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Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful Queen, For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.
Hoft. O rare, he doth it as like one of those harlotry Players, as I ever see.
Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brainHarry, I do not only marvel, where thou spendest thy time; but also, how thou art accompany'd: for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows: yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. Thou art my son; 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 son to me, here lieth the point; why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed Sun of heav'n prove a micher, and eat blackberries ? a question not to be alk’d. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses ? a question to be alk'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; so 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 passion; not in words only, but in woes also; 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 Majesty ?
Fal.' A goodly portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent; of a chearful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some 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 see virtue in his looks. If then the fruit
be known by the tree, as the tree by the fruit, then peremptorily I speak it, there is yirtue in that Falstaff;
him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where halt thou been this month ?
P. Henry. Dost thou speak like a King ? do thou stand for Me, and I'll play my father.
Fal. Depose me ?-If thou dost it half so gravely, fó majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbet-sucker, or a poulterer's hare.
P. Henry. Well, here I am set.
P. Henry. The Complaints I hear of thee are grievous. Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false.
Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young Prince.
P. Henry. Swearest 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 dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that boulting-hutch of beastlinefs, that fwoln parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of fack, that stufft cloak-bag of guts, that roasted 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 taste 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 mis-leader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bcarded Satan.
Fal. My lord, the man I know.
P. Henry, I know, thou doft.
Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know, That he is old, the more is the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, (saving your reverence,) a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be 'old and merry, be a sin, 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 sweet 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 Hostess goes out.
Enter Bardolph running. Bard. O, my lord, my lord, the Sheriff with a moft monstrous 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 Hostess. Host. O, my lord, my lord !
Fal. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlefick : what's the matter ?
Hift. The Sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house: shall I let them in?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without seeming fo.
P. Henry. And thou a natural coward, without inftin&t.
Fal. I deny your major; if you will deny the Sheriff, so; if not, let him enter.
If I become not a
cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up; I hope, I shall as soon be strangled with a halter, as another.
P. Henry. Go, hide thee behind the arras, the rest walk
up above. Now, my malters, for a true face and good conscience.
Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.
[Exeunt Falstaff, Bardolph, &c. P. Henry. Call in the Sheriff,
Enter Sheriff and Carrier. Now, master Sheriff
, what is your will with me? Sher. First, 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 gross fat man.
Car. As fat as butter.
P. Henry. The man, I do assure 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 so let me intreat you leave the house.
Sher. I will, my lord: there are two gentlemen Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. P. Henry. It may be fo; if he have robb'd these
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
P. Henry. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's: go
call him forth. Peto. Falstaff
-faft alleep, behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.
P. Henry. Hark, how hard he fetches breath : search his Pockets.
[He searches his pockets, and finds certain papers.
Peto. Item, a capon, 2 s. 2 d.
P. Henry. O monstrous! but one halfpenny-worth of bread, to this intolerable deal of sack? What there is else, keep close, we'll read it at more advantage; there let him sleep till day. I'll to the Court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place shall 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 shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good-morrow, Peto.
Peto. Good-morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt.
A C T III.
S CE N E
The Archdeacon of Bangor's House in Wales. Enter Hot-fpur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, and
And our induction full of prosp’rous hope.