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West. This is his uncle's teaching, this is Worcester, | Fal. Yea, and so used it, that, were it not here apMalevolent to you in all aspects;

Which makes him prune himself, and bristle up
The crest of youth against your dignity.

K. Hen. But I have sent for him to answer this;
And, for this cause, awhile we must neglect
Our holy purpose to Jerusalem.
Cousin, on Wednesday next our council'we
Will hold at Windsor; so inform the lords!
But come yourself with speed to us again!
For more is to be said, and to be done,
Than out of anger can be uttered.
West. I will, my liege.


parent that thou art heir apparent,-But, I pr'ythec, sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is, with the rusty curb of old father antic, the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief!

P. Hen. No; thou shalt.

Fal. Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

P. Hen. Thou judgest false already; I mean, thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

Fal. Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.

P. Hen. For obtaining of suits? Pal. Yea, for obtaining of suits: whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy, as a gib cat, or a lugged bear. P. Hen. Or an old lion, or a lover's lute. Fal. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bag-pipe. P. Hen. What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?

SCENE II.-The same. Another room in the palace. Enter HENRY, prince of Wales, and Falstaff. Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad? P. Hen. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly, which thou would'st truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping houses, and the blessed sun himself Fal. Thou hast the most unsavoury similes; and a fair hot wench in flame-colour'd taffata, I see no art, indeed, the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet reason why thou should'st be so superfluous to de-young prince, -But, Hal, I pr'ythee, trouble me no mand the time ot the day.

Fal. Indeed, you come near me, now, Hal; for we, that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars, and not by Phoebus, -he, that wandering knight so fair. And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king-as, God save thy grace, ( majesty, I should say; for grace thou wilt have none,—

P. Hen. What! none?

Fal. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.

P. Hen. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly! Fal. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty! let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon! And let men say, we be men of good government; being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress, the moon, under whose countenance we-steal.

more with vanity! I would to God, thou and I knew, where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old lord of the council rated me the other day in the street about you, sir; but I marked him not, and yet he taiked very wisely; but I regarded him not and yet he talked wisely, and in the

street too.

P. Hen. Thou did'st well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man regards it.

Fal. O thou hast damnable iteration; and art, indeed, able to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal,- God forgive thee for it! Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better, than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain; I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom. P.Hen.Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack? Fal. Where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an Ido not, call me villain, and baffle me! P. Hen. I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying, to purse-taking.

P. Hen Thon say'st well; and it holds well too: for the fortune of us, that are the moon's men, doth ebb and flow, like the sea; being governed, as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold Enter POINS, at a distance. most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning, got with swear-for a man, to labour in his vocation. Poins!-Now ing-lay by, and spent with crying-bring in: now, in as shall we know, if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men low an ebb, as the foot of the ladder; and, by and were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were by, in as high a flow, as the ridge of the gallows. hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent Fal. By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not villain, that ever cried, Stand, to a true man. my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench? P. Hen. Good-morrow, Ned! P. Hen. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle! And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

Fal. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips, and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

P. Hen. Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

Fal. Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning, many a time and oft.

P. Hen. Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?
Fal. No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all


P. Hen. Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch; and, where it would not, I have used my credit.

Poins. Good-morrow, sweet Hal!-What says monsieur Remorse? What says sir John Sack-and-Sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira, and a cold capon's leg?

P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, he will give the devil his due.

Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visors for

Fal. Hear me, Yedward! if I tarry at home, and go not, I'll hang you for going. Poins. You will, chops?

Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?

