Ned, prethee come out of that fat Room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Where hast been, Hall?

With three or four Logegerheads, amongst three or fourscore Hogsheads. I have founded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn Brother to a lesh of Drawers, and can call them by their Names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. To conclude, I am so good a pro∣ficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any Tinker in his own Language: but sweet Ned, to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this penniworth of Sugar, clapt even now into my hand by an un∣der Skiner, one that never speak other English in his Life, then Eight shilling and six pence, and, You are welcome: with this shrill addition, Anon Sir, Anon Sir, Score a pint of Bastard in the Half Moon, or so. But Ned, to drive away time till Falstaff come, I prethee do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny Drawer, to what end he gave me the Sugar, and do never leave calling Francis, that his Tale to me may be nothing but, Anon: step aside, and I'll shew thee a Pre∣sident. Poyn. Francis.

Thou art perfect. Poyn. Francis.

Anon, anon Sir; look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralf.

Come hither, Francis. Fran. My Lord.

Hoa long hast thou to serve, Francis?

Forsooth five years, and as much as to—

Francis. Fran. Anon, anon Sir.

Five years; Berlady a long Lease for the clinking of Pewter? But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the Coward with thy Indenture, and shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

O Lord, Sir, I'll be sworn upon all the Books in England, I could find in my Heart.

Francis. Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

How old art thou, Francis?

Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be—

Francis.

Anon Sir, pray you stay a little, my Lord.

Nay but hark you Francis, for the Sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a penniworth, was't not?

O Lord Sir, I would it had been two.

I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.

Francis. Fran. Anon, anon.

Anon, Francis? No, Francis, but to morrow Francis: or Fran∣cis, on Thursday: or indeed Francis, when thou wilt. But Francis.

My Lord.

Away you Rogue, dost thou hear them call?

What stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look to the Guest within: My Lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more, are at the Door: shall I let them in?

Let them alone a while, and then open the Door, Poynes.

Anon, anon Sir.

Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the Thieves are at the Door, shall we be merry?

As merry as Crickets my Lad. But hark ye, what cunning match have you made with this jeast of the Drawer? Come, what's the issue?

I am now of all humours, that have shewed themselves humors, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil Age of this present twelve a Clock at midnight. What's a clock Francis?

Anon, anon Sir.

That ever this Fellow should have fewer Words then a Parret, 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 Percies 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 up on this quiet Life, I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how ma∣ny hast thou kill'd to Day? Give my Roan Horse a dranch (says he,) and answers, some fourteen, an hour after: a trifle, a trifle. I prethee call in Falstaff, I'll play Percy, and that damn'd Brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his Wife. Rivo, says the Drunkard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow.

Welcome Jack, where hast thou been?

A plague of all Cowards I say, and a vengeance too, marry and Amen. Give me a cup of Sack, Boy. E're I lead this life long, I'le sow nether stocks, and mend them too. A plague of all Cowards. Give me a Cup of Sack, Rogue. Is there no virtue extant?

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.

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. 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 lives not three good Men unhang'd in England, and one of them is sat, and grows old, God help the while, a bad World I say. I would I were a Weaver, I could sing all manner of Songs. A plague of all Cowards, I say still.

How now Woolsack, what mutter you?

A Kings 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?

Why you horson round man? what's the matter?

Are you not a Coward? answer me to that, and Poynes there?

Ye fat Paunch, and ye call me Coward, I'll stab thee.

I call thee Coward? I'll see thee damn'd e're I call thee Coward: but I would give a thousand Pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are streight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: Call you that backing of your Friends? a Plague upon such back∣ing: give me them that will face me. Give me a Cup of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunk to day.

O Villain, thy Lips are scarce wip'd, since thou drunk'st last.

All's one for that. A plague of all Cowards still, say I.

What's the matter?

What's the matter? here be four of us, have ta'ne a thousand pound this Morning.

Where is it, Jack? where is it!

Where is it? taken from us, it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.

What, a hundred, man?

