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thee, Ned, thou haft loft much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action; but, sweet Ned, -to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapt even now into my hand by an under-skinker, ? one that never spake other English in his life, than Eight Shillings and Six Pence, and You are welcome, Sir: with this shrill addition, Anon, anon, St; Score a pint of bastard in the half moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr’ythee, do thou stand in some bye-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but, anon. Step aside, and I'll shew thee a precedent.
Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.-Look down into the
P. Henry. Come hither, Francis.
P. Henry. Five years; by’rlady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so
under-skinker, ) A tapster; traction of the drawer, and grian under-drawer. Skink is drink, maces of the prince, may enter'and a firker is one that serves tain upon the stage, but afford drink at table.
not much delight to the reader. & Enter Francis the drawer.] The authour has judiciously made This scene, helped by the dif it short.
valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and Thew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?
Fran. O lord, Sir, l'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in
Fran. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be
P. Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gaveit me, 'cwas 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, cryftalbutton, knot-pated, agat ring, puke-stocking, o caddice-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch.
Fran. O lord, Sir, who do you mean?
P. Henry. Why then your brown' bastard is your only drink; for look you, Francis, your white canvas
9 The prince intends to ask ftocking. There is something the drawer whether he will rob wrong which I cannot rectify. his master whom he denotes by
brown baitard-] Bamany contemptuous distinctions, fard was a kind of sweet wine. of which all are easily intelligible The prince finding the drawer bat puke-Locking, which may have not able, or not willing to unindeed a dirty meaning, but it deritand his inftigation, puzzles is not the meaning here intend- him with unconnected pratile, ed, for the prince designs to and drives him away. mention the materials of the
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 amazed,
not knowing which way to go.
Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a Calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit drawer.] My lord, old Sir ģckn with half a dozen more are at the door ; thall i let them in?
P. Henry. Let them alone a while, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.) Poins,
Poins. Anon, anon, Sir.
P. Henry. Sirrah, Faltiff and the rest of the thieves are at the door; shall we be inerry?
Puins. 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 ifiue ?
Plenry. I am now of all humours, that have shew'd themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adom, 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 stairs ; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. — * I am not yet of Percy's
I am not yet of Percy's discourse. He was proceeding mind,] The drawer's answer had thus, I am now of all humours interrupted the prince's train of that have shewed themseves bas
mind, the hot-spur of the north; he that kills me some fix or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands and says to his wife, Fy upon this quiet life! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how many haft thou killd to day ? Give my roan horse a drench, says he, and answers. Some fourteen, an hour after ; a irifle
, a trifle. I pr’ythee, call in Falytoff; I'll play Percy, and that damn’d Brawn shall play dame ortimer his wife. Ribi, 3 fays the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.
Enter Faistaff, Gads-hill, Bardolph, and Peto.
Fal. A plague on all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too, marry and cimen !–Give me a cup of sack, boy-Ere I lead this life long, I'll fow nether socks, and mend them, and foot then too. A plague on all cowards !-Give me a cup of fack, rogue.- Is there no virtue extant ?
(He drinks. P. Henry. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter ? (+ pitiful-hearted -Titan!) that melted at the
mours—I am not set of Percy's melted at the swe't Tale of the mind. That is, I om willing to Sun? ] This absurd Reading indulge m self in gaity and frolick, pofieffes all the Copies in geend try all the varieties of human neral ; and tho'it has pass'd thro' life
. I am not get of Percy's such a Number of Impreffions, mind, who thinks all the time is Nonsense, which we may prolost that is not spent in bicod nounce to have arisen at first from thed, forgets decency and civility, the inadvertence, either of lanand has nothing but the barren fcribers, or the Compositors at talk of a brutal foldier.
Prejin 'Tis well known, iitan 3 Ribi, that is, drink. Han- is one of the poetical Names of
All the former editions the Sun; but we have no authohave rivo, which certainly had rity from Fable for Titan's meltno meaning, but yet was per. ing away at his own sweet 'i'ale, haps the cant of English taverns. as Narcissus did at the Reflec4 – pitiful-hearted Titan, that tion of his own Form. The
sweet tale of the Sun ? if thou didft, then behold that compound.
Fal. You rogue, S here's lime in this fack too, there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man; Poet's Meaning was certainly Sir Richard Hawkins, one of this: Falstof enters in a great Queen Elizabeth's sea-captains, Heat, after having been robb’d in his voyages, P. 379. says
, by the Prince and Poins in Dif. Since the Spanish sacks have been grise,: and the Prince seeing common in our taverns, which for him in such a Sweat, makes the confervation are mingled with following Similie upon him: lime in the making, our nation “ Do but look upon that Com- complains of calentures, of the “ pound of Greale ;-his Fat frone, the dropli
, and infinite other drips away with the Violence distempers not heard of bef>re this “ of his Motion, just as Butter wine came into frequent ufe. Be“ does with the Heat of the sides, there is no rear that it “ Sun-Beams darting full upon wasleth not two millions of crowns
THEOBALD. of our substance by conveyance ixD:eft thou never see Titan kiss to foreign countries. This latter, a diß of butter ? pitiful-hearted indeed, was a substantial evil. Titan !' that melted at the sweet But as to lime's giving the ftone, tale of the Sun ?] This per- this fure must be only the good plexes Mr. Theobad; he calls it old man's prejudice; since in a nonsense, and indeed, having wiser age by far, an old womade nonsense of it, changes it man made her fortune, by shewto pitiful-hearted Butler. But the ing us that lime was a cure for common reading is right : And the fione. Sir John Fallaff, were all that wants restoring is a pa- 'he alive again, would say she derenthesis into which (pitiful- served it, for satisfying us that hearted Titan !) should be put. we might drink fack in safety: Pitifulhearted means only amor But that liquor has been long ous, which was Titan's character: since out of date. I think Lord the pronoun that refers to butter. Clarendon, in his Apology, tells But the Oxford Editor goes still us, That sweet wines bejore the further, and not only takes with Reforation, were so much to the out ceremony, Mr. Theobald's Englih taste, that we engrossed bread and butter, but turns tale the whole product of the Canaries ; into face; not perceiving that the and that not u pise of it was exheat of the Sun is figuratively pended in any other country in Eurepresented as a love-tale, the rope. But the banished Cavapoet having before called him liers brought home with them pitiful-hearted, or amorous. the goust for French wines, which
WARBURTCN. has continued ever fince ; and
here's lime in this Jack from whence, perhaps, we may too; there is nothing but roguery more truly date the greater freto be found in villainous man ;] quency of the flone. WÁRB.