P. Hen. Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith! Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings. P.Hen.Well,then once in my days I'll be a mad-cap. Fal. Why, that's well said.

you all, you have horses for yourselves; Gadshill lies | Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at, to-night in Rochester; I have bespoke supper to- By breaking through the foul and ugly mists morrow night in Eastcheap; we may do it as secure, Of vapours, that did seem to strangle him. as sleep; if you will go, I will stuff your purses full If all the year were playing holidays, of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home, and be To sport would be as tedious, as to work; hanged! But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come, And nothing pleaseth, but rare accidents. So, when this loose behaviour I throw off, And pay the debt, I never promised, By how much better, than my word, I am, By so much shall I falsify men's hopes, And, like bright metal on a sullen ground, My reformation, glittering o'er my fault, Shall show more goodly, and attract more eyes, Than that, which hath no foil to set it off. I'll so offend, to make offence a skill; Redeeming time, when men think least I will. [Exit. SCENE III. The same. Another room in the palace. Enter King HENRY, NORTHUMBERLAND, WORCESTER, HOTSPUR, Sir WALTER BLUNT, and Others. K. Hen. My blood hath been too cold and temperate, Unapt to stir at these indignities, Fal.Well, may'st thou have the spirit of persuasion, And you have found me; for, accordingly, and he the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest, You tread upon my patience; but, be sure, may move, and what he hears, may be believed,that the will from henceforth rather be myself, true prince may (for recreation sake,) prove a false Mighty, and to be fear'd, than my condition; thief! for the poor abuses of the time want counte- Which hath been smooth, as oil, soft, as young down, nance. Farewell! You shall find me in Eastcheap. And therefore lost that title of respect,

P. Hen. Well, come what will! I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

P. Hen. I care not.

Poins. Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the prince and me alone! I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.



P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-Which the proud soul ne'er pays, but to the proud. hallown summer! [Exit Falstaff Wor, Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with The scourge of greatness to be used on it; us to-morrow! I have a jest to execute, that I can- And that same greatness too, which our own hands not manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gads-Have holp to make so portly. hill, shall rob those men, that we have already waylaid; yourself, and I, will not be there: and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders!

P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves: which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them. P. Hen. Ay, but, 'tis like, that they will know us, by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see, I'll tie them in the wood; our visors we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

P. Hen. But, I doubt, they will be too hard for us. Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards, as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer, than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies, that this same fat rogue will tell us, when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and, in the reproof of this, lies the jest.

P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee; provide us all
things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in
Eastcheap, there I'll sup. Farewell!
Poins. Farewell, my lord!

[Exit Poins.

P. Hen. I know you all, and will a while uphold
The unyok'd humour of your idleness:
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,

North. My lord,

K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone! for I see danger
And disobedience in thine eye. O, sir,
Your presence is too bold and peremptory,
And majesty might never yet endure
The moody frontier of a servant brow.
You have good leave to leave us; when we need
Your use and counsel, we shall send for you.-
[Exit Worcester.
You were about to speak.
[To North.
North. Yea, my good lord.
Those prisoners in your highness' name demanded,
Which Harry Percy here at Holmedon took,
Were, as he says, not with such strength denied,
As is deliver'd to your majesty.
Either envy, therefore, or misprision,
Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners.
But, I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh, as a bridegroom, and his chin, new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home;
He was perfumed like a milliner,
And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box, which ever and anon
He gave his nose, and took't away again;-
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff: -and still he smil'd, and talk'd
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,
He call'd them untaught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.
With many holiday and lady terms
He question'd me; among the rest demanded
My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay,

Out of my grief and my impatience,
Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what,
He should, or he should not; for he made me mad,
To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,
And talk, so like a waiting-gentlewoman,
Of guns, and drums, and wounds,(God save the mark!)
And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth
Was parmaceti, for an inward bruise;
And that it was great pity, so it was,
That villainous salt-petre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd
So cowardly; and, but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald disjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said;

And, I beseech you, let not his report

Come current for an accusation,

Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

As will displease you.-My lord Northumberland,
We license your departure with your son.—
Send us your prisoners, or you'll hear of it.

[Exeunt King Henry, Blunt, and Train.
Hot. And if the devil come and roar for them,
I will not send them. I will after straight,
And tell him so; for I will ease my heart,
Although it be with hazard of my head.
North. What, drunk with choler? stay,

Here comes your uncle.

Re-enter Worcester.

Hot. Speak of Mortimer!



