Page:Shakespeare - First Folio Faithfully Reproduced, Methuen, 1910.djvu/393

 Falst. There's no more faith in thee then a stn'de Prune; nor no more truth in thee, then in a drawne Fox: and for Wooman-hood, Maid-marian may be the Deputies wife of the Ward to thee. Go you nothing: go.

Host. Say, what thing? what thing?

Falst. What thing? why a thing to thanke heauen on.

Host. I am no thing to thanke heauen on, I wold thou shouldst know it: I am an honest mans wife: and setting thy Knighthood aside, thou art a knaue to call me so.

Falst. Setting thy woman-hood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise.

Host. Say, what beast, thou knaue thou?

Fal. What beast? Why an Otter.

Prin. An Otter, sir Iohn? Why an Otter?

Fal. Why? She's neither fish nor flesh; a man knowes not where to haue her.

Host. Thou art vniust man in saying so; thou, or anie man knowes where to haue me, thou knaue thou.

Prince. Thou say'st true Hostesse, and he slanders thee most grossely.

Host. So he doth you, my Lord, and sayde this other day, You ought him a thousand pound.

Prince. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

Falst. A thousand pound Hal? A Million. Thy loue is worth a Million: thou ow'st me thy loue.

Host. Nay my Lord, he call'd you Iacke, and said hee would cudgell you.

Fal. Did I, Bardolph?

Bar. Indeed Sir Iohn, you said so.

Fal. Yea, if he said my Ring was Copper.

Prince. I say 'tis Copper. Dar'st thou bee as good as thy word now?

Fal. Why Hal? thou know'st, as thou art but a man, I dare: but, as thou art a Prince, I feare thee, as I feare the roaring of the Lyons Whelpe.

Prince. And why not as the Lyon?

Fal. The King himselfe is to bee feared as the Lyon: Do'st thou thinke Ile feare thee, as I feare thy Father? nay if I do, let my Girdle breake.

Prin. O, if it should, how would thy guttes fall about thy knees. But sirra: There's no roome for Faith, Truth, nor Honesty, in this bosome of thine: it is all fill'd vppe with Guttes and Midriffe. Charge an honest Woman with picking thy pocket? Why thou horson impudent imbost Rascall, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but Tauerne Recknings, Memorandums of Bawdie-houses, and one poore peny-worth of Sugar-candie to make thee long-winded: if thy pocket were enrich'd with anie other iniuries but these, I am a Villaine: And yet you will stand to it, you will not Pocket vp wrong. Art thou not asham'd?

Fal. Do'st thou heare Hal? Thou know'st in the state of Innocency, Adam fell: and what should poore Iacke Falstaffe do, in the dayes of Villany? Thou seest, I haue more flesh then another man, and therefore more frailty. You confesse then you pickt my Pocket?

Prin. It appeares so by the Story.

Fal. Hostesse, I forgiue thee: Go make ready Breakfast, loue thy Husband, Looke to thy Seruants, and cherish thy Guests: Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason: Thou seest, I am pacified still. Nay, I prethee be gone. Now Hal, to the newes at Court for the Robbery, Lad? How is that answered?

Prin. O my sweet Beefe: I must still be good Angell to thee. The Monie is paid backe againe.

Fal. O, I do not like that paying backe, 'tis a double Labour.

Prin. I am good Friends with my Father, and may do anything.

Fal. Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou do'st, and do it with vnwash'd hands too.

Bard. Do my Lord.

Prin. I haue procured thee Iacke, A Charge of Foot.

Fal. I would it had beene of Horse. Where shal I finde one that can steale well? O, for a fine theefe of two and twentie, or thereabout: I am heynously vnprouided. Wel God be thanked for these Rebels, they offend none but the Vertuous. I laud them, I praise them.

Prin. Bardolph.

Bar. My Lord.

Prin. Go beare this Letter to Lord Iohn of Lancaster To my Brother Iohn. This to my Lord of Westmerland, Go Peto, to horse: for thou, and I, Haue thirtie miles to ride yet ere dinner time. Iacke, meet me tomorrow in the Temple Hall At two a clocke in the afternoone, There shalt thou know thy Charge, and there receiue Money and Order for their Furniture. The Land is burning, Percie stands on hye, And either they, or we must lower lye.

Fal. Rare words! braue world. Hostesse, my breakfast, come: Oh, I could wish this Tauerne were my drumme. Exeunt omnes.

Hot. Well said, my Noble Scot, if speaking truth In this fine Age, were not thought flatterie, Such attribution should the Dowglas haue, As not a Souldiour of this seasons stampe, Should go so generall currant through the world. By heauen I cannot flatter: I defie The Tongues of Soothers. But a Brauer place In my hearts loue, hath no man then your Selfe. Nay, taske me to my word: approue me Lord.

Dow. Thou art the King of Honor: No man so potent breathes vpon the ground, But I will Beard him.

Hot. Do so, and 'tis well. What letters hast there? I can but thanke you.

Mess. These Letters come from your Father.

Hot. Letters from him? Why comes he not himselfe?

Mes. He cannot come, my Lord, He is greeuous sicke.

Hot. How? haz he the leysure to be sicke now, In such a iustling time? Who leades his power? Vnder whose Gouernment come they along? Mes.