A plague of all cowards, ftill, fay I. P. Henry. What's the matter? Fal. What's the matter! here be four of us, have ta’er a thousand pound this morning. P. Henry. Where is it, Jack? where is it? Fal. Where is it! taken from us, it is; a hundred upon poor four of us. P. Henry, What, a hundred, man ? Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half fword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have efcap'd by miracle, I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hofe, my buckler cut through and through, my fword hack'd like a hand-faw, ecce fignum. I never dealt better fince I was a man; all would not do. A plague of all cowards-let them fpeak; if they fpeak more or lefs than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness, P. Henry. Speak, Sirs, how was it? Gads. We four fet upon fome dozen. Fal. Sixteen, at leaft, my Lord. Gads. And bound them. Peto. No, no, they were not bound. Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a few elfe, an Ebrew Jew. Gads. As we were sharing, fome fix or feven fresh men fet upon us. Fal. And unbound the reft, and then came in the other. P. Henry. What, fought ye with them all? Fal. All! I know not what ye call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish; if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd creature. Poins. Pray heav'n you have not murthered some of them. Fal. Nay, that's paft praying for. I have pepper'd two of them; two I am fure I have pay'd, two rogues in buckram fuits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, fpit in my face, call me horse; thou know'ft my old ward; here I lay, and thus I bore my point; four rogues in buckram let drive at me. P. Henry. What, four? thou faidft but two, even now, Fal. Four, Hal, I told thee four. Poins. Ay, ay, he said four. Fal. Thefe four came all a-front, and mainly thruft at me; I made no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus. P. Henry. Seven? why there were but four, even now. Fal. In buckram. Poins. Ay, four, in buckram fuits. Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. P. Henry. Pr'ythee let him alone, we shall have more Fal. Doft thou hear me, Hal? P. Henry. Ay, and mark thee too, Fack. Fal. Do fo, for it is worth the liftning to; thefe nine in buckram that I told thee of— P. Henry. So, two more already. Fal. Their points being broken→→→→ Fal. Began to give me ground; but I follow'd me close, came in foot and hand; and with a thought, seven of the eleven I pay'd. P. Henry. O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! Fal. But as the Devil would have it, three mif-begotten knaves in Kendal green came at my back, and let drive at me; (for it was fo dark, Hal, that thou couldft not fee thy hand.) P. Henry. Thefe lies are like the father that begets them, grofs as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whorefon obscene greafie tallow-ketch Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth ? P. Henry. Why, how could't thou know thefe men in Kendal green, when it was fo dark, thou could't not fee thy hand? come, tell us your reafon: what fay'ft thou to this? Poins. Come, your reafon, Jack, your reason. Fal. What, upon compulfion? no; were I at the ftrappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulfion. Give you a reafon on compulfion! if reafons were were as plenty as black-berries, I would give no man a reafon upon compulfion, I. P. Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of this fin. This fanguine coward, this bed-proffer, this horfe-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh, Fal. Away, you ftarveling, you Eel-fkin, you dry'd neats-tongue, bulls-pizzel, you ftock-fish: O for breath to utter what is like thee! You taylor's yard, you sheath, you bow-cafe, you vile standing tuck. P. Henry. Well, breathe a while, and then to't again; and when thou haft tir'd thy-self in base comparisons, hear me fpeak but this. Poins. Mark, Jack. P. Henry. We two faw you four fet on four, you bound them, and were mafters of their wealth: mark now, how a plain tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four, and with a word, out-fac'd you from your prize, and have it, yea, and can fhew it you here in the house. And, Falftaff, you carry'd your guts away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and still ran and roar'd, as ever I heard bull-calf. What a flave art thou, to hack thy fword as thou haft done, and then say it was in fight! What trick? what device? what starting-hole canft thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame? Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack, what trick haft thou now? Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why, hear ye, my mafters; was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true Prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules; but beware inftinct, the Lion will not touch the true Prince: instinct is a great matter. I was a coward on inftinct: I fhall think the better of my felf, and thee, during my life; I, for a valiant Lion, and thou for a true Prince. But, by the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the mony. Hoftefs, clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys, hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you! What, fhall we be merry? fhall we have a play extempore? P. Henry. P. Henry. Content; and the argument shall be, thy running away. Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me. Hoft. O fefu! my Lord the Prince! P. Henry. How now, my Lady, the hostess, what say'st thou to me? Hoft. Marry, my Lord there is a Nobleman of the Court at door would fpeak with you; he says he comes from your father. P. Henry. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and fend him back again to my mother. Fal. What manner of man is he? Hoft. An old man. Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his answer? P. Henry. Pr'ythee do, Jack. Fal. 'Faith, and I'll fend him packing. [Exit. P. Henry. Now, Sirs, by'r Lady you fought fair; "fo did you, Peto, fo did you, Bardolph: you are Lions too, you run away upon inftinet; you will not touch the true Prince, no, fie! Bard. 'Faith, I ran when I saw others run. P. Heary. Tell me now in earneft; how came Falstaff's fword fo hackt? Peto. Why, he hackt it with his dagger, and faid, he would fwear truth out of England, but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and perfuaded us to do the like. Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grafs, to make them bleed, and then beflubber our garments with it, and fwear it was the blood of true men. I did that I did not these seven years before, I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices. P. Henry. O villain, thou stolest a cup of fack eighteen years ago, and wert taken in the manour, and ever fince thou haft blush'd extempore; thou hadst fire and fword on thy fide, and yet thou ranneft away; what instinct hadst thou for it? ི་ Bard. My Lord, do you fee thefe meteors? do you behold these exhalations? VOL. V. D P. Henry, P. Henry. I do. Bard. What think you they portend? SCENE XI. Enter Falftaff. Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my fweet, creature of bombaft, how long is't ago, Jack, fince thou faw'ft thy own knee? Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an Eagle's talon in the wafte; I could have crept into any Alderman's thumb-ring a plague of fighing and grief, it blows a man up like a bladder. There's villainous news abroad: here was Sir John Braby from your father; you must go to the Court in the morning. That fame mad fellow of the north, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the baftinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and fwore the Devil his true Liege man upon the cross of a Welshhook what a plague call you him Poins. O, Glendower. Fal. Owen, Owen; the fame, and his fon-in-law Mor timer, and old Northumberland, and the fprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs a horfe-back up a hill perpendicular P. Henry, He that rides at high speed, and with a piftol kills a Sparrow flying. Fal. You have hit it. P. Henry. So did he never the Sparrow. Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him, he will not run. P. Henry. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him fo for running? Fal. A horfeback, ye cuckow, but afoot he will not budge a foot. P. Henry. Yes, Jack, upon inftinct, Fal. I grant ye, upon inftinct: well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thoufand blue-caps more. Wor eefter is ftol'n away by night: thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news is you may buy land now as cheap as ftinking mackerel, P. Henry. |