The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare

P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like, we shall have good trading that way. But, tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly afeard? thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again, as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art not thou horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

P. Hen. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow, when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

P. Hen. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life. Fal. Shall I content:-This chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.

P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden sceptre 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 shalt thou be moved.-Give me a cup of sack, to make mine eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept: for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.

the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty
varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month?
P. Hen. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou
stand for me, and I'll play my father.
Fal. Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely,
so majestically, both in word and matter, hang
me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker, or a
poulter's hare.
P. Hen. Well, here I am set.
Fal. And here I stand:-judge, my masters.
P. Hen. Now, Harry? whence come you?
Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
P Hen. The complaints I hear of thee are
grievous.

Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false :-nay,
I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith.
P. Hen. Swear'st thou, ungracious boy? hence
forth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently car.
ried away from grace; there is 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 bolting-hutch
of beastliness, that swoln parcel of dropsies, that
huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag
of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the
pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that
gray iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in
years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack
and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to
carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but
in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? where
in villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy,

P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.
Fal. And here is my speech:-Stand aside, but in nothing?
nobility.

Host. This is excellent sport, i' faith.
Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling
tears are vain.

Host. O, the father, how he holds his countenance!

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful

queen,

For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. Host. O rare he doth it as like one of these harlotry players, as I ever see.

Fa. I would, your grace would take me with you; Whom means your grace? P. Hen. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan Fal. My lord, the man I know. P. Hen. I know, thou dost.

Fal. But to say, I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old, (the more the pity,) his white hairs do witness it: but that he is (saving your reverence) a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle- If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the brain.-Harry, I do not only marvel where thou wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then spendest thy time, but also how thou art accom- many an old host that I know, is damned: it panied for though the camomile, the more it to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the kine are to be loved. No, my good lord; banish more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. That Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true word, partly my own opinion; but chiefly, a Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therevillanous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hang fore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Faling of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point; Why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries? a question not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take purses? a question to be asked. 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; so doth the company thou keepest for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion; not in words only, but in woes also:-And yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.

P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty'?

staff, banish not him thy Harry's company;
banish plump Jack, and banish all the world.
P. Hen. I do, I will. [A knocking heard.

[Exeuni Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.

Re-enter Bardolph, running. Bard, 0, my lord, my lord; the sheriff, with a most monstrous watch, is at the door. Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the play; 1 have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

Re-enter Hostess, hastily.

Host. O Jesu, my lord! my lord !——— Fal. Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick: What's the matter! Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house; Shall I let them in ?

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold, a counterfeit thou art essentially mad, without seeming so.

P. Hen. And thou a natural coward, without instinct.

Fal. A good portly man i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r-lady, inclining to threescore: And now I remember me, his name is Falstaff; Fal. 1 deny your major: if you will deny the if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth sheriff, so; if not, let him enter: if I become me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If not a cart as well as another man, a plague on then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the my bringing up! I hope, I shall as soon be fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, strangled with a halter as another. there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, P. Hen. Go hide thee behind the arras;-the

rest walk up above. Now, my masters, 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 all but the Prince and Poins. P. Hen. Call in the sheriff.—

Enter Sheriff and Carrier.

Now, master Sheriff; what's your will with me?"
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.
P. Hen. What men?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord,

A gross fat man. Car.

As fat as butter.

P. Hen. The man, I do assure you, is not here; For I myself at this time have employ'd him. And, Sheriff, I will engage my word to thee, That I will, by to-morrow dinner time, Send him to answer thee, or any man, For any thing he shall be charg'd withal: And so let me entreat you leave the house. Sher. I will, my lord: There are two gentlemen Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks. P. Hen. It may be so; if he have robb'd these

men,

He shall be answerable; and so, farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.

P. Hen. I think it is good morrow: Is it not? Sher. Indeed my lord, I think it be two o'clock. [Exeunt Sheriff and Carrier. P. Hen. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go, call him forth.

Poins. Falstaff!-fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.

P. Hen. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: Search his pockets. [Poins searches.] What hast thou found?

Poins. Nothing but papers, my lord.

P. Hen. Let's see what they be: read them.
Poins. Item, A capon, 2s. 2d.

Item, Sauce, 4d.

Item, Sack, two gallons, 58. 8d.
Item, Anchovies, and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, a halfpenny.

