Hoft. Here's goodly stuff toward.

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.

Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee, do not draw.
Fal. Get you down stairs.

[Drawing, and driving Pistol out. Hot. Here's a goodly tumult; I'll forfwear keeping houfe, before I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murther, I warrant now. Alas, alas, put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, be quiet, the rafcal is gone : ah, you whorfon, little valiant villain you!

Hoft. Are you not hurt i'th' groin? methought he made a fhrewd thruft at your belly.

Fal. Have you turn'd him out of doors?

Bard. Yes, Sir, the rascal's drunk: you have hurt him, Sir, in the fhoulder.

Fal. A rafcal to brave me!

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue you: alas, poor ape, how thou fweat'ft! come, let me wipe thy face

come on, you whorfon chops

ah, rogue, I love thee -thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon; and ten times better than the nine worthies: a villain!

· Fal. A rafcally flave! I will tofs the rogue in a blanket, Dol. Do if thou dar'ft for thy heart: if thou doft, I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.

Enter Mufick. Page. The mufick is come, Sir.

Fal. Let them play; play, Sirs. Sit on my knee, Dol. A rafcal, bragging flave! the rogue fled from me like quick-filver.

Dol. I'faith and thou follow'dft him like a church: thou whorfon little tiny Bartholomew Boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting on days, and foining on nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

SCENE XI.

Enter Prince Henry and Poins difguis'd.

Fal. Peace, good Dol, do not speak like a death's head : do not bid me remember mine end.

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?

Fal.

Fal. A good fhallow young fellow: he would have made a good pantler, he would have chipp'd bread well.

Dol. They fay Poins hath a good wit.

Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon, his wit is as thick as Tewekfbury mustard: there is no more 'conceit in him, than is in a mallet.

Dol. Why doth the Prince love him fo then?

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness: and he plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles end for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and jumps upon joint ftools, and fwears with a good grace, and wears his boot very smooth like unto the fign of the leg, and breeds no bate with telling of difcreet ftories; and fuch other gambol faculties he hath, that shew a weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince admits him: for the Prince himself is fuch another: the weight of an hair will turn the scales between their Averdupois.

P. Henry. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

Poins. Let us beat him before his whore.

P. Henry. Look, if the wither'd elder hath not his poll claw'd like a Parrot.

Poins. Is it not strange that defire should so many years out-live performance?

Fal. Kifs me, Dol.

P. Henry. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what fays the almanack to that?

Poins. And look, whether the fiery Trigon his man be not clafping too his master's old tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper?

Fal. Thou doft give me flattering buffes.

Dol. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart. Fal. I am old, I am old.

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a fcurvy young boy of them all.

Fal. What ftuff wilt thou have a kirtle off? I fhall receive mony on Thursday: Thou shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry fong, come: it grows late, we will to bed. Thou wilt forget me when I am gone.

Dol. By my troth, thou wilt fet me a weeping if thou fay'ft fo: prove that ever I dress my self handsom 'till thy return-Well, hearken the end.

Fal. Some fack, Francis.

P. Henry. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir.

Fal. Ha! a baftard fon of the Kings! and art not thou Poins his brother?

P. Henry. Why, thou globe of finful continents, what a life doft thou lead?

Fal. A better than thou: I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.

P. Henry. Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you out by the ears.

Hoft. Oh, the Lord preferve thy good Grace! Welcome to London! Now heav'n blefs that fweet face of thine! what, are you come from Wales?

Fal. Thou whorfon mad compound of Majefty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.

[Leaning bis hand upon Dol. Dol. How! you fat fool, I fcorn you. Poins. My Lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

P. Henry. You whorfon candle-myne you, how vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!

Hoft. 'Bleffing on your good heart, and fo fhe is, by my troth.

Fal. Didft thou hear me?

P. Henry. Yes; and you knew me as you did when you ran away by Gads-kill, you knew I was at your back, and fpoke it on purpose to try my patience.

Fal. No, no, no, not fo; I did not think thou waft within hearing.

P. Henry. I fhall drive you then to confefs the wilful abuse, and then I know how to handle you.

Fal. No abufe, Hal, on my honour, no abuse.

P. Henry. Not to difpraise me, and call me pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what?

Fal. No abufe, Hal.

Poins. No abufe!

VOL. V.

Fal, No abufe, Ned, in the world; honeft Ned, nome. I difprais'd him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him; in which doing, have done the part of a careful friend, and true fubject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abufe, Hal, none, Ned, none; no, boys, none.

P. Henry. See now whether pure fear and entire cowardife doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman, to close with us? Is the of the wicked? is thine hoftefs here of the wicked? or is the boy of the wicked? or honeft Bardolph, whofe zeal burns in his nofe, of the wicked?

Poins. Anfwer, thou dead Elm, answer.

Fal. The fiend hath prickt down Bardolph irrecoverable, and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roaft mault-worms: for the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil out-bids him too.

P. Henry. For the women?

Fal. For one of them, fhe is in hell already, and burns, poor foul! for the other, I owe her mony; and whether The be damn'd for that, I know not.

Hoft. No, I warrant you.

Fal, No, I think thou art not: I think thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, for fuffering flesh to be eaten in thy houfe, contrary to the law, for the which I think thou wilt howl.

Hoft. All victuallers do fo: what is a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent?

P. Henry. You, gentlewoman.

Dol. What fays your Grace?

Fal. His grace fays that which his flesh rebels against. Hoft. Who knocks fo loud at door? look to the door there, Francis.

SCENE XII. Enter Peto.

P. Henry, Peto, how now? what news?
Peto. The King your father is at Westminster,
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north; and as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, fweating, knocking at the taverns,

And

And afking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

P. Henry. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame So idly to profane the precious time;

When tempeft of commotion, like the South

Born with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.

Give me my fword, and cloak: Falstaff, good night.

[Exeunt Prince and Poins,

Fal. Now comes in the fweeteft morfel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpickt. More knocking at the door? how now? what's the matter?

Bard. You must away to court, Sir, presently: a dozen captains ftay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the musicians, Sirrah: farewel, hoftefs, farewel, Dol. You fee, my good wenches, how men of merit are faught after; the undeserver may fleep, when the man of action is call'd on. Farewel, good wenches; if I be not fent away poft, I will fee you again, ere I go.

Dol. I cannot fpeak; if my heart be not ready to burst well, fweet Jack, have a care of thy self.

Fal. Farewel, farewel!

[Exit. Hoff. Well, fare thee well: have known thee these twenty nine years, come pefcod time; but an honefter and truer-hearted man --- well, fare thee well!

Bard. Mrs. Tear-fheet!

Hoft. What's the matter?

Bard. Bid Miftrefs Tear-fheet come to my mafter.

Hoff. O run, Dol, run; run, good Del.

ACT III. SCENE I.

The Palace in London.

[Exeunt,

Enter King Henry in his Night-gown, with a Page.

K. Henry. Go, call the Earls of Surrey and of War-,

wick:

But ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters,
And well confider of them: make good fpeed. [Exit Page.
How many thousands of my poorest subjects

Are at this hour afleep! O gentle fleep,

Nature's foft nurfe, how have I frighted thee,

That thou no more wilt weigh my eye-lids down,

L. 2

And