Chamb. What, the common-wealth their boots? will fhe hold out water in foul way? Gads. She will, the will; juftice hath liquor'd her. We fteal, as in a caftle, cock-fure; we have the receipt of fern-feed, we walk invifible. Cham. Nay, I think rather, you are more beholden to the night, than the fern-feed, for your walking invifible. Gads. Give me thy hand: thou fhalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true-man. Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a falfe thief. Gads. Go to,Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the Oftler bring my gelding out of the ftable. Farewel, ye muddy knave. SCENE changes to the highway. Enter Prince Henry, Poins, and Peto. [Exeunt. Poins Chorfe, and he frets like a gumm'd velvet. Ome, shelter, shelter; I have removed Falstaff's P. Henry. Stand close.. Enter Falstaff. Fal. Poins, Poins, and be hang'd, Poins! P. Henry. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal, what a brawl. ing daft thou keep? go Fal. What, Poins! Hal!· P. Henry. He is walk'd up to the top of the hill, NI feek him. Fal. I am accurft to rob in that thief's company: the rascal hath remov'd my horse, and ty'd him, I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the fquare farther afoot, I fhall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'fcape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forfworn his company hourly any time this two and twenty year, and yet I am bewitch'd with the rogue's company. If the rafcal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd; hang'd; it could not be elfey I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a plague upon you both. Bardolph! Peto! I'll starve, ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as to drink, to turn true-man, and to leave thefe rogues, I am the verisst varlet that ever chew'd with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten miles afoot with me: and the ftony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true one to another. [They whifile.] Whew! —a plague upon you all. Give me my horfe; you rogues, give me my horfe, and be hang'd. P. Henry. Peace, ye fat guts, lie down, lay thine ear clofe to the ground, and lift if thou canst hear the tread of travellers. Fal. Have you any leavers to lift me up again, being down? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own fieth fo far afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer, What a plague mean ye, to colt me thus ? P.Henry.Thou lieft, thouart not colted, thou art uncolted. Fal. I pr'ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horfe, good King's fon. P. Henry. Out, you rogue! fhall I be your oftler? Fal. Go hang thyfelf in thy own heir-apparent garters; if I be ta'en, I'll peach for this; an I have not ballads made on you all, and fung to filthy tunes, let a cup of fack be my poifon; when a jeft is fo forward, and afoot too! I hate it. Enter Gads-hill and Bardolph. Gads. Stand, Fal. So I do against my will. Poins. O, 'tis our fetter, I know his voice: Bardolph, what news? Bard. Cafe ye, cafe ye; on with your vifors; there's money of the King's coming down the hill, 'tis going to the King's exchequer. Fal. You lie, you rogue, 'tis going to the King's tavern. Gads. There's enough to make us all. Fal. To be hang'd. P. Henry. Sirs, you four fhall front them in the nar row lane: Ned Poins and I will walk lower; if they scape from your encounter, then they light on us. Peto. But how many be of them? Gads. Some eight or ten. Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us? P. Henry. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal. P. Henry. Well, we'll leave that to the proof. Poins. Sirrah, Jack, thy horfe ftands behind the hedge; when thou need'ft him, there fhalt thou find him; farewel, and ftand fast. Fal. Now cannot I ftrike him, if I should be hang'd. Poins. Here, hard by: stand close. Fal. Now my mafters, happy man be his dole, fay I; every man to his business. Enter Travellers. Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy fhall lead our horfes down the hill: we'll walk a foot a while, and ease our legs. Thieves. Stand, Trav. Jesu blefs us! Fal. Strike down with them, cut the villains throats; ah! whorfon caterpillars; bacon-fed-knaves; they hate us youth; down with them, fleece them. Trav. O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever. Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are you undone? no, ye fat chuffs, I would your ftore were here. On, bacons, on! what, ye knaves? young men muft live; you are grand jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, i'faith. [Here they rob and bind them: Exeunt. Enter Prince Henry and Poins. P. Henry. The thieves have bound the true men: now Could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to Lon don, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jeft for ever. Poins. Stand clofe, I hear them coming. Enter Thieves again. Fal. Come, my mafters, let us fhare, and then to horfe before day; an the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity ftirring. There's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild duck. P. Henry. Your money. Poins. Villains! [As they are foaring, the Prince and Poins fet upon them. They all run away, and Falstaff after a blow or two runs away too, leaving the booty be bind them. P. Henry. Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse: Away, good Ned. Now Falstaff fweats to death B SCENE, Lord Percy's house. Enter Hot-fpur folus, reading a Letter. [Exeunt. UT for mine own part, my Lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your bouse. He could be contented to be there; why is he not then? in refpect of the love he bears our houfe! he fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our houfe. Let me fee fome more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous. Why, that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, to drink; but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, fafety. The purpofe you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time itself unforted, and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoize of fo great an oppofition. Say you fo, fay you fo? I fay unto you again, you are a fhallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this? By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and conftant: conftant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expec. tation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frolly-fpirited rogue is this? Why, my Lord of Tork commends the plot, and the general courfe of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rafcal, I could brain him with his Lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself, Lord Edmund Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not besides, the Douglas? have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are there not fome of them fet forward already? What a pagan rascal is this? an infidel. Ha! you fhall fee now, in very fincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the King, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving fuch a dish of skimm'd milk with fo honourable an action. Hang him, let him tell the King. We are prepared, I will set forward to night. Enter Lady Percy. How now, Kate! I muft leave you within thefe two hours. Lady. O my good Lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I this fortnight been A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet Lord, what is't that takes from thee And |