to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayst; and so farewell.

"Thine, by yea and no (which is as much as to say, as thou usest him),-Jack Falstaff, with my familiars; John, with my brothers and sisters; and Sir John with all Europe." My lord, I will steep this letter in sack, and make him eat it.

P. Hen. That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do you use me thus, Ned: must I marry your sister?

Poins. May the wench have no worse fortune: but I never said so.

P. Hen. Well, thus we play the fools with the time; and the spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. Is your master here in London? Bard. Yes, my lord.

P. Hen. Where sups he doth the old boar feed in the old frank?

Bard. At the old place, my lord: in Eastcheap P. Hen. What company?

Page. Ephesians, my lord, of the old church. P. Hen. Sup any women with him? Page. None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet.

P. Hen. What pagan may that be? Page. A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my master's.

P. Hen. Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the town bull.-Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

Poins. I am your shadow, my lord: I'll follow you.

P. Hen. Sirrah, you boy,-and Bardolph: no word to your master that I am yet come to town. There's for your silence.

Bard. I have no tongue, sir.

Page. And for mine, sir, I will govern it.

P. Hen. Fare ye well: 1: go. [Exeunt BARDOLPH and Page.]-This Doll Tearsheet should be some road.

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way between St. Alban's and London.

P. Hen. How might we see Falstaff bestow himself to-night in his true colours, and not ourselves be seen?

Poins. Put on two leather jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at his table as drawers.

P. Hen. From a god to a bull: a heavy descension! it was Jove's case. From a prince to a 'prentice a low transformation! that shall be mine for in everything the purpose must weigh with the folly.-Follow me, Ned.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.-Warkworth. Before the Castle. Enter NORTHUMBERLAND, LADY NORTHUMBERLAND, and LADY PERCY.

North. I pray thee, loving wife and gentle daughter,

Give even way unto my rough affairs:
Put not you on the visage of the times,
And be, like them, to Percy troublesome.

Lady N. I have given over; I will speak no

more:

Do what you will: your wisdom be your guide. North. Alas, sweet wife, my honour is at pawn; And, but my going, nothing can redeem it.

Lady P. O yet, for God's sake, go not to these wars!

The time was, father, that you broke your word
When you were more endeared to it than now:
When your own Percy, when my heart's dear
Harry,

Threw many a northward look, to see his father
Bring up his powers: but he did long in vain.
Who then persuaded you to stay at home?
There were two honours lost: yours and your son's.
For yours, may heavenly glory brighten it!
For his, it stuck upon him as the sun
In the grey vault of heaven, and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts. He was, indeed, the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves.
He had no legs that practised not his gait:
And speaking thick, which nature made his
blemish,

Became the accents of the valiant:

For those that could speak low and tardily,
Would turn their own perfection to abuse,
To seem like him. So that in speech. in gait,
In diet, in affections of delight,

In military rules, humours of blood,

He was the mark and glass, copy and book, That fashioned others. And him,-O wondrous him!

O miracle of men!-him did you leave
(Second to none, unseconded by you)
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage to abide a field
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur's name
Did seem defensible :-so you left him.
Never, O never, do his ghost the wrong
To hold your honour more precise and nice
With others than with him. Let them alone.
The marshal and the archbishop are strong:
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers,
To-day might I, hanging on Hotspur's neck,
Have talked of Monmouth's grave.
Beshrew your heart,

North.

the King,

of

Then join you with them, like a rib of steel,
To make strength stronger: but, for all our loves,
First let them try themselves. So did your son:
He was so suffered: so came I a widow;
And never shall have length of life enough
To rain upon remembrance with mine eyes,
That it may grow and sprout as high as heaven,
For recordation to my noble husband.

North. Come, come, go in with me. "T is with
my mind

As with the tide swelled up unto its height,
That makes a still-stand, running neither way.
Fain would I go to meet the archbishop,
But many thousand reasons hold me back.-
I will resolve for Scotland: there am I,
Till time and vantage crave my company.

[Exeum.

SCENE IV. London. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap.

Enter Two Drawers.

1st Draw. What the devil hast thou brought there: apple-johns? Thou know'st Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.

2nd Draw. Mass, thou sayst true. The prince once set a dish of apple-johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns: and,

putting off his hat, said, "I will now take my leave of these six dry, round, old, withered knights." | It angered him to the heart: but he hath forgot that.

1st Draw. Why then, cover, and set them down. And see if thou canst find out Sneak's noise: Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Despatch: the room where they supped is too hot: they'll come in straight.

2nd Draw. Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins anon, and they will put on two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John must not know of it. Bardolph hath brought word.

1st Draw. By the mass, here will be old utis! It will be an excellent stratagem.

2nd Draw. I'll see if I can find out Sneak.

[Exit.

Enter Hostess and DOLL TEARSHEET. Host. I'faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose. But i' faith you have drunk too much canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it perfumes the blood ere one can say, "What's this." How do you now?

Doll. Better than I was.-Hem.

Host. Why, that's well said: a good heart's worth gold. Look, here comes Sir John.

Host. Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth. Fal. So is all her sect: an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

Doll. You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

Fal. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll. Doll. I make them! Gluttony and diseases make them: I make them not.

Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to make the diseases, Doll. We catch of you, Doll, we catch of you: grant that, my poor virtue, grant that.

Doll. Ay, marry; our chains and our jewels. Fal. "Your brooches, pearls, and owches:" -for to serve bravely is to come halting off, you know. To come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely: to venture upon the charged chambers bravely :

:

Doll. Hang yourself, you muddy conger; hang yourself!

Host. By my troth, this is the old fashion: you two never meet but you fall to some discord. You are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts: you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that must be you [To DOLL]: you are the weaker vessel, as they say; the emptier vessel.

Doll. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead? There's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him: you have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold.-Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars, and whether I shall ever see thee again or no there is no body cares.

Re-enter Drawer.

Draw. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with you.

Doll. Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come hither it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England.

Host. If he swagger, let him not come here : no, by my faith. I must live amongst my neighbours: I'll no swaggerers. I am in good name and fame with the very best.-Shut the door. There comes no swaggerers here: I have not lived all this while, to have swaggering now.— Shut the door, I pray you.

Fal. Dost thou hear, hostess?

Host. Pray you, pacify yourself, Sir John: there comes no swaggerers here.

Fal. Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient. Host. Tilly-fally, Sir John, never tell me : your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before Master Tisick, the deputy, the other day: and, as he said to me,-it was no longer ago than Wednesday last,-" Neighbour Quickly," says he;-Master Dumb, our minister, was by then;-"Neighbour Quickly," says he, "receive those that are civil: for," saith he, "you are in an ill name:"-now he said so I can tell whereupon:-" for," says he, "you are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore take heed what guests you receive. Receive," says he, no swaggering companions:" there comes none here :-you would bless you to hear what he said.-No I'll no swaggerers.

66

Fal. He's no swaggerer, hostess: a tame cheater he: you may stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound. He will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any show of resistance.-Call him up, drawer.

Host. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater. But I do

not love swaggering: by my troth, I am the worse when one says "swagger." Feel, masters, how I shake look you, I warrant you.

Doll. So you do, hostess.

Host. Do I? yea in very truth, do I, an 't were an aspen leaf. I cannot abide swaggerers.

Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and Page. Pist. 'Save you Sir John!

Fal. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess.

Pist. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.

Fal. She is pistol-proof, sir: you shall hardly offend her.

Host. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets. I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.

Pist. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy: I will charge you.

Doll. Charge me?—I scorn you, scurvy companion. What, you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away: I am meat for your master.

Pist. I know you, Mistress Dorothy.

Doll. Away, you cutpurse rascal, you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal, you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!-Since when, I pray you, sir?-What, with two points on your shoulder?-Much!

Pist. I will murder your ruff for this.

Fal. No more, Pistol: I would not have you go off here: discharge yourself of our company,

Pistol.

