Internet Shakespeare Editions

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: Rosemary Gaby
Not Peer Reviewed

Henry IV, Part 1 (Quarto 1, 1598)


of Henrie the fourth
a purse of gold most resolutely snatcht on Munday night and
most dissolutely spent on tuesday morning, got with swearing,
lay by, and spent with crying, bring in, now in as low an ebbe
as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the
ridge of the gallowes.
Falst. By the Lord thou saist true lad, and is not my hostesse
of the tauerne a most sweet wench?
155Prin. As the hony of Hibla my old lad of the castle, and is
not a buffe Ierkin a most sweet robe of durance?
Falst. How now, how nowe mad wag, what in thy quips
and thy quiddities? what a plague haue I to doe with a buffe
Ierkin?
160Prince. Why what a poxe haue I to do with my hostesse of
the tauerne?
Falst. Well, thou hast cald her to a reckoning many a time
and oft.
Prince. Did I euer call for thee to pay thy part?
165Falst. No, ile giue thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.
Prin. Yea and else where, so far as my coine would stretch,
and where it would not, I haue vsed my credit.
Falst. Yea, and so vs'd it that were it not here apparant that
thou art heire apparant. But I prethe sweet wag, shall there be
170gallowes standing in England when thou art king? and reso-
lution thus fubd as it is with the rusty curbe of olde father An-
ticke the law, do not thou when thou art king hang a theefe.
Prince. No, thou shalt.
175Falst. Shall I? O rare! by the Lord ile be a braue iudge.
Prin. Thou iudgest false already, I meane thou shalt haue
the hanging of the theeues, and so become a rare hangman.
Falst. Well Hall well, and in some sort it iumpes with my
180humour, as well as waighting in the Court I can tell you.
Prince. For obtaining of suites?
Falst. Yea, for obtaining of suites, whereof the hangman
hath no leane wardrob. Zbloud I am as melancholy as a gyb
185Cat, or a lugd beare.
Prin. Or an old lyon, or a louers Lute.
Falst. Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
Prince. What saiest thou to a Hare, or the malancholy of
Mooreditch?