P. Hen. O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! -What there is else, keep close; we'll read it at more advantage: there let him sleep till day. I'll to the court in the morning; we must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and, I know, his death will be a march of twelvescore. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so good morrow, Poins. Poins. Good morrow, good my lord. [Exeunt.

The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes,
Of burning cressets; and, at my birth,
The frame and huge foundation of the earth,
Shak'd like a coward.
Hot.
Why, so it would have done
At the same season, if your mother's cat had
But kitten'd, though yourself had ne'er been born.
Glend. I say, the earth did shake when I was
born.

Hot. And I say, the earth was not of my mind,
If you suppose, as fearing you it shook.
Glend. The heavens were all on fire, the earth
did tremble.

Hot. O, then the earth shook to see the heavens on fire,

And not in fear of your nativity.

Diseased nature oftentimes breaks forth
In strange eruptions: oft the teeming earth
Is with a kind of colick pinch'd and vex'd
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
Within her womb; which, for enlargement
striving,

Shakes the old beldame earth, and topples down
Steeples, and moss-grown towers. At your birth,
Our grandam earth, having this distemperature,
In passion shook.

Glend.

Cousin, of many men

I do not bear these crossings. Give me leave
To tell you once again,-that, at my birth,
The front of heaven was full of fiery shapes;
The goats ran from the mountains, and the herds
Were strangely clamorous to the frighted fields.
These signs have mark'd me extraordinary;
And all the courses of my life do show,
I am not in the roll of common men.
Where is he living,-clipp'd in with the sea
That chides the banks of England, Scotland,
Wales,-

Which calls me pupil, or hath read to me 7
And bring him out, that is but woman's son,
Can trace me in the tedious ways of art,
And hold me pace in deep experiments.
Hot. I think, there is no man speaks better
Welsh:-
I'll to dinner.

Mort. Peace, cousin Percy; you will make him mad.

Glend. I can call spirits from the vasty deep. Hot. Why, so can I; or so can any man: But will they come, when you do call for them 7 Glend. Why, I can teach you, cousin, to command

The devil.

Hot. And I can teach thee, coz, to shame the devil, By telling truth; Tell truth, and shame the devil.If thou have power to raise him, bring him hither,

And I'll be sworn, I have power to shame him

hence.

O, while you live, tell truth, and shame the devil, Mort. Come, come,

No more of this unprofitable chat.

Glend. Three times hath Henry Bolingbroke made head

Against my power: thrice from the banks of
Wye,

And sandy-bottom'd Severn, have I sent him,
Bootless home, and weather-beaten back.
Hot. Home without boots, and in foul weather
too!

How 'scapes he agues, in the devil's name?
Glend. Come, here's the map: Shall we divide

our right,

According to our three-fold order ta'en?
Mort. The archdeacon hath divided it
Into three limits, very equally:
England, from Trent and Severn hitherto,
By south and east, is to my part assigned:
All westward, Wales beyond the Severn shore,
And all the fertile land within that bound,

To Owen Glendower: and, dear coz, to you
The remnant northward, lying off from Trent.
And our indentures tripartite are drawn:
Which being seal'd interchangeably,
(A business that this night may execute,)
To-morrow, cou in Perev, you, and I,
And my good lord of Worcester, will set forth,
To meet your father, and the Scottish power,
As is appointed us at Shrewsbury.
My father Glendower is not ready yet,
Nor shall we need his help these fourteen days:
Within that space [To Glend.] you may have
drawn together

Your tenants, friends, and neighbouring gentle

men.

Glend. A shorter time shall send ine to you, lords,

And in my conduct shall your ladies come:
From whom you now must steal, and take no
leave;

For there will be a world of water shed,
Upon the parting of your wives and you.
Hot. Methinks, my moiety, north from Burton
here,

In quantity equals not one of yours:
See, how this river comes me cranking in,
And cuts me, from the best of all my land,
A huge half moon, a monstrous cantle out.
I'll have the current in this place damm'd up;
And here the smug and silver Trent shall run,
In a new channel, fair and evenly:

It shall not wind with such a deep indent,
To rob me of so rich a bottom here.

Glend. Not wind? it shall, it must; you see
it doth.

Mort. Yea,

Mort. Fie, cousin Percy! how yon cross my father!

