If not, the end of life cancels all bonds; K. Henry. A hundred thousand Rebels die in this ! Thou fhalt have Charge, and fovereign Truft herein. Enter Blunt. How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed. K. Henry. The Earl of Weftmorland fet forth to day, On Wednesday next, Harry, thou fhalt fet forward: hence Our general forces at Bridgnorth fhall meet. Our hands are full of bufinefs: let's away, Advantage feeds him fat, while men delay. [Exeunt. Changes to the Boar's-bead Tavern in East-cheap. Fal. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph. I fall'n fince this last action? Do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my fkin hangs about me like an old lady's loofe gown; I am wither'd, like an old apple John. John. Well, I'll repent, and that fuddenly, while I am in fome liking; I fhall be out of heart fhortly, and then I fhall have no ftrength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the infide of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horfe. The infide of a church! Company, villainous company hath been the fpoil of me. Bard. Sir John, you are fo fretful, you cannot live long. Fal. Why, there is it; come, fing me a bawdy fong, to make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough; fwore little; diced not above feven times a week; went to a bawdy-house not above once in a quarter of an hour; paid mony that I borrow'd, three or four times; liv'd well, and in good compafs; and now I live out of all order, out of all compass. Bard. Why, you are fo fat, Sir John, that you muft needs be out of all compafs, out of all reasonable compafs, Sir John. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life. Thou art our Admiral, thou beareft the lanthorn in the poop, but 'tis in the nofe of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm. Fal. No, I'll be fworn; I make as good ufe of it, as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori. I never fee thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that liv'd in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning.If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would fwear by thy face; my oath 2A Brewer's horf.] I fuppofe a brewer's horfe was apt to be lean with hard work.. 3 The knight of the burning lamp.] This is a natural picture. Every man who fee's in himself the pain of deformity, however, like this merry knight, he may affect to make fport with it among those whom it is his intereit to pleafe, is ready to revenge any hint of contempt upon one whom he can use with freedom. fhould fhould be, by this fire; but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the fon of utter darkness. When thou rann'ft up Gadsbill in the night to catch my horfe, if I did not think, thou had'ft been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wild fire, there's no purchase in mony. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire light; thou haft faved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern; but the fack, that thou haft drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the deareft chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that Salemander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years, heav'n reward me for it! Bard. 'Sblood, I would, my face were in your belly. Fal. God-a-mercy! fo fhould I be fure to be heartburn'd. Enter Hoftefs. How now, dame Partlet the hen, have you enquir'd yet who pick'd my pocket? do Hoft. Why, Sir John! what do you think, Sir John? you think, I keep thieves in my houfe? I have fearch'd, I have enquired, fo has my hufband, man by man, boy by boy, fervant by fervant. The tithe of a hair was never loft in my house before. Fal. Ye lie, hoftefs; Bardolph was shav'd, and loft many a hair; and I'll be fworn, my pocket was pick'd; go to, you are a woman, go. Hoft. Who I? I defie thee; I was never call'd fo in mine own house before. Fal. Go to, I know well enough. you Hoft. No, Sir John: you do not know me, Sir John; I know you, Sir John; you owe me mony, Sir John, 4 Good cheap Cheap is market, and good cheap therefore is a bon marché. and and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of fhirts to your back. Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas; I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made boulters of them. Hoft. Now as I am a true woman, Holland of eight fhillings an ell you owe mony here befides, Sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and mony lent you, four and twenty pounds. Fal. He had his part of it, let him pay. Hoft. He alas! he is poor, he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face: 5 what call you rich? let him coin his nofe, let him coin his cheeks: I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a yonker of me? fhall I not take mine eafe in mine inn, but I fhall have my pocket pick'd? I have loft a feal-ring of my grand-father's, worth forty mark. Hoft. O Jefu! I have heard the Prince tell him, I know not how oft, that the ring was copper. Fal. How? the Prince is a Jack, a fneak-cup; and if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would fay fo. SCENE E VI. Enter Prince Henry marching, and Falstaff meets him playing on his Truncheon like a Fife. Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door? muit we all march? 5 Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion. P. Henry. What fay'ft thou, Miftrefs Quickly? how you what call 6 rich ?] A face fet with ca.buncles is called a rich face. Legend of Capt. Jones. Newgate fashion.] As prifoners are conveyed to Newgate, faftened two and two to gether does does thy hufband? I love him well, he is an honest man. Hoft. Good my lord, hear me. Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and lift to me. Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket pickt. This houfe is turn'd bawdy-houfe, they pick pockets. P. Henry. What didft thou lofe, Jack? Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pounds a piece, and a feal-ring of my grandfather's. P. Henry. A trifle, fome eight-penny matter. Hoft. So I told him, my lord; and I faid, I heard your grace fay fo; and, my lord, he fpeaks moft vilely of you, like a foul-mouth'd man as he is, and faid, he would cudgel you. P. Henry. What! he did not? Hoft. There's neither faith, truth, nor woman-hood in me else. Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stew'd prune; 7 no more truth in thee than in a drawn Fox; and for woman-hood, Maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. Hot. Say, what thing? what thing? Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Heft. I am nothing to thank God on, I would thou fhould't know it. I am an honeft man's wife; and, draw is a hunters term for perfuit by the track. My interpretation makes the fox fuit better to the prune. These are very flender difquilitions, but fuch is the 7 There's no more faith in thee mean, a fox rften hunted; though than in a few'd prune, &c.] The to propriety of thefe fimilies I am not fure that I fully understand. A fewed prune has the appearance of a prune, but has no tafte. A drawn fox, that is, an exentrated fox, has the form of a fox without his powers. I think Dr. Warburton's explication wrong, which makes a drawn fox to 2 tafk of a commentator. 8 Maid Marian may be, &c.] Maid Marian is a man dreffed like a woman, who at tends the dancers of the morris. fetting |