point; why, being fon to me, art thou fo pointed at? Shall the blessed Sun of heav'n prove a micher, and eat blackberries? a queftion not to be afk'd. Shall the fon of England prove a thief and take purses? a question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou haft often heard of, and it is known to many in our Land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; fo doth the company thou keep'ft; for, Harry, now do I not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in paffion; not in words only, but in woes alfo; and yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

P. Henry. What manner of man, an it like your Majefty?

Fal. A goodly portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent; of a chearful look, a pleafing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age fome fifty, or, by'r-lady, inclining to threescore; and now, I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceives me; for, Harry, I fee virtue in his looks. If then the fruit may be known by the tree, as the tree by the fruit, then peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falfaff;

him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where haft thou been this month?

P. Henry. Doft thou speak like a King? do thou ftand for Me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depofe me?-If thou dost it half so gravely, fo majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbet-fucker, or a poulterer's hare.

P. Henry. Well, here I am fet.

Fal. And here I ftand; judge, my mafters.
P. Henry. Now, Harry, whence come you?.
Fal. My noble lord, from Eaft-cheap.

P. Henry. The Complaints I hear of thee are grievous.

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false. I'll tickle ye for a young Prince.

Nay,

P. Henry. Sweareft thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me; thou art violently carried away from grace; there's a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion. Why doft thou converse with that trunk of humours, that boulting-hutch of beaftlinefs. that fwoln parcel of dropfies, that huge bombard of fack, that ftufft cloak-bag of guts, that roafted Manningtree Ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to tafte fack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

Fal. I would, your Grace would take me with you:

whom means your

Grace?

P. Henry. That villainous abominable mif-leader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Fal. My lord, the man I know.

P. Henry.

P. Henry. I know, thou doft.

Fal. But to fay, I know more harm in him than in myself, were to fay more than I know, That he is old, the more is the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, (faving your reverence,) a whoremafter, that I utterly deny. If fack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be old and merry, be a fin, then many an old Hoft, that I know, is damn'd: if to be fat, be to be hated, then Pharoah's lean kine are to be lov'd. No, my good lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for fweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff; banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.

P. Henry. I do, I will.

[Knocking; and Hoftefs goes out.

Enter Bardolph running.

Bard. O, my lord, my lord, the Sheriff with a moft monftrous Watch, is at the door.

Fu!. Out, you rogue! play out the Play: I have much to say in behalf of that Falstaff.

Re-enter the Hoflefs.

Hoft. O, my lord, my lord!

Fal. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddleftick: what's the matter?

Hoft. The Sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house: fhall I let them in? Fal. Doft thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit : thou art effentially mad, without feeming fo.

P. Henry. And thou a natural coward, without inftin&t.

Fal. I deny your major; if you will deny the Sheriff, fo; if not, let him enter. If I become not a

cart

cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up; I hope, I fhall as foon be ftrangled with a halter, as another.

P. Henry. Go, hide thee behind the arras, the reft walk up above. Now, my maflers, for a true face

and good conscience.

Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.

P. Henry. Call in the Sheriff.———

[Exeunt Falstaff, Bardolph, &c.

SCENE

XII.

Enter Sheriff and Carrier.

Now, mafter Sheriff, what is your will with me? Sher. Firft, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.

P. Henry. What men?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A grofs fat man.

Car. As fat as butter.

P. Henry. The man, I do affure you, is not here, For I myself at this time have imploy'd him; And, Sheriff, I engage my word to thee, That I will, by to-morrow dinner time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing he shall be charg'd withal: And fo let me intreat you leave the house. Sher. I will, my lord: there are two gentlemen Have in this robbery loft three hundred marks. P. Henry. It may be fo; if he have robb'd the fe

men,

He fhall be answerable; and so farewel.

Sher. Good night, my noble lord.

P. Henry. I think, it is good morrow, is it not? Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.

Exit. P. Henry.

go

P. Henry. This oily rafcal is known as well as Paul's:

call him forth.

Peto. Falstaff

faft asleep, behind the arras,

and fnorting like a horse.

P. Henry. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: fearch his Pockets.

[He fearches his pockets, and finds certain papers. P. Henry. What haft thou found?

Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.

P. Henry. Let's fee, what be they? read them.
Peto. Item, a capon, 2 s. 2 d.

Item, Sauce, 4 d.

Item, Sack, two gallons, 5 s. 8 d.

Item, Anchoves and fack after fupper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, a halfpenny.

P. Henry. O monftrous! but one halfpenny-worth of bread, to this intolerable deal of fack? What there is elfe, keep close, we'll read it at more advantage; there let him fleep till day. I'll to the Court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place fhall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot, and, I know, his death will be a march of twelvescore. the money fhall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and fo good-morrow, Peto.

Peto. Good-morrow, good my lord.

A C T III.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

The Archdeacon of Bangor's House in Wales.

Enter Hot-fpur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, and Owen Glendower.

MORTIMER.

TH

HESE promifes are fair, the parties fure, And our induction full of profp'rous hope. VOL. V.

D

Hot