Hot. I cannot choose: sometimes he angers me,
With telling me of the moldwarp and the ant,
Of the dreamer Merlin and his prophecies;
And of a dragon, and a finless fish,

A clip-wing'd griffin, and a moulten raven,
A couching lion, and a ramping cat,
And such a deal of skimble-skamble stuff
As puts me from my faith. I tell you what,-
He held me, but last night, at least nine hours,
In reckoning up the several devils' names,
That were his lackeys: I cried, humph,-and
well-go to,-

But mark'd him not a word. O, he's as tedious
As is a tir'd horse, a railing wife:
Worse than a smoky house;-I had rather live
With cheese and garlick, in a windmill, far,
Than feed on cates, and have him talk to me,
In any summer-house in Christendom.
Mort. In faith, he is a worthy gentleman;
Exceedingly well read, and profited
In strange concealments; valiant as a lion,
And wondrous affable; and as bountiful
As mines of India. Shall I tell you, cousin?
He holds your temper in a high respect,
And curbs himself even of his natural scope,
When you do cross his humour; 'faith, he does:
I warrant you, that man is not alive,
Might so have tempted him as you have done,
Without the taste of danger and reproof;
But do not use it oft, let me entreat you.
Wor. In faith, my lord, you are too wilful-
blame :

And since your coming hither, have done enough
To put him quite beside his patience.

But mark, how he bears his course, and runs You must needs learn, lord, to amend this fault:

For I was train'd up in the English court:
Where, being but young, I framed to the harp
Many an English ditty, lovely well,
And gave the tongue a helpful ornament;
A virtue that was never seen in you.

Hot. Marry; and I am glad of it with all my

heart;

I had rather be a kitten, and cry-mew,
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers:
I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd,
Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree;

And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry;
"Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag.
Glend. Come, you shall have Trent turn'd.
Hot. I do not care; I'll give thrice so much
land

To any well-deserving friend;

But, in the way of bargain, mark ye me,
Pll cavil on the ninth part of a hair.

Are the indentures drawn? shall we be gone? Glend. The moon shines fair, you may away by night:

I'll in and haste the writer, and, withal,
Break with your wives of your departure hence:
I am afraid, my daughter will run mad,
So much she doteth on her Mortimer.

Exit

Though sometimes it show greatness, courage,

blood,

(And that's the dearest grace it renders you,)
Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh rage,
Defect of manners, want of government,
Pride, haughtiness, opinion, and disdain?
The least of which, haunting a nobleman,
Loseth men's hearts; and leaves behind a stain
Upon the beauty of all parts besides,
Beguiling them of commendation.
Hot. Well, I am school'd; good manners be
your speed!
Here come our wives, and let us take our leave.

Re-enter Glendower, with the Ladies.
Mort. This is the deadly spite that angers me,
My wife can speak no English, I no Welsh.
Glend. My daughter weeps; she will not part

with you.

She'll be a soldier too, she'll to the wars. Mort. Good father, tell her,that she, and my aunt Percy,

Shall follow in your conduct speedily. [Glend. speaks to his Daughter in Welsh, and she answers him in the same. Glend. She's desperate here; a peevish sek will'd harlotry,

One that no persuasion can do good upon.

[Lady M. speaks to Mortimer in Welsh. Mort. I understand thy looks: that pretty Welsh

Which thou pourest down from these swelling heavens,

I am too perfect in: and, but for shame,
In such a parley would I answer thee.

[Lady M. speaks
I understand thy kisses, and thou mine,
And that's a feeling disputation:
But I will never be a truant, love,
Till I have learned thy language: for thy tongue
Makes Welsh as sweet as ditties highly penn'd,
Sung by a fair queen in a summer's bower,
With ravishing division to her lute.
Glend. Nay, if you melt, then will she run mad.
[Lady M. speaks again

Mort. 0, I am ignorance itself in this.
Glend. She bids you on the wanton rushes lay But thou dost, in thy passages of life,"

He'll breed revengement and a scourge for me;

you down,

And rest your gentle head upon her lap,
And she will sing the song that pleaseth you,
And on your eyelids crown the god of sleep,
Charming your blood with pleasing heaviness;
Making such difference 'twixt wake and sleep,
As is the difference betwixt day and night,
The hour before the heavenly harness'd team
Begins his golden progress in the east.
Mort. With all my heart, I'll sit and hear her
sing:

By that time will our book, I think, be drawn.
Glend. Do so;

And those musicians that shall play to you,
Hang in the air a thousand leagues from hence;
And straight they shall be here: sit, and attend.
Hot. Come, Kate, thon art perfect in lying
down: Come, quick, quick; that I may lay my
head in thy lap.

Lady P. Go, ye giddy goose.

[Glendower speaks some Welsh words, and
then the Musick plays.
Hot. Now I perceive, the devil understands
Welsh ;

And 'tis no marvel, he's so humourous.
By'r-lady, he's a good musician.
Lady P. Then should you be nothing but
musical; for you are altogether governed by
humours. Lie still, ye thief, and hear the lady
sing in Welsh.

Hot. I had rather hear Lady, my brach, howl in Irish

Lady P. Would'st thou have thy head broken
Hot. No.

Lady P. Then be still.

Hot. Neither; 'tis a woman's fault.
Lady P. Now God help thee!
Hot. To the Welsh lady's bed.
Lady P. What's that?
Hot. Peace! she sings.

[A Welsh Song sung by Lady M. Hot. Come, Kate, I'll have your song too. Lady P. Not mine, in good sooth. Hot. Not yours, in good sooth! 'Heart, yon swear like a comfit-maker's wife! Not you, in good sooth: and, As true as I live; and, As God shall mend me; and, As sure as day: And giv'st such sarcenet surety for thy oaths, As if thou never walk'dst further than Finsbury. Swear me, Kate, like a lady, as thou art, A good mouth-filling oath; and leave in sooth, And such protest of pepper gingerbread, To velvet guards, and Sunday-citizens. Come, sing.

Lady P. I will not sing.

Hot. "Tis the next way to turn tailor, or be redbreast teacher. And the indentures be drawn, I'll away within these two hours; and so come in when ye will. [Exit. Glend. Come, come, Lord Mortimer; you are as slow,

As hot Lord Percy is on fire to go.

Make me believe,-that thou art only mark'd
For the hot vengeance and the rod of heaven,
To punish my mistreadings. Tell me else,
Could such inordinate and low desires,
Such poor, such bare, such lewd, such mean

attempts.

Such barren pleasures, rude society,
As thou art match'd withal, and grafted to
Accompany the greatness of thy blood,
And hold their level with thy princely heart 7
P. Hen. So please your majesty, I would
could

Quit all offences with as clear excnse,
As well as, I am doubtless, I can purge
Myself of many I am charg'd withal:
Yet such extenuation let me beg,
As, in reproof of many tales devis'd,-
Which oft the ear of greatness needs must hear,-
By smiling pick-thanks and base newsmongers,
I may, for some things true, wherein my youta
Hath faulty wander'd and irregular,
Find pardon on my true submission."
K. Hen. God pardon thee!-yet let me won-
der Harry,

At thy affections, which do hold a wing
Quite from the flight of all thy ancestors.
Thy place in council thou hast rudely lost,
Which by thy younger brother is supplied;
And art almost an alien to the hearts
Of all the court and princes of my blood:
The hope and expectation of thy time
Is ruin'd; and the soul of every man
Prophetically does forethink thy fall.
Had I so lavish of my presence been,
So common hackney'd in the eyes of men,
So stale and cheap to vulgar company;
Opinion, that did help me to the crown,
Had still kept loyal to possession;
And left me in reputeless banishment,
A fellow of no mark, nor likelihood.
By being seldom seen, I could not stir,
But, like a comet, I was wonder'd at:
That men would tell their children, This is he;
Others would say,-Where? which is Boling-
broke?

And then I stole all courtesy from heaven,
And dress'd myself in such humility,
That I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts,
Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths,
Even in the presence of the crowned king.
Thus did I keep my person fresh, and new;
My presence, like a robe pontifical,
Ne'er seen, but wonder'd at: and so my state,
Seldom, but sumptuous, showed like a feast;
And won, by rareness, such solemnity.
The skipping king, he ambled up and down
With shallow jesters, and rash bavin wits,
Soon kindled, and soon burn'd: carded his state;
Mingled his royalty with carping fools;
Had his great name profaned with their scorns;
And gave his countenance, against his name,
To laugh at jibing boys, and stand the push

By this our book's drawn; we'll but seal, and Of every beardless vain comparative :

then

Grew a companion to the common streets,
Enfeoff'd himself to popularity:

That being daily swallow'd by men's eyes,
They surfeited with honey; and began
To loathe the taste of sweetness, whereof a little
More than a little is by much too much.
So, when he had occasion to be seen,
He was but as the cuckoo is in June,

Heard, not regarded; seen but with such eyes,
As, sick and blunted with community,
Afford no extraordinary gaze,

Such as is bent on sunlike majesty,
When it shines seldom in admiring eyes:
But rather drowz'd, and hung their eyelids
down,

Slept in his face, and render'd such aspect
As cloudy men use to their adversaries;

Being with his presence glutted, gorg'd, and full.

And in that very line, Harry, stand'st thou :
For thou hast lost thy princely privilege,
With vile participation; not an eye
But is a-weary of thy common sight,
Save mine, which hath desir'd to see thee more;
Which now doth that I would not have it do,
Make blind itself with foolish tenderness.

P. Hen. I shall hereafter, my thrice-gracious lord,

Be more myself.

K. Hen..

For all the world,

As thou art to this hour, was Richard then
When I from France set foot at Ravenspurg;
And even as I was then, is Percy now.
Now, by my sceptre, and my soul to boot,
He hath more worthy interest to the state,
Than thou, the shadow of succession:
For, of no right, nor colour like to right,
He doth fill fields with harness in the realm;
Turns head against the lion's armed jaws;
And, being no more in debt to years than thou,
Leads ancient lords, and reverend bishops on,
To bloody battles, and to bruising arms.
What never dying honour hath he got
Against renowned Douglas; whose high deeds,
Whose hot incursions, and great name in arms,
Holds from all soldiers chief majority,
And military title capital,

Through all the kingdoms that acknowledge
Christ?

Thrice hath this Hotspur Mars in swathing clothes,

This infant warrior, in his enterprises
Discomfited great Douglas; ta'en him once,
Enlarged him, and made a friend of him,
To fill the mouth of deep defiance up,

And shake the peace and safety of our throne. And what say you to this? Percy, Northumberland,

The archbishop's grace of York, Douglas, Mortimer,

Capitulate against us, and are up.

But wherefore do I tell these news to thee?
Why, Harry, do I tell thee of my foes,
Which art my near'st and dearest enemy?
Thou that art like enough,-through vassal fear,
Base inclination, and the start of spleen,-
To fight against me under Percy's pay,
To dog his heels, and court'sy at his frowns,
To show how much degenerate thou art.
P. Hen. Do not think so, you shall not find
it so;

And God forgive them, that have so much sway'd

Your majesty's good thoughts away from me!
I will redeem all this on Percy's head,
And, in the closing of some glorious day,
Be bold to tell you, that I am your son;
When I will wear a garment all of blood,
And stain my favours in a bloody mask,
Which, wash'd away, shall scour my shame
with it.

And that shall be the day, whene'er it lights,
That this same child of honour and renown,
This gallant Hotspur, this all-praised knight,
And your unthought-of Harry, chance to meet:
For every honour sitting on his helm,
'Would they were multitudes; and on my head
My shames redoubled! for the time will come,
That I shall make this northern youth exchange
His glorious deeds for my indignities.
Percy is but my factor, good my lord,
To engross up glorious deeds on my behalf;
And I will call him to so strict account,
That he shall render every glory up,
Yea, even the slightest worship of his time,
Or I will tear the reckoning from his heart.
This, in the name of God, I promise here:
The which if he be pleas'd I shall perform,
I do beseech your majesty, may salve

How now, good Blunt? thy looks are full of speed.

Blunt. So hath the business that I come to speak of.

Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,-
That Douglas, and the English rebels, met,
The eleventh of this month, at Shrewsbury:
A mighty and a fearful head they are,
If promises be kept on every hand,
As ever offer'd foul play in a state.

K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to-day;

With him my son, Lord John of Lancaster;
For this advertisement is five days old:-
On Wednesday next, Harry, you shall set
Forward; on Thursday, we ourselves will

march:

Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern. Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown: I am wither'd like an old apple-john. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villanous company, hath been the spoil

of me.

Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

Fal. Why, there is it :-come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore little; diced, not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy house, not above once in a quarter-of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass.

Bard. Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that yon must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, Sir John.

Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee: thou art the knight of the burning lamp. Bard. Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or s memento mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did

« Zurück Weiter »

Books

The Dramatic Works of William Shakespeare: From the Text of the Corrected ...