Henry IV, Part 1 (Quarto 1, 1598)
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965
Enter Prince and Poines.
¶Prin. Ned, preethe come out of that fat roome, and lende me
¶thy hand to laugh a little.
¶can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dicke, and
¶Francis, they take it already vpon their saluation, that though I
¶be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of Curtesie, and tel me
975flatly I am no proud Iacke like Falstalffe, but a Corinthian, a lad
¶of metall, a good boy (by the Lord so they call me) and when I
¶cheape. They call drinking deepe, dying scarlet, and when you
¶breath in your watering they cry hem, and bid you play it off.
980To conclude, I am so good a profici|~e|t in one quarter of an houre
¶that I can drinke with any Tinker in his owne language, during
985which name of Ned, I giue thee this peniworth of sugar, clapt e-
¶he gaue me the sugar, and do thou neuer leaue calling Frances,
¶Ralphe.
¶Prin. Come hether Frances.
Fran. My Lord. _
¶Poi. Frances.
1010with thy Indenture, and shewe it a faire paire of heeles, and run
¶from it?
¶land, I could find in my hart.
¶Prin. How old art thou Frances?
¶Poin. Frances.
¶me, twas a peniworth, wast not?
¶Fran. O Lord, I would it had bin two.
¶thou wilt, and thou shalt haue it,
¶Prin. Anon Frances, no Frances, but to morrow Frances: or
¶Frances a Thursday; or indeede Fraunces when thou wilt. But
¶Fraunces.
1030Fran. My Lord.
¶looke you Fraunces, your white canuas doublet will sulley. In
¶
Here they both cal him, the Drawer stands amazed not knowing
¶
which way to go._
Enter Vintner._
¶more are at the doore, shal I let them in?
¶Pri. Let them alone awhile, and then open the doore: Poines.
Enter Poines._
¶doore, shall we be merrie?
¶Po. As merry as Crickets my lad, but harke ye, what cunning
1055match haue you made with this iest of the Drawer: come whats
¶humors since the oulde dayes of good man Adam, to the pupill
¶age of this present twelue a clocke at midnight. Whats a clocke
1060Frances?
¶and down staires, his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am
1065not yet of Percyes minde, the Hotspur of the North, he that kils
¶his handes, and saies to his wife, fie vpon this quiet life, I want
¶play dame Mortimer his wife. Riuo saies the drunkarde: call in
¶Ribs, cal in Tallow.
1075
Enter Falstaffe.
¶ry and Amen: giue me a cup of sacke boy. Eare I lead this life
1080A plague of all cowards. Giue me a cup of sacke rogue, is there
¶no vertue extant?
he drinketh._
¶didst, then behold that compound.
¶thing but rogery to be found in villanous man, yet a cowarde is
¶Go thy waies old Iacke, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good
¶manhood be not forgot vpon the face of the earth, then am I a
1090shotten herring: there liues not three good men vnhangde in
¶England, and one of them is fat, and growes old, God helpe the
¶with a dagger of lath, and driue all thy subiects afore thee like a
¶flock of wild geese, ile neuer weare haire on my face more, you
¶prince of Wales.
¶Poines there.
¶Poin. Zoundes ye fat paunch, and ye call me cowarde by the
¶Lord ile stab thee.
¶coward, but I woulde giue a thousand pound I coulde runne as
¶care not who sees your backe: call you that backing of your
¶friends, a plague vpon such backing, giue me them that will
1110face me, giue me a cup of sacke. I am a rogue if I drunke to day.
¶Falst. All is one for that.
He drinketh._
¶Prin, Whats the matter?
¶Falst. Whats the matter, there be foure of vs here haue tane a
¶thousand pound this day morning
¶Prin. Where is it Iacke, where is it?
1120Fal. Where is it? taken from vs it is: a hundred vppon poore
¶foure of vs.
¶Prin. What, a hundred, man?
¶of them two houres together. I haue scapt by myracle. I am
¶my buckler cut through and through, my sworde hackt like a
¶would not do. A plague of all cowards, let them speake, if they
1135Ross. And bound them.
¶Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
¶Falst. You rogue they were bounde euerie man of them, or
¶I am a Iew else: an Ebrew Iew.
1140vpon vs.
¶Prin. What, fought you with them all?
¶Falst. Al, I know not what you cal al, but if I fought not with
1145fiftie of them I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or
¶three and fiftie vpon poore olde Iacke, then am I no two legd
¶Creature.
¶thou knowest my olde warde: here I lay, and thus I bore my
¶poynt, foure rogues in Buckrom let driue at me.
¶Falst. Foure Hal, I told thee foure.
1160I made me no more adoe, but tooke all their seuen points in my
¶target, thus.
¶Prin. Seuen, why there were but foure euen now.
¶Falst. In Buckrom.
¶Prince. I, and marke thee to iacke.
rom that I told thee of.
¶Prince. So, two more alreadie.
¶Falst. Their points being broken.
1175in, foot, and hand, and with a thought, seuen of the eleuen I paid.
1180in Kendall greene came at my backe, and let driue at mee, for it
¶a mountaine, open, palpable. Why thou clay-braind guts, thou
¶Falst. What art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the
¶truth?
1195strappado, or all the rackes in the worlde, I would not tell you on
¶as plentifull as blackberries, I would giue no man a reason vppon
¶compulsion, I.
¶of flesh.
¶Prin. Wel, breath a while, and then to it againe, and when thou
¶Po. Marke iacke.
¶put you downe, then did wee two set on you foure, and with a
¶worde outfac't you from your prize, & haue it, yea & can shew
1215way as nimbly, with as quicke dexteritie, & roard for mercy, and
1220now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparant shame?
¶Falst. By the Lord, I knew ye as wel as he that made ye. Why
1225heare you my maisters, was it for me to kill the heire apparant?
¶valiant as Hercules: but beware instinct, the lion will not touch
¶the true prince, instinct is a great matter. I was now a cowarde
1230my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince: but by
¶the doores, watch to night, pray to morrowe, gallants, lads,
¶boyes, hearts of golde, all the titles of good fellowship come
1235tempore?
¶Ho. Marry my Lo. there is a noble man of the court at doore
¶Prin. Giue him as much as will make him a royall man, and
¶send him backe againe to my mother.
¶Fal. What maner of man is he?
¶Host. An olde man.
1250Falst. What doth grauitie out of his bed at midnight? Shall I
¶giue him his answere?
¶Prin. Preethe do iacke.
Fa. Faith and ile send him packing.
¶
Exit._
1255did you Bardol, you are lions, to you ran away vpon instinct, you
¶will not touch the true prince, no fie.
1260so hackt?
¶sweare truth out of England, but hee would make you beleeue
¶it was done in fight, and perswaded vs to do the like.
¶them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it, and
¶exhalations?
Prin. I do.
¶Bar. What thinke you they portend?
1280Bar. Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.
¶
Enter Falstalffe.
¶Prin. No if rightly taken halter. Here commes leane iacke, here
¶Fal. My owne knee, when I was about thy yeares (Hall) I was
¶not an Eagles talent in the waste, I could haue crept into anie
¶Aldermans thumbe ring: a plague of sighing and grief, it blowes
¶a man vp like a bladder. Thers villainous newes abroade, heere
¶the morning. That same mad fellow of the North Percie, and
¶he of Wales that gaue Amamon the bastinado, and made Luci-
1295of a Welsh hooke: what a plague call you him?
¶Poynes. O Glendower.
¶mer, and olde Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of
1300Scottes, Dowglas, that runnes a horsebacke vp a hill perpendi-
¶cular.
¶sparrow flying.
¶Falst. You haue hit it.
¶runne.
¶running?
¶a foote.
1315away to night, thy fathers beard is turnd white with the newes,
¶you may buy land now as cheape as stinking Mackrel.
¶Prin. Why then, it is like if there come a hote Iune, and this
¶ciuill buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob
1320nailes, by the hundreds.
¶good trading that way: but tell mee Hall, art not thou horrible
¶afearde? thou being heire apparant, could the world picke thee
1325rit Percy, and that diuel Glendower, art thou not horribly afraid?
¶doth not thy bloud thril at it?
¶Falst. Well thou wilt bee horriblie chidde to morrowe when
¶swere.
¶particulars of my life.
¶for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crowne for a pittifull
¶bald crowne.
1340Falst. Well, and the fire of grace bee not quite out of thee
¶nowe shalt thou be mooued. Giue me a cup of Sacke to make
¶my eyes looke redde, that it maie bee thought I haue wept,
¶vaine.
1345Prince. Well, here is my leg.
1350Host. O the father, how he holds his countenance?
¶For teares do stop the floudgates of her eyes.
1355euer I see.
¶Falst. Peace good pint-pot, peace good tickle-braine.
¶time, but also how thou art accompanied. For though the cam-
¶I haue partly thy mothers worde, partlie my owne opinion, but
¶chieflie a villainous tricke of thine eye, and a foolish hanging
¶of thy neather lippe, that dooth warrant me. If then thou bee
1370and it is knowne to many in our land by the name of pitch. This
¶pitch (as ancient writers do report) doth defile, so doth the com-
1375onely, but in woes also: and yet there is a vertuous man, whom
¶I haue often noted in thy companie, but I know not his name.
1380Fal. A goodly portly man ifayth, and a corpulent of a cheerful
¶lewdly giuen, hee deceiueth me. For Harry, I see vertue in his
1385lookes: if then the tree may bee knowne by the fruit, as the fruit
¶by the tree, then peremptorily I speake it, there is vertue in that
¶naughtie varlet, tell me where hast thou beene this month?
¶ile play my father.
¶ly, both in word and matter, hang me vp by the heeles for a rab-
1395bet sucker, or a poulters Hare
¶Prin. Now Harry, whence come you?
1400Prin. The complaints I heare of thee are greeuous.
¶prince I faith.
¶on me, thou art violently carried awaie from grace, there is a di-
1410guts, that rosted Manningtre Oxe with the pudding in his belly,
¶that reuerent vice, that gray iniquity, that father ruffian, that va-
¶wherein neat and clenly, but to carue a capon and eat it? wherein
1415cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villa-
¶nous, but in al things? where in worthy, but in nothing?
¶Fal. I would your grace would take me with you, whome
¶meanes your grace?
¶stalffe, that olde white bearded Sathan.
¶Fal. My Lord, the man I know.
1425were to say more then I know: that he is olde the more the pit-
¶be a fault, God helpe the wicked; if to be olde and merry be a sin,
1430then many an old host that I know is damnd: if to be fat be to be
¶hated, then Pharaos lane kine are to be loued. No my good lord
¶Iacke Falstalffe, & therfore more valiant being as he is old Iacke
¶the world.
¶Prin. I do, I will.
Enter Bardoll running._
¶watch is at the doore.
¶the behalfe of that Falstalffe.
1445
Enter the hostesse.
¶the matter?
¶Host. The Sheriffe and al the watch are at the doore, they are
¶let him enter. If I become not a Cart as well as another man, a
1460with a halter as another.
1465Falst. Both which I haue had, but their date is out, and there-
¶fore ile hide me.
¶Prin. Call in the Sheriffe.
¶
Enter Sheriffe and the Carrier.
¶Prin. Now master Sheriffe, what is your wil with me?
¶certaine men vnto this house.
¶Prin. What men?
1475fat man.
¶Car. As fat as butter.
¶For I my selfe at this time haue emploid him:
¶And Sheriffe, I will ingage my word to thee,
1480That I will by to morrow dinner time
¶Send him to answere thee or any man,
¶For any thing he shall be charg'd withal,
¶Sher. I will my Lord: there are two gentlemen
1485Haue in this robbery lost 300. markes.
¶She. God night my noble Lord.
¶Prin. I thinke it is god morrow is it not?
1490She. Indeed my Lord I thinke it be two a clocke.
Exit
¶Prin. This oylie rascall is knowne as well as Poules: goe call
¶him forth.
1495like a horse.
¶
He searcheth his pocket, and findeth certaine papers.
¶Pet. Nothing but papers my Lord.
¶Item a capon.
2.s,ii,d.
¶Item bread.
ob.
1510more aduantage; there let him sleepe till day, ile to the court in
¶norable. Ile procure this fat rogue a charge of foot, and I know
1515paid backe againe with aduantage; bee with me betimes in the
¶morning, and so good morrow Peto.
¶Peto. Good morrow good my Lord.
Exeunt
