fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire; but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the son of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gadshill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. 0, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfirelight! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintained that salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it! Bar. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned. Enter HOSTESS. How now, dame Partlet the hen?1 have you inquired yet, who picked my pocket? Host. Why, sir John! what do you think, sir 1 The name of the hen in the old story-book of Reynard the Fox. John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair; and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked. Go to; you are a woman; go. Host. Who, I? I defy thee. so in mine own house before. I was never called Fal. Go to; I know you well enough. Host. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John; and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it. I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters 1 of them. Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound. 2 Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay. Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face. What call you rich? let them coin his nose; let them coin his cheeks: I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease Sieves to separate meal from bran. 2 Drinkings between meals. in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. Host. O Jesu! I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ring was copper. Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup. An he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS, marching. Falstaff meets the Prince playing on his truncheon, like a fife. Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i' faith? must we all march? Bar. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion. Host. My lord, I pray you, hear me. P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well; he is an honest man. Host. Good my lord, hear me. Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. P. Hen. What sayest thou, Jack? Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket picked. This house is turned bawdy-house; they pick pockets. P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal ring of my grandfather's. P. Hen. A trifle; some eightpenny matter. Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard your grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said, he would cudgel you. P. Hen. What! he did not? Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else. Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune, nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn fox;1 and for womanhood, maid Marian 2 may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. Host. Say, what thing? what thing? Fal. What thing? why, a thing to thank God on. Host. I am no thing to thank God on; I would thou shouldst know it: I am an honest man's wife; and, setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to call me so. Fal. Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say otherwise. Host. Say, what beast, thou knave, thou? P. Hen. An otter, sir John! why an otter? Fal. Why? she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not where to have her. Host. Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou A dead fox drawn over the ground to leave a scent, and exercise the hounds. 2 A man dressed like a woman, who attends morris-dancers. or any man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou! P. Hen. Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly. Host. So he doth you, my lord; and said, this other day, you ought him a thousand pound. P. Hen. Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound? Fal. A thousand pound, Hal? a million: thy love is worth a million; thou owest me thy love. Host. Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would cudgel you. Fal. Did I, Bardolph ? Bar. Indeed, sir John, you said so. Fal. Yea, if he said my ring was copper. P. Hen. I say, 'tis copper. Darest thou be as good as thy word now? Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare; but, as thou art prince, I fear thee, as I fear the roaring of the lion's whelp. P. Hen. And why not as the lion ? Fal. The king himself is to be feared as the lion. Dost thou think, I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? Nay, an I do, I pray God, my girdle break! P. Hen. O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith, truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine; it is all filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! Why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed 1 rascal, if there were 1 Swoln. |