Now Hal, what time of day is it lad?

Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, 117and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches 118after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly 119which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to 120do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack, 121and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and 122dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun 123himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffeta, I see no 124reason why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the 126time of the day.

Indeed you come near me now, Hal, for we that 128take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not by 129Phoebus, "he, that wand'ring knight so fair." And I prithee, sweet 130wag, when thou art a king, as god save thy grace -- "majesty" I 131should say, for grace thou wilt have none --

What, none?

No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be 135prologue to an egg and butter.

Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.

Marry then, sweet wag, when thou art king let not us 138that are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the 139day's beauty: let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the 140shade, minions of the moon, and let men say we be men of 141good government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble 142and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance 143we steal.

Thou sayst well, and it holds well too, for the fortune 145of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea, 146being governed as the sea is by the moon. As for proof now: 147a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night and 148most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing 149"lay by!", and spent with crying "bring in!"; now in as low an ebb 151as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the 152ridge of the gallows.

By the lord, thou sayst true, lad; and is not my hostess 154of the tavern a most sweet wench?

As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is 156not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips 158and thy quiddities? What a plague have I to do with a buff 159jerkin?

Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of 161the tavern?

Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time 163and oft.

Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

No, I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

Yea and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch, 167and where it would not I have used my credit.

Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent that 169thou art heir apparent -- but I prithee, sweet wag, shall there be 170gallows standing in England when thou art king, and 171resolution thus fubbed as it is with the rusty curb of old Father 172Antic the law? Do not thou when thou art king hang a thief.

No, thou shalt.

Shall I? Oh, rare! By the lord, I'll be a brave judge.

Thou judgest false already. I mean thou shalt have 177the hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my 180humor as well as waiting in the court, I can tell you.

For obtaining of suits?

Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman 184hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a 185gib cat, or a lugged bear.

Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.

Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

What sayst thou to a hare, or the melancholy of 189Moorditch?

Thou hast the most unsavory similes, and art indeed 191the most comparative, rascalliest sweet young prince. But Hal, 192I prithee trouble me no more with vanity. I would to god 193thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were 194to be bought. An old lord of the Council rated me the 195other day in the street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and 196yet he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and yet he 197talked wisely, and in the street too.

Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the streets and no man regards it.

Oh, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able 200to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal, 201god forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew 202nothing; and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better 203than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will 204give it over. By the lord, an I do not, I am a villain. I'll be 205damned for never a king's son in Christendom.

Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?

Zounds, where thou wilt, lad, I'll make one; an I do not, 209call me villain and baffle me.

I see a good amendment of life in thee, from praying 211to purse-taking.

Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal. 'Tis no sin for a man 213to labor in his vocation.

1.2.34214Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. 215O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot 216enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever 217cried "Stand!" to a true man.

Good morrow Ned.

Good morrow, sweet Hal. [To Falstaff] What says Monsieur 220Remorse? What says Sir John Sack and Sugar: Jack? How 221agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest 222him on Good Friday last, for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's 223leg?

Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his 225bargain, for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs: he will 226give the devil his due.

[To Falstaff] Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with 228the devil.

Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.

But my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning by four o'clock 231early at Gad's Hill, there are pilgrims going to 232Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat 233purses. I have vizards for you all; you have horses for yourselves. 234Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I have bespoke supper tomorrow 235night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. 236If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will 238not, tarry at home and be hanged.

Hear ye Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not I'll 240hang you for going.

You will, chops?

Hal, wilt thou make one?

Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.

There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship 245in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not 246stand for ten shillings.

Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

Why that's well said.

Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

By the lord, I'll be a traitor then, when thou art king.

I care not.

Sir John, I prithee leave the prince and me alone. I will 253lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go.

Well, god give thee the spirit of persuasion and him 256the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move and 257what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may -- for 258recreation sake -- prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the 259time want countenance. Farewell, you shall find me in Eastcheap.

Farewell, the latter spring; farewell, All-Hallown summer.

Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us 264tomorrow. I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. 265Falstaff, Peto, Bardolph, and Gadshill shall rob those men that 266we have already waylaid -- yourself and I will not be there -- 267and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, 269cut this head off from my shoulders.

How shall we part with them in setting forth?

Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint 272them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail. 273And then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves, which 274they shall have no sooner achieved but we'll set upon them.

Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by 277our habits, and by every other appointment to be ourselves.

Tut, our horses they shall not see -- I'll tie them in the wood; 280our vizards we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I 281have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted 282outward garments.

Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.

Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred 285cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer 286than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest 287will be the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell 288us when we meet at supper: how thirty at least he fought with, 289what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in 290the reproof of this lives the jest.

Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things 293necessary, and meet me tomorrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll 294sup. Farewell.

Farewell, my lord.

I know you all, and will a while uphold

1.2.64297The unyoked humor of your idleness.

1.2.65298Yet herein will I imitate the sun,

1.2.66299Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

1.2.67300To smother up his beauty from the world,

1.2.68301That when he please again to be himself,

1.2.69302Being wanted he may be more wondered at

1.2.70303By breaking through the foul and ugly mists

1.2.71304Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.

1.2.72305If all the year were playing holidays,

1.2.73306To sport would be as tedious as to work;

1.2.74307But when they seldom come, they wished-for come,

1.2.75308And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.

1.2.76309So when this loose behaviour I throw off

1.2.77310And pay the debt I never promisèd,

1.2.78311By how much better than my word I am,

1.2.79312By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;

1.2.80313And like bright metal on a sullen ground,

1.2.81314My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,

1.2.82315Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes

1.2.83316Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

1.2.84317I'll so offend to make offense a skill,

1.2.85318Redeeming time when men think least I will.