court in the morning. Thou wilt be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practice an answer. Prince-Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life. Falstaff-Shall I? content; this chair shall be my state, this dagger my scepter, and this cushion my crown. Prince-Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden scepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown. Falstaff-Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein. Prince-Well, here is my leg. Falstaff -And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility. Falstaff-Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain. Hostess-O, the father, how he holds his countenance! Falstaff For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen ; for tears do stop the flood gates of her eyes. Hostess-O rare, he does it as like one of these harlotry players as I ever see! Falstaff-Peace, good pint pot; peace, good tickle brain.Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied; for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villainous trick of thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lieth the point: why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed son of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries?a a question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses?-a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in pleasure but in passion, not in words only but in woes also: and yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name. Prince What manner of man, an it like your majesty? Falstaff-A goodly portly man, i̇' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by 'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month? Prince-Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father. Falstaff-Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare. Prince-Well, here I am set. Falstaff And here I stand. — Judge, my masters. Falstaff-My noble lord, from Eastcheap. Prince- Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of a fat old man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humors, that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that gray iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villainy? wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? Falstaff-I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? Prince That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. Falstaff My lord, the man I know. Prince-I know thou dost. Falstaff But to say I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned! If to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord: banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company; banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. Prince I do, I will. TO THE MEMORY OF SHAKESPEARE. BY BEN JONSON. [BENJAMIN JONSON, usually known as Ben Jonson, was born at Westminster about 1573, and received his early education at the Westminster School, then under the charge of William Camden. Becoming disgusted with the trade of bricklayer, to which his stepfather had trained him, he left home and served as a soldier in Flanders. After a somewhat obscure period he began to work for the stage; and in 1597 is mentioned in Henslowe's "Diary" as a player and playwright to "The Admiral's Men." Every Man in his Humor" was successfully produced at the Globe in 1598, Shakespeare himself being in the cast, and Jonson ranked from this time with the foremost dramatists of the period. His first success was followed by "Cynthia's Revels," "The Poetaster," "Sejanus," "Volpone, or the Fox," "Epicone, or the Silent Woman," "The Alchemist," "Catiline," "Bartholomew Fair," and "The Devil is an Ass." In addition to regular dramas Jonson wrote masques and entertainments for the courts of James I. and Charles I., and received liberal pensions from both monarchs. During his last years he was afflicted with palsy, followed by dropsy, and died in reduced circumstances, August 6, 1637. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, in the Poets' Corner, where a tablet bears the inscription, "O rare Ben Jonson."] To the Memory of my Beloved Master, William Shakespeare, and what he hath left us. To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, |