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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
Which I shall send you written, be assur'd, Will easily be granted.
To NORTHUMBERLAND. You, my lord,
Of that same noble prelate weli belov'd,
Good uncle, tell your tale, for I have done.
I have done, i' faith. Wor. Then once more to your Scottish prisoners,
Deliver them up without their ransom straight,
I speak not this in estimation,
As what I think might be, but what I know
Hot. Of York, is it not?
Wor. True; who bears hard
His brother's death at Bristol, the lord Scroop.
Upon my life it will do wondrous well. North. Before the game's afoot thou still lett'st slip.
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. 290 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.
Hot. Why, it cannot choose but be a noble plot: And then the power of Scotland and of York To join with Mortimer, ha?
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, 300 Which now we hold at much uncertainty. North. Farewell, good brother: we shall thrive, I trust.
Hot. Uncle, adieu: O! let the hours be short Till fields and blows and groans applaud our sport. Exeunt.
SCENE I.-Rochester. An Inn Yard. Enter a Carrier, with a lantern in his hand.
First Car. Heigh-ho! An't be not four by the day I'll be hanged: Charles' Wain is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not packed. What, ostler !
Ostler. Within. Anon, anon.
First Car. I prithee, Tom, beat Cut's saddle, put a few flocks in the point; the poor jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.
Enter another Carrier.
Second Car. Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots: this house is turned upside down since Robin Ostler died.
First Car. Poor fellow! never joyed since the price of oats rose; it was the death of him.
Second Car. I think this be the most villanous house in all London road for fleas : I am stung like a tench.
First 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.
Second Car. Why, they will allow us ne'er a jordan, and then we leak in your chimney; and your chamberlie breeds fleas like a loach.
First Car. What, ostler! come away and be hanged, come away.
Second Car. I have a gammon of bacon and two races of ginger, to be delivered as far as Charing-cross.
First Car. God's body! the turkeys 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 on thee, I am a very villain. Come, and be hanged! hast no faith in thee?
Gads. Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock!
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 knows 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.
Cham. No, I'll none of it: I prithee, keep that for the hangman; for I know thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may. Gads. What talkest thou to me of the hangman? if I hang I'll make a fat pair of gallows; for if I hang old Sir John hangs with me, and thou knowest he's no starveling. Tut! there are other Troyans 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 landrakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad mustachio purple-hued maltworms; but with nobility and tranquillity, burgomasters and great oneyers; such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner 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.
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.
Cham. Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to fern-seed for your walking invisible.
Gads. Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a true man. 100 Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.
Gads. Go to; homo is a common name to all
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 square 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 a
deed as drink to turn true man and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon't when thieves cannot be true to They whistle. 31 one another! Give me my horse and be
Whew! a plague upon you all! horse, you rogues; give me my hanged.
Prince. Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close to the ground and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.
Fal. Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? 'Sblood! I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot again for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye to
colt me thus ?
Prince. Thou liest thou art not colted; thou art uncolted.
Fal. I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king's son.
Prince. Out, you rogue! shall I be your ostler? Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir apparent garters! If I be ta'en I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison: when a jest is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.
Fal. You lie, ye rogue; 'tis going to the | Away, good Ned. Falstaff sweats to death king's tavern. And lards the lean earth as he walks along: Were 't not for laughing I should pity him. Poins. How the rogue roar'd! Exeunt. 150
Gads. There's enough to make us all.
Prince. Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower : if they 'scape from your encounter then they light on us.
Peto. How many be there of them?
Fal. 'Zounds! will they not rob us? Prince. What! a coward, Sir John Paunch? Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal.
Prince. Ned, where are our disguises? Poins. Here, hard by; stand close. Exeunt PRINCE and POINS. Fal. Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I every man to his business.
Prince. Well, we leave that to the proof. Poins. Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou needest him there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast.
Fal. Now cannot I strike him if I should be hanged.
The purpose you undertake is dangerous;— why, that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, to drink; but I tell you, my lord fool, out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety.
Prince. The thieves have bound the true men. Now could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest
Poins. Stand close; I hear them coming.
Fal. Come, my masters; let us share, and then to horse before day. An the Prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity stirring: there's no more valour in that Poins than in a wild duck. 110
Prince. Your money!
As they are sharing, the PRINCE and POINS set upon them. They all run away, and FALSTAFF, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them. Prince. Got with much ease. Now merrily
SCENE III.-Warkworth. A Room in the Castle. Enter HOTSPUR, reading a letter.
But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house.
to horse :
The thieves are scatter'd and possess'd with fear So strongly that they dare not meet each other; Each takes his fellow for an officer.
He could be contented; why is he not then? In respect of the love he bears our house: he
shows in this he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me see some more.
The purpose you undertake is dangerous; the friends you have named uncertain; the time itself unsorted; and your whole plot too light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition.
Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is as good a plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my Lord of York commends the Zounds! an I were now by this rascal, I could plot and the general course of the action. father, my uncle, and myself? Lord Edmund brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen GlenI not all their letters to meet me in arms by the dower? Is there not besides the Douglas? Have ninth of the next month, and are they not some of them set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king and lay open all our proceedings. moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so O! I could divide myself and go to buffets, for honourable an action. Hang him! let him tell the king; we are prepared. I will set forward to-night.
Enter Lady PERCY. How now, Kate! I must leave you within these two hours.
Lady P. O my good lord, why are you thus alone?
For what offence have I this fortnight been
Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed. Cry 'Courage! to the field!' And thou hast talk'd Of sallies and retires, of trenches, tents,
Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets,
Lady P. How! so far?
Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate;
Some heavy business hath my lord in hand,
Is Gilliams with the packet gone?
Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now,
Lady P. But hear you, my lord.
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
Prince. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, by the Lord, so they call me, and when I am king of England, I shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry 'hem!' and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that thou wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned,-to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life than 'Eight shillings and sixpence,' and ' You are welcome'; with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer to what end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling 'Francis! that his tale to me may be nothing but 'Anon.' Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent.
Poins. Francis !
Away, you trifler! Love! I love thee not,
Lady P. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?
Well, do not then; for since you love me not,
Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
SCENE IV.-Eastcheap. A Room in the
Enter the PRINCE and POINS.
Prince. Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where hast been, Hal?
Prince. How old art thou, Francis? Fran. Let me see-about Michaelmas next I shall be60
Poins. Within. Francis!
Fran. Anon, sir. Pray you, stay a little, my lord.
Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not?
Fran, O Lord, sir! I would it had been two. Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt and thou shalt have it. Poins. Within. Francis !
Fran. Anon, anon.
Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is up-stairs and down-stairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six 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 sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou killed to-day? Give my roan horse a drench,' says he, and answers 'Some fourteen,'
Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter, pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun? if thou didst then behold that compound.
Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villanous 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 unhanged in England, and one of them is fat and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still.
Prince. How now, wool-sack! what mutter you? Fal. A king's son ! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales!
Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?
Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that; and Poins there?
Poins. 'Zounds! ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab thee.
Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere I call thee coward; but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you care not who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue if I drunk to-day.
Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last.
Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I. Prince. What's the matter? Fal. What's the matter! there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this day morning.
Prince. Where is it, Jack? where is it? Fal. Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.
Prince. What! a hundred, man?
Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw: ecce signum!