good boy, by the lord so they call me,-and, when I am King of England, I shall command all the good lads in East cheap. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language, during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much ho nour, 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, clapped even now into my hand by an under-skinker; one that never spake other English in his life, than-" Eight shillings and sixpence," and "You are welcome;" with this shrill addition, "Anon, anon, sir,"-" 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 by-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 show thee a precedent,

Poins. Francis !

P. Hen. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis !

Enter FRANCIS.

[Exit POINS.

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.-Look down into the Pom. granate, Ralph.

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord.

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-
Poins. Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Five years! by'r-lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter! But, Francis, dar'st thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Fran. O lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart

be

Poins. Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis ?

Fran. Let me see,-about Michaelmas next I shall

Poins. Francis!

Fran. Anon, sir.

lord.

-'Pray you, stay a little, my

P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis for the sugar thou gav'st me,-'twas a pennyworth, was't not? Fran. O lord, sir, I would it had been two.

P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. Poins. Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Hen. Anon, Francis ?—No, Francis: but tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis

Fran. My lord!

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,-

Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean?

P. Hen. Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink for look you, Francis, your white canvass doublet will sully: in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much.

Fran. What, sir?

Poins. Francis !

P. Hen. Away, you rogue; dost thou not hear them call?

[Here they both call him; FRANCIS stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter HOSTESS.

Host. What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a

calling?-Look to the guests within. [Exit FRANCIS.] My lord, old Sir John, with half a dozen more, are at the door; shall I let them in?

P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit HOSTESS.] Poins,

Enter POINS.

Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Sirrah! Falstaff, and the rest of the thieves are at the door; shall we be merry?

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But harkye; what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue?

P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have showed themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.-What's o'clock, Francis? Fran. [Within.] Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. 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 mind, the Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots, at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife-" Fie upon this quiet life!-I want work."-" O my sweet Harry," says she," how many hast thou killed today?"-"Give my roan horse a drench," says he; and answers, "Some fourteen," an hour after; “ a trifle, a trifle!" I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer, his wife. Rivo, says the drunkard.-Call in ribs, call in tallow!

Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, PETO, and FRANCIS.

Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?
Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven-

geance, too! marry, and amen!-Give me a cup of sack, boy.-Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew netherstocks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards!-Give me a cup of sack, rogue.-Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks.

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter-pitiful-hearted Titan!-that melted at the sweet tale of the sun? if thou didst, then behold that compound.

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man: Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it: a villanous coward.-Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old: Heaven help the while! a bad world, I say!A plague of all cowards, I say still!

P. Hen. How now, wool-sack? what mutter you? Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects before thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more.- -You Prince of

Wales!

P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man! what's the matter?

Fal. Are you not a coward ?-answer me to that; and Poins there?

P. Hen. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab thee.

Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. straight enough in the shoulders, you care sees your back: call you that, backing friends? A plague upon such backing!

E

You are not who of your give me

them that will face me.-Give me a cup of sack :I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day.

P. Hen. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou drunk'st last.

Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I! [He drinks.

P. Hen. What's the matter?

Fal. What's the matter? here be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.

P. Hen. Where is it, Jack? where is it?

Fal. Where is it? taken from us, it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. [Exit FRANCIS.

P. Hen. What, a hundred, man?

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through: my sword hacked like a handsaw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards! Let them speak; if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness. P. Hen. Speak, sirs; how was it?

Gads. We four set upon some dozen,-
Fal. Sixteen, at least, my

Gads. And bound them.

lord.

Peto. No, no, they were not bound.

Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us,―

Fal. And unbound the rest, and then came in the other.

P. Hen. What, fought ye with them all?

Fal. All! I know not what ye call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature.