Before god, I am exceeding weary.

Is't come to that? I had thought weariness durst not 794have attached one of so high blood.

Faith it does me, though it discolors the 796complexion of my greatness to acknowledge it. Doth it not show vilely 797in me to desire small beer?

Why, a prince should not be so loosely studied as 799to remember so weak a composition.

Belike then my appetite was not princely got, for 801by my troth, I do now remember the poor creature small beer. 802But indeed these humble considerations make me out of love 803with my greatness. What a disgrace is it to me to remember 804thy name? Or to know thy face tomorrow? Or to take note how 805many pair of silk stockings thou hast -- with these, and those 806that were thy peach-colored ones -- or to bear the inventory of 807thy shirts -- as one for superfluity, and another for use? But that 809the tennis-court keeper knows better than I, for it is a low ebb 810of linen with thee when thou keepest not racket there, as thou 811hast not done a great while, because the rest of thy low 812countries have made a shift to eat up thy holland. And god knows whether those 812.1that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall inherit his kingdom. 812.2But the midwives say the children are not in the fault, 812.3whereupon the world increases, and kindreds are mightily 812.4strengthened.

How ill it follows, after you have labored so hard, 815you should talk so idly! Tell me how many good young 816princes would do so, their fathers being so sick, as yours at this 816.1time is.

Shall I tell thee one thing Poins?

Yes faith, and let it be an excellent good thing.

It shall serve among wits of no higher breeding 821than thine.

Go to, I stand the push of your one thing that you 823will tell.

Marry, I tell thee it is not meet that I should be sad 825now my father is sick; albeit I could tell to thee, as to one it 826pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could be sad, 827and sad indeed too.

Very hardly, upon such a subject.

By this hand, thou thinkst me as far in the devil's 830book, as thou and Falstaff, for obduracy and persistancy. 831Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds 832inwardly that my father is so sick, and keeping such vile company as 833thou art, hath in reason taken from me all ostentation of 834sorrow.

The reason?

What wouldst thou think of me if I should weep?

I would think thee a most princely hypocrite.

It would be every man's thought, and thou art 839a blessed fellow to think as every man thinks. Never a man's 840thought in the world keeps the roadway better than thine: 841every man would think me an hypocrite indeed. And what 842accites your most worshipful thought to think so?

Why because you have been so lewd and so much 845engrafted to Falstaff.

And to thee.

By this light I am well spoke on. I can hear it with 848mine own ears, the worst that they can say of me is that I am 849a second brother, and that I am a proper fellow of my hands, 850and those two things I confess I cannot help. By the mass, 851here comes Bardolph.

And the boy that I gave Falstaff. 'A had him from 853me Christian, and look if the fat villain have not transformed 854him ape.

God save your grace.

And yours, most noble Bardolph.

Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful fool, must 859you be blushing? Wherefore blush you now? What a maidenly 860man at arms are you become! Is't such a matter to get a pottle-pot's861 maidenhead?

'A calls me e'en now, my lord, through a red lattice, and I 863could discern no part of his face from the window. At last I 864spied his eyes and methought he had made two holes in the ale-wife's 865petticoat and so peeped through.

Has not the boy profited?

Away, you whoreson upright rabbit, away.

Away, you rascally Althea's dream, away.

Instruct us, boy: what dream, boy?

Marry, my lord, Althea dreamt she was delivered of 872a firebrand, and therefore I call him her dream.

A crown's worth of good interpretation! There 'tis, boy.

O that this blossom could be kept from cankers! 876Well, there is sixpence to preserve thee.

An you do not make him hanged among you, the 878gallows shall have wrong.

And how doth thy master, Bardolph?

Well, my lord, he heard of your grace's coming to 881town. There's a letter for you.

Delivered with good respect. And how doth the 883Martlemas your master?

In bodily health, sir.

Marry, the immortal part needs a physician, but that 886moves not him; though that be sick, it dies not.

I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me as my 889dog, and he holds his place, for look you how he writes.

"John Falstaff, knight," -- every man must know that 892as oft as he has occasion to name himself, even like those that 893are kin to the king, for they never prick their finger but they 894say, "there's some of the king's blood spilt." "How comes that?" 895says he that takes upon him not to conceive. The answer is as 896ready as a borrowed cap: "I am the king's poor cousin, sir."

Nay they will be kin to us, or they will fetch it from 899Japhet. But the letter: "Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of 900the king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting."

Why, this is a certificate.

Peace. 904"I will imitate the honorable Romans in brevity."

He sure means brevity in breath, short winded.

"I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave 907thee. Be not too familiar with Poins, for he misuses thy 908favors so much that he swears thou art to marry his sister Nell. 909Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell. 910Thine, by yea and no, which is as much as to say, as 911thou usest him, Jack Falstaff with my familiars, 912John with my brothers and sisters, and Sir John 913with all Europe."

My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and make him 915eat it.

That's to make him eat twenty of his words. But do 917you use me thus, Ned? Must I marry your sister?

God send the wench no worse fortune, but I never 919said so.

Well, thus we play the fools with the time, and the 921spirits of the wise sit in the clouds and mock us. [To Bardolph] Is your 922master here in London?

Yea, my lord.

Where sups he? Doth the old boar feed in the old 925frank?

At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheap.

What company?

Ephesians, my lord, of the old church.

Sup any women with him?

None, my lord, but old Mistress Quickly and Mistress Doll 931Tearsheet.

What pagan may that be?

A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a kinswoman of my 934master's.

Even such kin as the parish heifers are to the 936town bull. Shall we steal upon them, Ned, at supper?

I am your shadow, my lord; I'll follow you.

Sirrah, you, boy, and Bardolph, no word to your master that I am yet come to town. There's for your silence.

I have no tongue sir.

And for mine sir, I will govern it.

Fare you well: go.

This Doll Tearsheet should be 945some road.

I warrant you, as common as the way between Saint 947Albans and London.

How might we see Falstaff bestow himself tonight 949in his true colors, and not ourselves be seen?

Put on two leathern jerkins and aprons, and wait 951upon him at his table as drawers.

From a god to a bull: a heavy descension -- it was Jove's 953case. From a prince to a prentice: a low transformation -- that shall 954be mine, for in everything the purpose must weigh with the 955folly. Follow me, Ned.