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thee, Ned, thou haft loft much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action; but, fweet Ned,-to fweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of fugar, clapt even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life, than Eight Shillings and Six Pence, and You are welcome, Sir: with this fhrill addition, Anon, anon, Sir; Score a pint of baftard in the half moon, or fo. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou ftand in fome bye-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the fugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but, anon. Step afide, and I'll fhew thee a precedent. [Poins retires.

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Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.-Look down into the pomgranet, Ralph.

P. Henry. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord.

P. Henry. How long haft thou to ferve, Francis? Fran. Forfooth, five years, and as much as toPoins. Francis,

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry. Five years; by'rlady, a long leafe for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, dareft thou be fo

7 under-fkinker,] A tapfter; an under-drawer. Skink is drink, and a kinker is one that ferves

drink at table.

8 Enter Francis the drawer.] This fcene, helped by the dif

traction of the drawer, and grimaces of the prince, may entertain upon the ftage, but afford not much delight to the reader. The authour has judiciously made it short.

valiant

valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and fhew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Fran. O lord, Sir, I'll be fworn upon all the books in England, I could find in heartmy

be

Poins. Francis,

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry. How old art thou, Francis?

Fran. Let me fee, about Michaelmas next I fhall

Poins. Francis,

Fran. Anon, Sir.—Pray you stay a little, my lord. P. Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the fugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not? Fran. O lord, I would it had been two.

P. Henry. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: afk me when thou wilt, and thou fhalt have it. Poins. Francis,

Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Henry. Anon, Francis? no, Francis; but to morrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,

Fran. My lord?

P. Henry. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystalbutton, knot-pated, agat ring, puke-stocking, caddice-garter, fmooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch.

Fran. O lord, Sir, who do you mean?

P. Henry. Why then your brown baftard is your only drink; for look you, Francis, your white canvas

9 The prince intends to afk the drawer whether he will rob his mafter whom he denotes by many contemptuous diftinctions, of which all are easily intelligible bat pake-flocking, which may have indeed a dirty meaning, but it is not the meaning here intend ed, for the prince defigns to mention the materials of the

flocking. There is fomething wrong which I cannot rectify.

brown bastard-] Bafard was a kind of fweet wine. The prince finding the drawer not able, or not willing to underitand his inftigation, puzzles him with unconnected pratile, and drives him away.

doublet

doublet will fully. In Barbary, Sir, it cannot come to fo much.

Fran. What, Sir?

Poins. Francis,

P. Henry. Away, you rogue, doft thou not hear them call?

Here they both call; the drawer ftands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What, ftand'st thou ftill, and hear'ft such a Calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit drawer.] My lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door; fhall i let them in?

P. Henry. Let them alone a while, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins,

Enter Poins.

Poins. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry. Sirrah, Falstaff and the reft of the thieves are at the door; fhall we be merry?

Pons. As merry as Crickets, my lad. But hark ye, what cunning match have you made with this jeft of the drawer? come, what's the iffue?

Pemy. I am now of all humours, that have fhew'd themselves humours, fince the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this prefent twelve o'clock at midnight. What's o'clock, Francis?

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry. That ever this fellow fhould have fewer words than a Parrot, and yet the fon of a Woman!— His industry is up ftairs and down ftairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind,

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I am not yet of Percy's mind,] The drawer's anfwer had interrupted the prince's train of

difcourfe. He was proceeding thus, I am now of all humours that have fhewed themfeves bu

mours

mind, the hot-spur of the north; he that kills me fome fix or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands and fays to his wife, Fy upon this quiet life! I want work. O my fweet Harry, fays fhe, how many haft thou kill'd to day? Give my roan horse a drench, fays he, and answers. Some fourteen, an hour after a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Falstaff, I'll play Percy, and that damn'd Brawn fhall play dame Mortimer his wife. Ribi, fays the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.

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;

SCENE IX.

Enter Faiftaff, Gads-hill, Bardolph, and Peto. Poins. Welcome, Jack; where haft thou been? Fal. A plague on all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too, marry and men !-Give me a cup of fack, boy-Ere I lead this life long, I'll fow nether focks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague on all cowards!-Give me a cup of fack, rogue.-Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks. P. Henry. Didft thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? ( pitiful-hearted Titan!) that melted at the fweet

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melted at the fwert Tale of the Sun] This abfurd Reading poffeffes all the Copies in general; and tho' it has pafs'd thro' fuch a Number of Impreffions, is Nonfenfe, which we may pronounce to have arifen at firft from the Inadvertence, either of Iranfcribers, or the Compofitors at Projs. 'Tis well known, Titan is one of the poetical Names of the San; but we have no authority from Fable for Titan's melting away at his own fweet Tale, as Narciffus did at the Reflection of his own Form. The

Poet's

fweet tale of the Sun? if thou didft, then behold that compound.

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this fack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man;

Poet's Meaning was certainly this: Falftoff enters in a great Heat, after having been robb'd by the Prince and Poins in Difguife, and the Prince feeing him in fuch a Sweat, makes the following Similie upon him: "Do but look upon that Com"pound of Greafe;-his Fat drips away with the Violence "of his Motion, juft as Butter "does with the Heat of the "Sun-Beams darting full upon << it." THEOBALD.

Ddft thou never fee Titan kifs a df of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan! that melted at the fweet tale of the Sun?] This perplexes Mr. Theobald; he calls it nonfenfe, and indeed, having made nonsense of it, changes it to pitiful-hearted Butter. But the common reading is right: And all that wants reftaring is a parenthefis into which (pitifulhearted Titan!) fhould be put. Pitiful-hearted means only amorous, which was Titan's character: the pronoun that refers to butter. But the Oxford Editor goes ftill further, and not only takes without ceremony, Mr. Theobald's bread and butter, but turns tale into face; not perceiving that the heat of the Sun is figuratively reprefented as a love-tale, the poet having before called him pitiful-hearted, or amorous.

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WARBURTON. here's lime in this jack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man ;]

Sir Richard Hawkins, one of Queen Elizabeth's fea-captains, in his voyages, P. 379. fays, Since the Spanish facks have been common in our taverns, which for confervation are mingled with lime in the making, our nation complains of calentures, of the ftone, the dropf, and infinite other diffempers not heard of before this wine came into frequent use. Befides, there is no year that it wafleth not two millions of crowns of our fubftance by conveyance into foreign countries. This latter, indeed, was a fubftantial evil. But as to lime's giving the from, this fure must be only the good old man's prejudice; fince in a wifer age by far, an old woman made her fortune, by fhewing us that lime was a cure for the fone. Sir John Falfaff, were he alive again, would fay fhe deferved it, for fatisfying us that we might drink fack in fafety: But that liquor has been long fince out of date. I think Lord Clarendon, in his Apology, tells us, That sweet wines before the Refloration, were fo much to the English tafte, that we engreffed the whole product of the Canaries; and that not a pife of it was expended in any other country in Europe. But the banished Cavaliers brought home with them the gouft for French wines, which has continued ever fince; and from whence, perhaps, we may more truly date the greater frequency of the flone.

WARB.

yet

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