'Zounds, I will speak of him; and let my soul
Want mercy, if I do not join with him.
Yea, on his part, I'll empty all these veins,
And shed my dear blood drop by drop i'the dust,
But I will lift the down-trod Mortimer
As high i'the air, as this unthankful king,

Blunt. The circumstance consider'd, good my lord, As this ingrate and canker'd Bolingbroke.

Whatever Harry Percy then had said,
To such a person, and in such a place,
At such a time, with all the rest retold,
May reasonably die, and never rise

To do him wrong, or any way impeach
What then he said, so he unsay it now.

K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners;
But with proviso, and exception,

That we, at our own charge, shall ransom straight
His brother-in-law, the foolish Mortimer,
Who, on my soul, hath wilfully betray'd
The lives of those, that he did lead to fight
Against the great magician, damn'd Glendower;
Whose daugther, as we hear, the earl of March
Hath lately married. Shall our coffers then
Be emptied, to redeem a traitor home?
Shall we buy treason? and indent with fears,
When they have lost and forfeited themselves?
No, on the barren mountains let him starve;
For I shall never hold that man my friend,
Whose tongue shall ask me for one penny cost
To ransom home revolted Mortimer.

Hot. Revolted Mortimer!

He never did fall off, my sovereign liege,
But by the chance of war. To prove that true,
Needs no more but one tongue for all those wounds,
Those mouthed wounds, which valiantly he took,
When on the gentle Severn's sedgy bank,
In single opposition, hand to hand,

He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower.
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they

Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood,

Who, then, affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
Never did bare and rotten policy

Colour her working with such deadly wounds;
Nor never could the noble Mortimer
Receive so many, and all willingly.
Then let him not be slander'd with revolt.

North. Brother, the king hath made your nephew
[To Worcester.
Wor. Who struck this heat up after I was gone?
Hot. He will, forsooth, have all my prisoners;
And when I urg'd the ransom once again
Of my wife's brother, then his cheek look'd pale,
And on my face he turn'd an eye of death,
Trembling even at the name of Mortimer.
Wer. I cannot blame him: was he not proclaim'd
By Richard, that dead is, the next of blood?
North. He was; I heard the proclamation;
And then it was, when the unhappy king
(Whose wrongs in us God pardon!) did set forth
Upon his Irish expedition,

From whence he, intercepted, did return

To be depos'd, and shortly murdered.

Wor. And for whose death we in the world's wide mouth

Live scandaliz'd, and foully spoken of.

Hot. But, soft, I pray you! Did king Richard then
Proclaim my brother Edmund Mortimer
Heir to the crown?

North. He did; myself did hear it.

Hot. Nay, then I cannot blame his cousin king,
That wish'd him on the barren mountains starv'd.
But shall it be, that you,-that set the crown
Upon the head of this forgetful man,
And, for his sake, wear the detested blot
Of murd'rous subornation, — shall it be,
That you a world of curses undergo,
Being the agents, or base second means,
The cords, the ladder, or the hangman rather?—
O, pardon me, that I descend so low,
To show the line, and the predicament,
Wherein you range under this subtle king!-
Shall it, for shame, be spoken in those days,
Or fill up chronicles in time to come,
That men of your nobility and power
Did gage them both in an unjust behalf,-
As both of you, God pardon it! have done,-
To put down Richard, that sweet lovely rose,
And plant this thorn, this canker, Bolingbroke?
And shall it, in more shame, be further spoken,

K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie That you are fool'd, discarded, and shook off


He never did encounter with Glendower;

I tell thee,

He durst as well have met the devil alone,
As Owen Glendower for an enemy.
Art not ashamed? But, sirrah, henceforth
Let me not hear you speak of Mortimer!
Send me your prisoners with the speediest means,
Or you shall hear in such a kind from me

By him, for whom these shames ye underwent ?
No! yet time serves, wherein you may redeem
Your banish'd honours, and restore yourselves
Into the good thoughts of the world again,
Revenge the jeering, and disdain'd contempt
Of this proud king, who studies, day and night,
To answer all the debt, he owes to you,
Even with the bloody payment of your deaths.
Therefore, I say—

Wor. Peace, cousin, say no more!
And now I will unclasp a secret book,
And to your quick- conceiving discontents
I'll read you matter deep and dangerous,
As full of peril, and advent'rous spirit,
As to o'er-walk a current, roaring loud,
On the unsteadfast footing of a spear.