I am a Rogue, if I were not at half Sword with a dozen of them two hours together; I have escaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the Doublet, four through the Hose, my Buckler cut through, my Sword hack'd like a Hand saw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A Plague of all Cowards: let them speak; if they speak more or less than truth, they are Villains, and the Sons of darkness.

Speak Sirs, how was it?

We four set upon some dozen.

Sixteen, at least, my Lord.

And bound them.

No, no, they were not bound.

You Rogue they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.

As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us.

And unbound the rest, and then came in the other.

What, fought ye with them all?

All? I know not what ye call all: but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a Bunch of Radish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd Creature.

Pray Heaven, you have not murthered some of them.

Nay, that's past Praying for. I have pepper'd, two of them: Two I am sure I have payed, two Rogues in Buckrom Sutes. I tell thee what, Hall, if I tell thee a Lye, spit in my face, call me Horse: thou Page  23 knowest my old word: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; four Rogues in Buckrom let drive at me.

What, four? thou said'st but two, even now.

Four Hal, I told thee four.

I, I, he said four.

These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me; I made no more ado, but took all their seven points in my Target, thus.

Seven? why there were but four, even now.

In Buckrom.

I, four, in Buckrom Sutes.

Seven, by these Hilts, or I am a Villain else.

Prithee let him alone; we shall have more anon

Doest thou hear me, Hal?

I, and mark thee too, Jack.

Do so, for it is worth the listning too: these nine in Buckrom that I told thee of.

So, two more already.

Their Points being broken.

Down fell his Hose.

Began to give me ground: but I followed me close, came in foot and hand; and with a thought seven of the eleven I pay'd.

O monstrous! eleven Buckrom men grown out of two?

But as the Devil would have it, three mis-begotten Knaves, in Kendal Green, came at my Back, and let drive at me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou could'st not see thy Hand.

These Lyes are like the Father that begets them, gross as a Moun∣tain, open, palpable. Why thou Clay-brain'd Guts; thou Knotty-paited Fool, thou Horson obscene greasie Tallow Catch.

What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth, the truth?

Why, how could'st thou know these men in Kendal Green, when it was so dark, thou could'st not see thy hand? Come, tell us your Reason; what say'st thou to this?

Come, your Reason Jack, your Reason.

What, upon compulsion? No; were I at the Strappado, or all the Racks in the World, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a Reason on compulsion? If Reasons were as plenty as Black-berries; I would give no man a Reason upon compulsion, I.

I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine Coward, this Bed-presser, this Horse-back-breaker, this huge Hill of Flesh.

Away you Starveling, you Elf-skin, you dried Neats-tongue, Bulls-pissel, you Stock-fish: O for breath to utter. What is like thee? You Tailors Yard, you Sheath, you Bow-case, you vile standing Tuck.

Well, breathe a while, and then to't again; and when thou hast tyr'd thy self in base Comparisons, hear me speak but thus.

Mark Jack.

We two, saw you four set on four and bound them, and were Page  24 Masters of their Wealth: mark now, how a plain Tale shall put you down. Then did we two set on you four, and with a word, out-fac'd you from your Prize, and have it: yea, and can shew it you in the House. And Falstaff, you carried your Guts away as nimbly, with as quick dex∣terity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roar'd, as ever I heard Bull-Call, What a Slave art thou, to hack thy Sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in fight. What trick? what device? what starting hole canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?

Come, let's hear Jack: What trick hast thou now?

I knew ye, as well as he that made ye. Why hear ye my Ma∣sters, was it for me to kill the Heir apparent? Should I turn upon the true Prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as Hercules: but be ware instinct, the Lion will not touch the true Prince: Instinct is a great matter. I was a Coward on Instinct: I shall think the better of my self, and thee, during my life: I, for a valiant Lion, and thou for a true Prince. But Lads, I am glad you have the Money: Hostess, clap to the doors: watch to Night, pray to Morrow. Gallants, Lads, Boys, Hearts of Gold, all the good Titles of Fellowship come to you. What, shall we be merry? shall we have a Play extempore.

Content, and the argument shall be, thy running away.

A, no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me.

My Lord the Prince?

How now, my Lady the Hostess, what say'st thou to me?

Marry, my Lord, there is a Noble-man of the Court at door would speak with you: he says he comes from your Father.

Give him as much as will make him a Royal man, and send him back again to my Mother.

What manner of man is he?

An old man.

What doth Gravity out of his Bed at Midnight? Shall I give him his answer?

Prethee do, Jack.

Faith, and I'le send him packing.

Now Sirs: you fought fair; so did you Peto, so did you Bar∣dol: You are Lions too, you ran away upon instinct: You will not touch the true Prince; no, fie.

'Faith I ran when I saw others run.

Tell me now, in earnest, how came Falstaffs's Sword so hackt?

Why, he hackt it with his Dagger, and said, he would swear truth out of all England: but he would make you believe it was done in fight, and perswaded us to do the like.

Yea, and tickle our Noses with Spear-grass, to make them bleed, and then beslubber our Garments with it, and swear it was the Bloud of true men. I did that I did not these seven years before, I blusht to hear his monstrous devices.

O Villain, thou stolest a Cup of Sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blusht extempore: thou hadst Fire and Sword on thy side, and yet thou rannest away: what instinct hadst thou for it?

My Lord, do you see these Meteors? do you behold these Ex∣halations?

I do.

What think you they portend?

Hot Livers, and cold Purses.

Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.

No, if rightly taken, Halter.

My own Knee? When I was about thy years, (Hal) I was not an Eagles Talon in the Waste, I could have crept into any Aldermans Thumb-Ring: a plague of sighing and grief, if blows a Man up like a Bladder. There's villanous News abroad: Here was Sir John Braby from your Father; you must go to the Court in the Morning. The same mad fellow of the North, Percy; and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the Bastinado, and made Lucifer Cuckold, and swore the Devil his true Liege-man upon the Cross of a Welsh-hook; what a Plague call you him?

Owen, Owen; the same, and his Son in Law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and the sprightly Scot of Scots, Dowglas, that runs a Horse-back up a Hill perpendicular.

He that rides at high speed, and with a Pistol kills a Sparrow flying. Falst. You have hit it.

So did he never the Sparrow.

Well, that Rascal hath good metal in him, he will not run.

Why, what a Rascal art thou then, to praise him so for run∣ning?

A Horse-back, (ye Cuckow) but a-foot he will not budge a foot.

Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

I grant ye, upon instinct: Well, he is there too, and one Mor¦dake, and a thousand blew-Caps more, Wercester is stoln away by Night: thy Fathers Beard is turn'd white with the News: you may buy Land now as cheap as stinking Mackerel.

Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sun, and this civil buffet¦ting hold, we shall buy Maindenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.

By the Mass, Lad, thou say'st true, it is like we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hall, art not thou horrible afear'd? thou being Heir apparent, could the World pick thee out three such Enemies again as that Fiend Dowglas, that Spirit Percy, and that Devil Glendower? Art thou not horrible afraid? Doth not thy blood thrill at it?

Not a whit: I lack some of thy instinct.

Well, thou wilt be horrible chid to morrow, when thou com∣est to thy Father: if thou do love me, practise an answer.

Do thou stand for my Father, and examine me upon the parti∣culars of my Life.

Shall I? content: This Chair shall be my State, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cushion my Crown.

Thy State is taken for a Joyn'd-Stool, thy Golden Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich Crown for a pitiful bald Crown.

Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give me a Cup of Sack to make mine Eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept, for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses vein.

Well, here is my Leg.

And here is my speech: stand aside Nobility.

This is excellent sport, i'faith.

Harry, I do not only marvel, where thou spendest thy time; but also, how thou are accompanied: For though the Camomil, the more it is trodden, the faster it grows; yet Youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our Land, by the name of Pitch: this Pitch (as ancient Writers do report) doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for Harry, now I do not speak to thee in Drink, but in Tears; not in Pleasure, but in Passion; not in Words only, but in Woes also: and yet there is a vertuous Man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his Name.

