Fran. What, sir? Poins. [within.] 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 Vintner. Vint. What, standest thou still, and hearest such a calling, Look to the guests within. [Exit FRAN.] 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 Vintner.] Poins! Re-enter POINS. Poins. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door: shall we be merry? But hark ye; Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue? P. Hen. I am now of all bumours 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 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 to-day? 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, and PETO; followed by FRANCIS with wine. Poins. Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and amen!-Give me a cup of sack, boy.-Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks, 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. -8 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,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: God help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still. P. Hen. How now, woolsack! 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 afore 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? Poins. Zounds, 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. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me.- Give me a cup of sack :am a rogue if I drunk to-day. P. Hen. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last. Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, still [He drinks. say I. P. Hen. What's the matter? Fal. What's the matter! there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this day 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. 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 |