Hot. If he fall in, good night!—or sink, or swim:
Send danger from the east unto the west,
So honour cross it from the north to south,
And let them grapple. O! the blood more stirs,
To rouse a lion, than to start a hare.

North. Imagination of some great exploit Drives him beyond the bounds of patience. Hot. By heaven, methinks, it were an easy leap, To pluck bright honour from the pale-fac'd moon, Or dive into the bottom of the deep, Where fathom-line could never touch the ground, And pluck up drowned honour by the locks; So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear, Without corrival, all her dignities:

But out upon this half-fac'd fellowship!

Wor. He apprehends a world of figures here,
But not the form of what he should attend.-
Good cousin, give me audience for a while!
Hot. I cry you mercy.

Wor. Those same noble Scots,
That are your prisoners,―

Hot. I'll keep them all.

By heaven, he shall not have a Scot of them:

No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not:
I'll keep them, by this hand.

Wor. You start away,

And lend no ear unto my purposes.~
Those prisoners you shall keep.
Hot. Nay, I will; that's flat.

He said, he would not ransom Mortimer,
Forbad my tongue, to speak of Mortimer;
But I will find him, when he lies asleep,
And in his ear I'll holla-Mortimer!

I'll have a starling, shall be taught to speak
Nothing but Mortimer, and give it him,
To keep his anger still in motion.

Wor. Hear you,

Cousin, a word!

Hot. All studies here I solemnly defy,
Save how to gall and pinch this Bolingbroke,
And that same sword-and-buckler prince of Wales,-
But that I think his father loves him not,
And would be glad, he met with some mischance,
I'd have him poison'd with a pot of ale.
Wor. Farewell, kinsman! I will talk to you,
When you are better temper'd to attend.
North. Why, what a wasp-stung and impatient fool
Art thou, to break into this woman's mood,
Tying thine ear to no tongue but thine own?
Hot. Why, look you, I am whipp'd and scourg'd
with rods,

Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear
Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke.
In Richard's time,


what do you call the

A plague upon't!-it is in Gloucestershire; -
'Twas where the mad-cap duke his uncle kept,
His uncle York, where I first bow'd my knee
Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke,
When you and he came back from Ravenspurg.
North. At Berkley castle.

Hot. You say true.

Why, what a candy deal of courtesy

This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! Look,-when his infant fortune came to age,

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Hot. Of York, is't not?

Wor. True; who bears hard

His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop.
I speak not this in estimation,

As what I think might be, but what I know

Is ruminated, plotted, and set down,
And only stays but to behold the face
Of that occasion, that shall bring it on.

Hot. I smell it; upon my life, it will do well.
North. Before the game's a-foot, thou still let'st slip.
Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot—
And then the power of Scotland, of a York,
To join with Mortimer, ha?

Wor. And so they shall.

Hot. In faith, it is exceedingly well aim'd. Wor. And 'tis no little reason, bids us speed, To save our heads by raising of a head: For, bear ourselves as even as we can, The king will always think him in our debt, And think, we think ourselves unsatisfied, Till he hath found a time to pay us home. And see already, how he doth begin To make us strangers to his looks of love. Hot. He does, he does; we'll be reveng'd on him. Wor. Cousin, farewell! - No further go in this, Than I by letters shall direct your course! When time is ripe, (which will be suddenly,) I'll steal to Glendower, and lord Mortimer; Where you and Douglas, and our powers at once, (As I will fashion it,) shall happily meet, To bear our fortunes in our own strong arms, Which now we hold at much uncertainty. North. Farewell, good brother! we shall thrive, I

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2 Car. I think, this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench. 1 Car. Like a tench? by the mass, there is ne'er a king in Christendom could be better bit, than I have been since the first cock.

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? will she hold out water in foul way? Gads. She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We steal as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible.

