Enter Prince Henry and Sir John Falstaff.
FALSTAFF.
Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
PRINCE.
Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after
supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to
demand that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do
with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons,
and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the
blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason
why thou shouldst be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
FALSTAFF.
Indeed, you come near me now, Hal, for we that take purses go by the moon and
the seven stars, and not by Phœbus, he, that wand’ring knight so fair.
And I prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as God save thy
Grace—Majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have none—
PRINCE.
What, none?
FALSTAFF.
No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.
PRINCE.
Well, how then? Come, roundly, roundly.
FALSTAFF.
Marry then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the
night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty: let us be
Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon; and let
men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our
noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
PRINCE.
Thou sayest well, and it holds well too, for the fortune of us that are the
moon’s men doth ebb and flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is,
by the moon. As for proof now: a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on
Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning, got with swearing
“Lay by” and spent with crying “Bring in”; now in as
low an ebb as the foot of the ladder, and by and by in as high a flow as the
ridge of the gallows.
FALSTAFF.
By the Lord, thou say’st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a
most sweet wench?
PRINCE.
As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a
most sweet robe of durance?
FALSTAFF.
How now, how now, mad wag? What, in thy quips and thy quiddities? What a plague
have I to do with a buff jerkin?
PRINCE.
Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?
FALSTAFF.
Well, thou hast called her to a reckoning many a time and oft.
PRINCE.
Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?
FALSTAFF.
No, I’ll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.
PRINCE.
Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch, and where it would not, I
have used my credit.
FALSTAFF.
Yea, and so used it that were it not here apparent that thou art heir
apparent—But I prithee sweet wag, shall there be gallows standing
in England when thou art king? And resolution thus fubbed as it is with
the rusty curb of old father Antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king,
hang a thief.
PRINCE.
No, thou shalt.
FALSTAFF.
Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I’ll be a brave judge.
PRINCE.
Thou judgest false already, I mean thou shalt have the hanging of the thieves,
and so become a rare hangman.
FALSTAFF.
Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour, as well as waiting
in the court, I can tell you.
PRINCE.
For obtaining of suits?
FALSTAFF.
Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no lean wardrobe.
’Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib cat or a lugged bear.
PRINCE.
Or an old lion, or a lover’s lute.
FALSTAFF.
Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
PRINCE.
What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?
FALSTAFF.
Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art indeed the most comparative,
rascalliest, sweet young prince. But, Hal, I prithee trouble me no more with
vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a commodity of good names were to
be bought. An old lord of the Council rated me the other day in the street
about you, sir, but I marked him not, and yet he talked very wisely, but I
regarded him not, and yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.
PRINCE.
Thou didst well, for wisdom cries out in the streets and no man regards it.
FALSTAFF.
O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint. Thou
hast done much harm upon me, Hal, God forgive thee for it. Before I knew thee,
Hal, I knew nothing, and now am I, if a man should speak truly, little better
than one of the wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give it over. By
the Lord, an I do not, I am a villain. I’ll be damned for never a
king’s son in Christendom.
PRINCE.
Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?
FALSTAFF.
Zounds, where thou wilt, lad, I’ll make one. An I do not, call me
villain and baffle me.
PRINCE.
I see a good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purse-taking.
FALSTAFF.
Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal, ’tis no sin for a man to labour in
his vocation.
Enter Poins.
Poins!—Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried “Stand!” to a true man.
PRINCE.
Good morrow, Ned.
POINS.
Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John
Sack-and-sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou
soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon’s
leg?
PRINCE.
Sir John stands to his word, the devil shall have his bargain, for he was
never yet a breaker of proverbs. He will give the devil his due.
POINS.
Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.
PRINCE.
Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.
POINS.
But, my lads, my lads, tomorrow morning, by four o’clock early at
Gad’s Hill, there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings,
and traders riding to London with fat purses. I have visards for you all; you
have horses for yourselves. Gadshill lies tonight in Rochester. I have bespoke
supper tomorrow night in Eastcheap. We may do it as secure as sleep. If you
will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns. If you will not, tarry at
home and be hanged.
FALSTAFF.
Hear ye, Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not, I’ll hang you for going.
POINS.
You will, chops?
FALSTAFF.
Hal, wilt thou make one?
PRINCE.
Who, I rob? I a thief? Not I, by my faith.
FALSTAFF.
There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou
cam’st not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.
PRINCE.
Well then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap.
FALSTAFF.
Why, that’s well said.
PRINCE.
Well, come what will, I’ll tarry at home.
FALSTAFF.
By the Lord, I’ll be a traitor then, when thou art king.
PRINCE.
I care not.
POINS.
Sir John, I prithee, leave the Prince and me alone. I will lay him down
such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.
FALSTAFF.
Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of profiting,
that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the
true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief, for the poor abuses
of the time want countenance. Farewell, you shall find me in Eastcheap.
PRINCE.
Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, All-hallown summer!
[Exit Falstaff.]
POINS.
Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us tomorrow. I have a jest to execute
that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob
those men that we have already waylaid. Yourself and I will not be there. And
when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off from
my shoulders.
PRINCE.
But how shall we part with them in setting forth?
POINS.
Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of
meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure
upon the exploit themselves, which they shall have no sooner achieved but
we’ll set upon them.
PRINCE.
Yea, but ’tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits,
and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
POINS.
Tut, our horses they shall not see, I’ll tie them in the wood; our
visards we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of
buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.
PRINCE.
Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.
POINS.
Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever
turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason,
I’ll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible
lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty
at least he fought with, what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured;
and in the reproof of this lives the jest.
PRINCE.
Well, I’ll go with thee. Provide us all things necessary and meet me
tomorrow night in Eastcheap; there I’ll sup. Farewell.
POINS.
Farewell, my lord.
[Exit.]
PRINCE.
I know you all, and will awhile uphold
The unyok’d humour of your idleness.
Yet herein will I imitate the sun,
Who doth permit the base contagious clouds
To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,
Being wanted, he may be more wonder’d at,
By breaking through the foul and ugly mists
Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work;
But, when they seldom come, they wish’d-for come,
And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.
So when this loose behaviour I throw off,
And pay the debt I never promised,
By how much better than my word I am,
By so much shall I falsify men’s hopes;
And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,
My reformation, glitt’ring o’er my fault,
Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes
Than that which hath no foil to set it off.
I’ll so offend, to make offence a skill,
Redeeming time, when men think least I will.
[Exit.]
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