What manner of Man, and it like your Majesty?

A goodly portly Man i'faith, and corpulent, of a chearful Look, a pleasing Eye, and a most noble Carriage, and as I think, his Age some fif∣ty, or (by'rlady) inclining to threescore; and now I remember me, his Name is Falstaff: If that Man should be lewdly given, he deceives me; for Harry, I see Vertue in his Looks. If then the Tree may be known by the Fruit, as the Fruit by the Tree, then peremptorily I speak it, there is Vertue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty Varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this Month?

Do'st thou speak like a King? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my Father.

Depose me: if thou do'st it half so gravely, so majestically, both in Word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a Rabbet-suck∣er, or a Poulters Hare.

Well, here I am set.

And here I stand: judge, my Masters.

Now Harry, whence come you?

My Noble Lord, from East-cheap.

The Complaints I hear of thee, are grievous.

I'faith, my Lord, they are false: Nay, I'll tickle ye for a young Prince.

Swearest thou, ungracious Boy? henceforth ne're look on me, thou art violently carried away from Grace: there's a Devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man; a Tun of Man is thy Companion: Why, that Reverend Vice, that grey Iniquity, that Father Ruffian, that Vani∣ty in years, wherein is he good, but to taste Sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a Capon and eat it? wherein Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Crafty, but in Villany? wherein Villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

I would your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace?

That villanous abominable mis-leader of Youth Falstaff, that old white-bearded Sathan.

My Lord, the man I know.

I know thou do'st.

But to say, I know more harm in him than in my self, were to say more than I know. That he is old (the more's the pity) his white hairs do witness it: But that he is (saying your Reverence) a Whore∣master, that I utterly deny. If Sack and Sugar be a fault, Heaven help the wicked: if to be old and merry, be a sin, then many a Host that I know is damn'd: if to be fat, to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean Kine are to be loved. No, my good Lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company; banish plump Jack, and banish all the World.

I do, I will.

O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sheriff with a most monstrous Watch, is at the door.

Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.

O, my Lord, my Lord.

Heigh, heigh, the Devil rides upon a Fiddle-stick: what's the matter?

The Sheriff and all the Watch are at the door: they are come to search the House, shall I let them in?

Do'st thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of Gold a Coun∣terfeit: thou art essentially mad, without seeming so.

And thou a natural Coward, without instinct.

I deny your Major; if you will deny the Sheriff, so: if not, let him enter. If I become not a Cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up: I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a Halter, as another

Go hide thee behind the Arras, the rest walk up above. Now my Masters, for a true Face and good Conscience.

Both which I have had: but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.

Call in the Sheriff.

Now Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?

First, pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hath followed cer∣tain men unto this House.

What Men?

One of them is well known, my gracious Lord, a gross fat Man.

As fat as Butter.

I will, my Lord: there are two Gentlemen Have in this Robbery lost three hundred Marks.

It may be so: If he have robb'd these Men, He shall be answerable: And so farewel.

Good Night, my Noble Lord.

I think it is Good Morrow, is is not?

Indeed, my Lord, I think it be two a Clock.

This oyly Rascal is known as well as Pauls: go call him forth.

Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the Arras, and snorting like a Horse.

Hark, how hard he fetches his breath: Search his Pockets. He searcheth his Pockets, and findeth certain Papers.

What hast thou found?

Nothing but Papers, my Lord.

Let's see, what be they? read them.

Item, a Capon. ii s. ii d. Item, Sawce. iiii d. Item, Sack, two Gallons. v s. viii d. Item, Anchoves and Sack After Supper. ii s. vi d. Item, Bread. ob.

O monstrous, but one half penny-worth of Bread to this into∣lerable deal of Sack? What there is else, keep close, we'll read it at more advantage: there let him sleep till day. I'll to the Court in the Morning: We must all to the Wars, and thy place shall be honorable. I'll procure this fat Rogue a Charge of Foot, and I know his death will be a March of Twelve-score. The Money shall be pay'd back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the Morning: And so good morrow Peto.

Good morrow, good my Lord.