2Car.. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jorden, and Cham. Nay, by my faith! I think, you are more bethen we leak in your chimney; and your chamber-holden to the night, than to fern-seed, for your walklie breeds fleas, like a loach.

1 Car. What, ostler! come away and be hanged, come away!

2 Car. I have a gammon of bacon, and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross. 1 Car. 'Odsbody! the turkies in my pannier are quite starved. What, ostler! A plague on thee! hast thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? An 'twere not as good a deed, as drink, to break the pate of thee, I am a very villain.-Come, and be hanged:hast no faith in thee?


Gads. Good morrow, carriers! What's o'clock? 1 Car. I think it be two o'clock.

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable!

1 Car. Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth two of that, i'faith.

Gads. I pr'ythee, lend me thine!

2 Car. Ay, when? canst tell?- Lend me thy lantern, quoth a?- marry, I'll see thee hanged first. Gads. Sirrah, carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

2 Car. Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee.- Come, neighbour Mugs, we'll call up the gentlemen; they will along with company, for they have great charge. [Exeunt Curriers.

Gads. What, ho! chamberlain! Cham. [Within.] At hand, quoth pick-purse. Gads. That's even as fair as-at hand, quoth the chamberlain: for thou variest no more from picking of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring; thou lay'st the plot how.

Enter Chamberlain.

Cham. Good morrow, master Gadshill! It holds current, that I told you yesternight: There's a franklin in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold: I heard him tell it to one of his company, last night at supper; a kind of auditor, one, that hath abundance of charge too, God kuows what. They are up already, and call for eggs and butter: they will away presently.

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with saint Nicholas' clerks, I'll give thee this neck.

ing invisible.

Gads. Give me thy hand! thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man, Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.

Gads. Go to! Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable! [Exeunt. Farewell, you muddy knave!

SCENE II.-The road by Gadshill. Enter Prince HENRY, and POINS; BAKDOLPH and PETO, at some distance.

Poins. Come, shelter, shelter! I have removed Falstaff's horse, and he frets, like a gummed velvet. P. Hen. Stand close!


Fal. Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins! P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! What a brawling dost thou keep? Fal. Where's Poins, Hal? P. Hen. He is walked up to the top of the hill; I'll go seek him. [Pretends to seek Poins. Fal. I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: the rascal hath removed my horse, and tied him, I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the squire further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two-and-twenty years, and yet I am bewitched with the rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it could not be else; I have drunk medicines. Poins! -Hal!· - a plague upon you both! - Bardolph! - Peto! I'll starve, ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good deed as drink, to turn true man, and leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet, that ever chewed with and ten miles afoot with me; and the stony-hearta tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground, is threescore ed villains know it well enough. A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true to one another! [They whistle.] Whew! A plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be hanged!


P. Hen. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down! lay thine Cham. No, I'll none of it. I pr'ythee, keep that for the hangman! for, I know, thou worship'st saint Ni-ear close to the ground, and list, if thou canst hear the tread of travellers!

cholas as truly, as a man of falsehood may.



down? 'Sblood, I'll not bear my own flesh so far afoot
Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being
again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What
plague mean ye to colt me thus?
P. Hen. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art un-
Fal.I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my horse,
good king's son!

Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows: for, if hang, old sir John hangs with me; and, thou knowest, he's no starveling. Tut! there are other Trojans, that thou dreamest not of, the which, for sport sake, are content to do the profession some grace; that would, if matters should be looked into, for their own credit sake, make all whole. I am joined with no foot land-rakers, no long-staff, sixpenny strikers; Fal. Go, hang thyself in thy own heir-apparent garP. Hen. Out, you rogue, shall I be your ostler? none of these mad, mustachio purple-hued malt-ters! If I be ta en, I'll peach for this. An I have not balworms: but with nobility, and tranquillity; burgo- lads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup masters, and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such of sack be my poison! When a jest is so forward, and as will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner afoot too, I hate it. than drink, and drink sooner than pray; and yet I lie; for they pray continually to their saint, the commonwealth, or, rather, not pray to her, but prey on her; for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.

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Gads. Stand!
Fal. So I do, against my will.
Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice.

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