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bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blefled iun himnielf a fair hot wench in flamecolour'd taifata. I fee no realon why thou thould'It be 1o luperfluous to demand the time of the day.
Fal. Indeed you come near ne now, Hal. For we that take purles, go by the moon and seven stars, and not by Phoebus, he, that wand'rinig knight to fair. And I pray thee, Tweet wag, when thou art king ---as God lave thy Grace, (Mjelly, I should fay; for grace thou wilt have none). P. Herry. What! none ?
Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will ferve to be prologue to an egg and butter. P. Henry. Well, how then?
Fal. Murry then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night's body be call'd thieves of the day's booty. Let us be Diana's foreilers, gentlemen of the fade, minions of the moon; and let men say, we be men of good governinent, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chalte mistress the moon, under whole countenance we fteal.
P. Henry. Thou say'it well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doh ebb and flow like the lea, being govern'd, as the sea is, by the inoon. As for proof now: A purse of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and moft ditiolutely spent on lueiday norning, got wih lwearing, lay by, and spent with crving bring in; now in as low an ebb as the fver of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.
Fal By the Lord thou say'st true, lad; and is not mine holteis of ihe tavern a most fiveet wench?
P. Henry. As the honey of Hybia, iny old lad of the castle *; and is not a buff-jerkin a most tweet robe of durance?
* This alludes to the name Shakespeare first gare to this bulloon character, which was Sir John Oldcastle: and whou die changed the name, he tuigot to lirike out Fal. How now, how now, mad wag; what, in thy quips and
quiddities ? whai a plague have I to do with a buff;jerkin?
P. Henry. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?
Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft.
P. Henry. Did I ever call thee to pay thy part?
Fal. No, I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.
P. Henry. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and where it would not I have us'd
Fal. Yea, and so usd it, that were it not here apparent that thou art heir apparent- But I proythee, siveet wag, fhall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old Father Antic, the law? Do not thou, when thou art a king, hang a thief.
P. Henry. No: thou salt,
Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord I'll be a brave judge.
P. Henry. Thou judgest false, already : I mean, thou shalt' have the hanging of the thieves, and lo become a rare hangman.
Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in ihe court, I can tell you.
P. Henry. For obtaining of suits?
* Fal. Yea, for obraining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat, or a lugg'd bear.
P. Henry. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.
this expression that alluded to it. The reason of the change was this : One Sir John Oldcastle having fuffered in the time of Henry V. for the opinions of Wickliffe, it gave offence, and therefore the poet altered it to Fal. staff, and endeavours to remove the tcandal, in the epilogue to the second part of Henry IV. Warburton.
P. Henry. What say'st thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch ?
Fal. Thou hast the most unfavoury fimilies; and art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliert, sweet young prince---But, Hal, I prythee, trouble ine no more with vanity ; I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought: an old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, Sir; but I mark'd him not, and yet he talk'd very wisely, and in the street too.
P. Henry. Thou didst well; for wisdon cries out in the streets, and no inan regards it.
Fal. O, thou hast danınable iteration, and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm unto me, Hal, God forgive thee for it ! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over : By the Lord, an' I do pot, I am a villain. I'll be damn’d for never a king's fon in Christendom.
P. Henry. Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?
Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me.
P. Henry. I fee a good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purle-taking.
Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis 10 fin for a man to labour in his vocation. Poins ! Now shall we know if Gads-hill have fet a match. o, if men were to be ía ed by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for hiin!
SC E N E III.
Enter Poins. This is the inost omnipotent villain that ever cry'd, Stund, to a true man.-
P. Henry Good morrow, Ned. !
Poins. Good morrow, fiveet Hal. What says Monsieur Reinorie? what lays Sir jobn Sack and
Sugar? Jack! how agree the devil and thou about thy soul, that thou foldest him on Good Friday last, for a cup of Madera, and a cold capon's leg?
P. Henry Sir John stands to his word; the devil Shall have his bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs; He will give the devil his due.
Poins. Then thou art damnd for keeping thy word with the devil.
P. Henry. Elfe he had been damn'd for cozening the devil.
Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gads-hill ; there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visors for you all; you have horses for yourselves : Gads-hill lyes to-night in Rochester, I have bespoke fupper to-morrow night in East-cheap; we may do it as secure as sleep: if you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will Hot, tarry at home, and be hang'd.
Fal. Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going.
Poins. You will, chops ?
P. Henry. Who, I rob? I a thief ? not í, by my faith.
Fal. There is neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellow flip in thee, nor thou cam'ît not of the blood royal, if thou dar'lt not cry, stand, for ten Millings.
P. Henry. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.
Fal Why, that's well said.
P. Henry. Well, come what will, I'll tarry, at home.
Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then when tl ou art King
P Hesiry I care not.
Poins. Sir John, I proythee leave the prince and me alone; I will lay hiin down such reasons for this adventure, ihat he shall go.
Fab. Well, may'st thou have the spirit of per
suasion, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speak'st may move, and what he hears may be believ'd; that the true prince may (for recreation fake) prove a false thief; for the poor abusts of the time want countenance. Farewell, you thall find me in East-cheap.
P. Henry. Farewell, thou latter spring! farewell, all-hallown summer !
[Exit Falstaff. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey Tord, ride with us to-morrow, I have a jest to execute, that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gads-hill, shall rob those men that we have als ready way-laid; yourself and I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from off
my Moulders. P. Henry. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?
Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them; and appoint them a place of meering, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail ; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner atchiev'd, but we'll set upon them.
P. Henry, Ay, but 'tis like they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins. Tut, our houses they shall not see, I'll tye them in the wood; our vizors we will change afier we leave them; and, firrah, I have cales of huckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.
P. Henry. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for
Poins. Well, for two of them, I know thens to be as true-bred cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fights longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arins. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this fane fat rogue will tell us when we meet a: supper ; how thirty at least he fought with, wha! wards, what blows, what extremities be duurco; and, in the reproof of this, lyes the juit.