P. Henry. Then 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffetting hold, we fhall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundred. Fal. By the Mass, lad, thou fay'ft true; it is like we fhall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horribly afeard? thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three fuch enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it? P. Henry. Not a whit, i'faith; I lack fome of thy instinct. Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou com'ft to thy father: if thou do love me, practise an anfwer. P. Henry. Do thou ftand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life. Fal. Shall I content: this chair fhall be my state, this dagger my scepter, and this cushion my crown. P. Henry. Thy ftate is taken for a joint-tool, thy golden fcepter for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown. Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now fhalt thou be moved. -Give me a cup of fack to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I' have wept; for I muft fpeak in paffion, and I will do it in King Cambyfes vein. * P. Henry. Well, here is my leg. Fal. And here is my speech-Stafid afide, Nobility— ̧ Hoft. This is excellent fport, i'faith. Fal. Weep not, fweet queen, for trickling tears are vain, Hoft. O the father! how he holds his countenance ! Fal. For God's fake, Lords, convey my triftful Queen, For tears do ftop the flood-gates of her eyes. Hoft. O rare, he doth it as like one of those harlotry players, as ever I fee. Fal. Peace, good pint-pot, peace good tickle-brain Harry, I do not only marvel, where thou spendeft thy time; but alfo, how thou art accompany'd: for though the ca • An old Play intitled, A lamentable Tragedy mixed full of plefant mirth, containing the life of Cambifes King of Percia. By Thomas Prefton. D 2 momil, momil, the more it is trodden on, the fafter it grows : yet youth, the more it is wafted, the fooner it wears. Thotz art my fon; I have partly thy mother's word, partly my 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 fon to me, here lieth the point; why, being fon to me, art thou fo pointed at? Shall the bleffed Sun of heav'n prove a micher, and eat black-berries? a question not to be afk'd. Shall the fon of England prove a thief, and take purses? a question to be afk'd. 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; fo doth the company thou keep'ft; for, Harry, now do I not fpeak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in paffion; not in words only, but in woes alfo; and yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name. P. Henry. What manner of man, an it like your Majefty? Fal. A goodly portly man i'faith, and a corpulent; of a chearful look, a pleafing eye, and a most noble carriage; and as I think, his age fome fifty, or, by'rlady, inclining to threefcore; and now I remember me, his name is FalStaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceives me ; for, Harry, I fee virtue in his looks. If then the fruit may be known by the tree, as the tree by the fruit, then peremptorily I fpeak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff; him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where haft thou been this month? P.Henry. Doft thou fpeak like a King? do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father. Fal. Depofe me? - - If thou doft it half fo gravely, fo majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbet-fucker, or a poulterer's hare. P. Henry. Well, here I am fet. Fal. And here I stand; judge, my mafters. P. Henry. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous, Fal. Sblood, my Lord, they are falfe.Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young Prince. P. Henry. P. Henry. Sweareft thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me; thou art violently carry'd away from grace; there's 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 humours, that boulting-hutch of beaftlinefs, that fwoln parcel of dropfies, that huge bombard of fack, that ftuft cloak-bag of guts, that roafted Manning-tree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that va→ nity in years? Wherein is he good, but to tafte fack 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? Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace? P. Henry. That villainous abominable mif-leader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Sathan. Fal. My Lord, the man I know. P. Henry. I know thou dost. Fal. But to fay, I know more harm in him than in my felf were to fay more than I know. That he is old, the more's the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, (faving your reverence,) a whoremafter, that I utterly deny. If fack and fugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be old and merry be a fin, then many an old hoft that I know is damn'd: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharoab's lean kine are to be lov'd. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, ba in Bardolph, banifh Poins; but for fweet 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 banifh all the world. P. Henry, I do, I will. [Knocking, and Hoftefs goes out. Enter Bardolph running. Bard. O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sheriff with a most monftrous watch, is at the door. Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the Play: I have much to fay in the behalf of that Falstaff. Re-enter the Hoftefs. Hoft. O my Lord, my Lord! Fal. Heigh, heigh, the Devil rides upon a fiddle-stick : what's the matter? Hoft. The Sheriff and all the watch are at the door : they are come to fearch the house: fhall I let them in? Fal. Doft thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art effentially mad, without seeming so. P. Henry. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. Fal. I deny your major; if you will deny the Sheriff, fo; if not, let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up! I hope I fhall as foon be ftrangled with a halter, as another. P. Henry. Go hide thee behind the arras, the rest walk above. Now, my mafters, for a true face and good conscience. Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me. [Exeunt Falftaff, Bardolph, &c. P. Henry. Call in the Sheriff. SCENE XII. Enter Sheriff and the Carrier. me? Sher. Firft, pardon me, my Lord. A hue and cry Hath follow'd certain men unto this house. P. Henry. What men ? Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious Lord, A grofs fat man. Car. As fat as butter. P. Henry. The man, I do affure you, is not here, Sher. I will, my Lord; there are two gentlemen P. Henry. It may be fo; if he have robb'd these men, He fhall be anfwerable; and fo farewel. Sher. Good night, my noble Lord. P. Henry, P. Henry, I think it is good morrow, is it not? Sher. Indeed, my Lord, I think it be two a clock. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier, P. Henry. This oily rafcal is known as well as Paul's; go call him forth. Peto. Falstaff! faft afleep behind the arras, and fnorting like a horíe. P. Henry. Hark, how hard he fetches his breath: fearch his pockets. [He fearches bis pockets, and finds certain papers. What haft thou found? Peto. Nothing but papers, my Lord. P. Henry. Let's fee, what be they? read them. Item, Sawce, 4 d. Item, Sack, two gallons, 5 s. 8 d. Item, Anchoves and fack after fupper, 2 s. 6d. P. Henry. O monftrous! but one halfpenny-worth of bread to this intolerable deal of fack? What there is else, keep close, we'll read it at more advantage; there let him fleep 'till day. I'll to the Court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place fhall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot, and I know his death will be a march of twelvefcore. The mony fhall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and fo good morrow, Peto. Peto. Good-morrow, good my Lord. [Exeunt. ACT. III. SCENE I. Mort. TH Hefe promises are fair, the parties fure, And uncle Worcester-A plague upon it! I have forgot the map. Glend. No, here it is; • 7. e. it will kill him to march fo far as twelvefcore yards. |