Re-enter POINS. Poins. Anon, anon, fir. P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the reft of the thieves are at the door; Shall we be merry? Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; What cunning match have you made with this jeft of the drawer? come, what's the iffue? P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have show'd themselves humours, fince the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this prefent twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter Francis with wine.] What's o'clock, Francis? Fran. Anon, anon, fir. P. Hen. That ever this fellow fhould have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the fon of a woman!-His industry is-up-ftairs, and down-ftairs; his eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotfpur of the north; he that kills me fome fix or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife,-Fie upon this quiet life! I want work. O my fweet Harry, fays fhe, how many haft thou kill'd to-day? Give my roan horfe a drench, fays he; and answers, Some fourteen, an hour after; a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Percy, and that damn'd brawn shall play dame Mortimer his wife. Rivo, fays the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, and PETO. Poins. Welcome Jack. Where haft thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I fay, and a vengeance too! marry, and amen !—Give me a cup of fack, boy.Ere I lead this life long, I'll few nether-stocks, and mend them, them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards!Give me a cup of fack, rogue.-Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks. P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kifs a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the fweet tale of the fon! if thou didft, then behold that compound. Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this fack too: There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man: Yet a coward is worse than a cup of fack with lime in it; a villainous coward.-Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhang'd in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I fay! I would I were a weaver; I could fing pfalmis or any thing: A plague of all cowards, I fay ftill! P. Hen.. How now, wool-fack? what mutter you? Fal. A king's fon! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy fubjects afore thee like a flock of wild geefe, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales! P. Hen. Why, you whorefon round man! what's the matter? Fal. Are you not a coward? anfwer me to that; and Poins there? Poins. 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll ftab thee. : Fal. I call thee coward! I'll fee thee damn'd ere I call thee coward but I would give a thousand pound, I could run as fast as thou canft. You are straight enough in the fhoulders, you care not who fees your back: Call you that, backing of your friends? A plague upon fuch back ing! give me them that will face me.-Give me a cup fack -I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. of P. Hen. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped fince thou drunk'ft laft. Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, still fay I. P. Hen, What's the matter? [He drinks. Fal. What's the matter? there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this morning. P. Hen. Where is it, Jack? where is it? Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. P. Hen. 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 'scap'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 speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and the fons of darkness. P. Hen. Speak, firs; How was it ? Peto. No, no, they were not bound. Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am a Jew elfe, an Ebrew Jew. Gads. As we were sharing, fome fix or seven fresh men fet upon us, Fal. And unbound the reft, and then come in the other. P. Hen. 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 God, you have not murder'd fome of them. Fal. Nay, that's past 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`st my old ward;-here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me,—— P. Hen. What, four? thou faid'st but two, even now. Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four. Poins. Ay, ay, he faid four. Fal. These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado, but took all their feven points in my target, thus. P. Hen. Seven? why, there were but four, even now. Fal. In buckram. Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits. Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. P. Hen. Pr'ythee, let him alone; we shall have more anon. Fal. Doft thou hear me, Hal? P. Hen. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack. Fal. Do fo, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram, that I told thee of, P. Hen. So, two more already. Fal. Their points being broken, Poins. Down fell their hofe. 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. Hen. O monftrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two! Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive at me for it was fo dark, Hal, that thou could't not fee thy hand. P. Hen. Thefe lies are like the father that begets them ; grofs as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou claybrain'd guts; thou, knotty-pated fool; thou whorefon, obfcene, greafy tallow-keech, Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth? P. Hen. Why, how could't thou know thefe men in Kendal green, when it was fo dark thou could'st not see thy hand? come, tell us your reason; What say'st thou to this? Poins. Come, your reafon, Jack, your reafon. Fal. What, upon compulfion? No; were I at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulfion. Give you a reason on compulsion! if reasons were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulfion, I. P. Hen. I'll be no longer guilty of this fin; this fanguine coward, this bed-preffer, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh; Fal. Away, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neats-tongue, bull's pizzle, you stock-fish,—O, for breath to utter what is like thee !—you tailor's yard, you sheath, you bow-cafe, you vile standing tuck;— P. Hen. Well, breathe a while, and then to it again: and when thou haft tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this. Poins. Mark, Jack. P. Hen. 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 fet |