Host. No, good Captain Pistol: not here, sweet captain.

you

Doll. Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called captain? If captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for taking their names upon before you have earned them. You a captain, you slave! for what; for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house?—He a captain! Hang him, rogue: he lives upon mouldy stewed prunes and dried cakes. A captain! These villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy, which was an excellent good word before it was ill sorted: therefore captains had need look to it.

Bard. Pray thee go down, good ancient.
Fal. Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.

Pist. Not I. Tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph:-I could tear her :-I'll be revenged on her.

Page. Pray thee go down.

Pist. I'll see her damned first to Pluto's damned lake, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. "Down!" down dogs; down faitors. Have we not Hiren here?

Host. Good Captain Peesel, be quiet: it is very late, i 'faith. I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.

Pist. These be good humours, indeed! Shall
packhorses

And hollow pampered jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,
Compare with Cæsars and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? Nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?

Host. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

Bard. Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon.

Pist. Die men like dogs; give crowns like pins. Have we not Hiren here?

Host. O' my word, captain, there's none such here. What the good-year! do you think I would deny her? For God's sake be quiet.

Pist. Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis. Come, give 's some sack:

Si fortuna me tormenta, sperato me contenta. Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire. Give me some sack:-and, sweetheart, lie thou there. [Laying down his sword. Come we to full points here, and are et ceteras nothing?

Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet.

Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif. What!

we have seen the seven stars.

Doll. Thrust him down stairs: I cannot endure such a fustian rascal.

Pist. "Thrust him down stairs!" Know we not Galloway nags?

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shovegroat shilling. Nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing here.

Bard. Come, get you down stairs. Pist. What! shall we have incision: shall we imbrue? [Snatching up his sword. Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!

Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds,
Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say!
Host. Here's goodly stuff toward!
Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.

Doll. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.
Fal. Get you down stairs.

[Drawing, and driving PISTOL out.

Page. The music is come, sir.

Fal. Let them play :-play, sirs.-Sit on my knee, Doll.-A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from me like quicksilver.

Doll. I'faith, and thou followedst him like a church. Thou whoreson little tiny Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting o' days and foining o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

Enter behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINs, disguised like Drawers.

Fal. Peace, good Doll: do not speak like a death's head: do not bid me remember mine end. Doll. Sirrah, what humour is the prince of? Fal. A good shallow young fellow: he would have made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread well.

Doll. They say Poins has a good wit.

Fal. He a good wit! hang him, baboon: his wit is as thick as Tewkesbury mustard: there is no more conceit in him than is in a mallet.

Doll. Why does the prince love him so, then? Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness: and he plays at quoits well; and eats conger and fennel; and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons; and rides the wild mare with the boys; and jumps upon joint-stools; and swears with a good grace; and wears his boot very smooth,

like unto the sign of the leg; and breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories: and such other gambol faculties he hath, that shew a weak mind and an able body: for the which the prince admits him:-for the prince himself is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois.

P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

Poins. Let's beat him before his whore.

P. Hen. Look if the withered elder hath not

his poll clawed like a parrot.

Poins. Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?

Fal. Kiss me, Doll.

P. Hen. Saturn and Venus this year is conjunction! what says the almanack to that?

Poins. And look whether the fiery Trigon his man be not lisping to his master's old tables; his note-book, his counsel-keeper.

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses. Doll. Nay, truly, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

Fal. I am old, I am old.

Doll. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of them all.

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come: it grows late, we'll to bed. Thou 'lt forget me when I am gone.

Doll. By my troth, thou 'lt set me a weeping an thou sayst so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well, hearken the end. Fal. Some sack, Francis. P. Hen. Poins.

}

Anon, anon, sir.

[Advancing.

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the King's?—And art not thou Poins his brother?

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead?

Fal. A better than thou: I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.

P. Hen. Very true, sir: and I come to draw you out by the ears.

Host. O the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my troth, welcome to London.-Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine! O Jesu, are you come from Wales?

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood thou art welcome. [Leaning his hand upon DOLL. Doll. How, you fat fool! I scorn you.

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat. you, how

P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine