money on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come: it grows late, we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me, when I am gone.

Dol. By my troth, thou'lt set me a weeping, an thou sayest so prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return. Well, hearken the end.

Fal. Some sack, Francis.

P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

[Advancing.

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's?-And art not thou Poins his brother?

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead!

Fal. A better than thou; I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.

P. Hen. Very true, sir: and I come to draw you out by the ears.

Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my troth, welcome to London.-Now the Lord bless that sweet face of thine! O Jesu, are you come from Wales?

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty,— by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome. [Leaning his hand upon DOLL.

Dol. How! you fat fool, I scorn you. Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat".

P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!

head to it that entirely covered the face; and it was, perhaps, usually red. A half-kirtle was a similar garment, reaching only somewhat lower than the waist.

4 Ha! a bastard, &c.] The improbability of this scene is scarcely balanced by the humour. JOHNSON.

5

if you take not the heat.] Alluding, perhaps, to the proverb, "Strike while the iron is hot."

Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart! and so she is, by my troth.

Fal. Didst thou hear me?

P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by Gads-hill: you knew, I was at your back; and spoke it on purpose, to try my patience.

Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think, thou wast within hearing.

P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle you.

Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse. P. Hen. Not! to dispraise me; and call me-pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what? Fal. No abuse, Hal.

Poins. No abuse!

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him: in which doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal;-none, Ned, none ;-no, boys, none.

P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us! Is she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? or is the boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked?

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph, irrecoverable; and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy,there is a good angel about him; but the devil outbids him too.

P. Hen. For the women,

--

Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, and burns, poor soul! For the other, I owe her money; and whether she be damned for that, I know not. Host. No, I warrant you.

Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think, thou art quit for that: Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for the which, I think, thou wilt howl.

Host. All victuallers do so: What's a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent?

P. Hen. You, gentlewoman,

Dol. What says your grace?

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels against. Host. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door there, Francis.

Enter PETO.

P. Hen. Peto, how now? what news?
Peto. The king your father is at Westminster;
And there are twenty weak and weary posts,
Come from the north: and, as I came along,

I met, and overtook, a dozen captains,

Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for sir John Falstaff.

P. Hen. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,

So idly to profane the precious time;

When tempest of commotion, like the south

Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt,

And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.

Give me my sword and cloak :-Falstaff, good night. [Exeunt Prince HENRY, POINS, PETO, and BARDOLPH.

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked.

heard.] More knocking at the door?

[Knocking

Re-enter BARDOLPH.

How now? what's the matter?

6

for suffering flesh to be eaten, &c.] By several statutes made in the reigns of Elizabeth and James I. for the regulation and observance of fish-days, victuallers were expressly forbidden to utter flesh in Lent, and to these Falstaff alludes.

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; a dozen captains stay at door for you.

Fal. Pay the musicians, sirrah. [To the Page.]— Farewell, hostess :-farewell, Doll.-You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on. Farewell, good wenches: If I be not sent away post, I will see you again ere I go.

Dol. I cannot speak ;—If my heart be not ready to burst-well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. Fal. Farewell, farewell.

[Exeunt FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod time; but an honester and truer-hearted man,-Well, fare thee well.

Bard. [within.] Mistress Tear-sheet,—

Host. What's the matter?

Bard. [within.] Bid mistress Tear-sheet come to my

master.

Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll.

[Exeunt.

ACT III.

SCENE I. A Room in the Palace.

Enter King HENRY in his Nightgown, with a Page.

K. Hen. Go, call the earls of Surrey and of Warwick; But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these letters, And well consider of them: Make good speed.

[Exit Page.

How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep †,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,

"O sleep, O gentle sleep,"-MALONE.

That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,

And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber; Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,

In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum-bell?

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;

And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf'ning clamours in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly', death itself awakes?
Can'st thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,

Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Enter WARWICK and SURREY.

War. Many good morrows to your majesty!
K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords?

War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.

K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my

lords.

Have you read o'er the letters that I sent you?

War. We have, my liege.

7 That, with the hurly,] Hurly is noise, derived from the French hurler, to howl, as hurly-burly from hurluberlu, Fr.

Then, happy low, lie down!] Or, Then happy low lie clown!— WARBURTON.