Directly to this question that I ask.

In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true.
Hot. Away,

Away, you trifler!-love!-I love thee not,

I care not for thee, Kate; this is no world,

h

To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips:

We must have bloody noses, and i crack'd crowns,

And país them 'current too-Gods me, my horfe!— What fay'st thou, Kate? what would'st thou have with

me?

Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?
Well, do not then; for, fince you love me not,
I will not love myfelf. Do you not love, me?
Nay, tell me, if you fpeak in jeft, or no.
Hot. Come, wilt thou fee me ride?.
And when I am o' horfe-back, I will fwear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reafon whereabout:
Whither I muft, I muft; and, to conclude,
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wife; but yet no further wife,
Than Harry Percy's wife: conftant you are;
But yet a woman and for fecrefy,

No lady clofer; for I well believe,

Thou wilt not utter what thou doft not know;
And fo far will I truft thee, gentle Kate.

Lady. How! fo far?

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate: Whither I go, thither fhall you go too;

h mammets,]-puppets.

i crack'd crowns, &c.]-(puns) coin, and broken heads-money,

and a foldier's paffport.

To

To-day will I fet forth, to-morrow you.

Will this content you, Kate?

Lady. It muft, of force.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

IV.

The Boar's-bead Tavern in Eaft-cheap.

Enter Prince Henry, and Poins.

f

P. Henry. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poins. Where haft been, Hal ?

P. Henry. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogfheads, I have founded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am fworn brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their Christian names, as-Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their falvation, that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtefy; and tell me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Falftaff; but a 'Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,-by the Lord, so they call me; and, when I am king of England, I fhall command all the good lads in East-cheap. They call-drinking deep, dying scarlet: and when you breathe in your watering, they cry-hem! and bid you play it off.—To conclude, I am fo good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action. But, fweet Ned,-to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of fugar, clapt even now into my

1 Corinthian,-a wencher.

* fat]-foifty. m breathe" I think, thou waft created for men to breathe them"felves upon thee."

ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL, Vol. II. p. 407. Laf.

་

hand by an "under-skinker; one that never spake other English in his life, than-Eight fillings and fixpence, and

You are welcome; with this fhrill addition,-Anon, anon, fir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon, or fo. But, Ned, to drive away the time 'till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou ftand in fome by-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; 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.

Poins. Francis !

P. Henry. Thou art perfect.
Poins. Francis !

Enter Francis.

Fran. Anon, anon, fir.-Look down into the Pomgranate, 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 to-
Poins. Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, fir.

P. Henry. Five years! by'rlady, a long leafe for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, dar'ft thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Fran. O lord, fir! I'll be fworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart

Fran. Anon, anon, fir.

P. Henry. How old art thou, Francis?

Fran. Let me fee,-About Michaelmas next I fhall be

Poins. Francis!

Fran. Anon, fir.-Pray you, stay a little, my lord. P. Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis: For the fugar thou gav'ft me,-'twas a pennyworth, was't not?

Fran. O lord, fir! I would, it had been two.

P. Henry. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt 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, chrystalbutton, nott-pated, agat-ring, puke-stocking, caddicegarter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,

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

P. Henry, Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink for, look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will fully in Barbary, fir, it cannot come to fo much. Fran. What, fir?

Poins. Francis !

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

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

P this leathern-jerkin, cryftal-button, &c.]-this mean-fpirited fellow, thy mafter, whofe jacket resembles that of a pawn-broker, with his hair cut close, and his dark rufset stockings, tied with garters of coarse ferret.-Garters were formerly worn in fight, and commonly of rich materials.

Enter

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What! ftand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? look to the guests within. (Exit drawer.] My lord, old fir John, with half a dozen more, are at the door; Shall I let them in?

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

Re-enter Poins.

Poins. Anon, anon, fir.

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

Poins. 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?

P. Henry. 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. [Re-enter Francis.] What's o'clock, Francis?

Fran. Anon, anon, fir.

P. Henry. That ever this fellow fhould have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the fon of a woman!-His industry is-up-stairs, and down ftairs; his eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotfpur of the north; he that kills me fome fix or feven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and fays to his wife,-Fie upon this quiet life! I want work. O my Sweet 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 shall

of Percy's mind,]-though of all other humours.

play