prove a micher, and eat black-berries? a queftion not to be ask'd. Shall the fon of England prove a thief, and take purfes? a queftion to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou haft often heard of, and it is known to many in our Land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; fo doth the company thou keep'ft; for, Harry, now do I not fpeak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleafure, but in paffion; not in words only, but in woes alfo, and yet there is a virtuous man, whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name. P. Henry. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?

Fal. A goodly portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent; of a chearful look, a pleafing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age fome fifty, or, by'rlady, inclining to threefcore; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man fhould be lewdly given, he deceives me; for, Harry, I fee virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then peremptorily I fpeak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff; "him keep with, the reft banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where haft thou been this month?

P. Henry. Doft thou speak like a King? do thou ftand for Me, and I'll play my father.

Fal. Depofe me?- If thou doft it half fo gravely, fo majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbet-fucker, or a poulterer's hare. P. Henry. Well, here I am fet.

Fal. And here I ftand; judge, my mafters.

P. Henry. Now, Harry, whence come you!
Fal. My noble lord, from Eaft-cheap.

P. Henry. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false,

tickle ye for a young Prince.

Nay, I'll

P. Henry. Sweareft thou, ungracious boy? hence◄ forth ne'er look on me; thou art violently carry'd away from grace; there's a devil haunts thee, in the likeness of a fat old man: a tun of man is thy companion.

CC 2

Why

Why dost thou converfe with that trunk of humours, that boulting-hutch of beaftlinefs, that fwoln parcel of dropfies, that huge bombard of fack, that ftufft cloakbag of guts, that roafted Manning-tree Ox with the grey pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to tafte fack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and cat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villainous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing?

Fal. I would, your Grace would take me with you: whom means your Grace?

P. Henry. That villainous abominable mif-leader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Sathan. Fal. My lord, the man I know.

P. Henry. I know, thou doft.

Fal. But to fay, I know more harm in him than in my felf, were to fay more than I know. That he is old, the more's the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, (faving your reverence,) a whoremafter, that I utterly deny. If fack and fugar be a fault, God help the wicked: if to be old and merry, be a fin, Hoft, that I know, is

then many an e

if be fat, be to be hated, then Pharoah's lean kine are to be lov'd. No, my good lord, banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for fweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack FalStaff, and therefore more valiant, being as he is, old Jack Falstaff; banish not him thy Harry's company: banith plump Jack, and banish all the world.

P Henry. I do, I will..

[Knocking and Hoftefs goes out.

Enter Bardolph running.

Bard. O, my lord, my lord, the Sheriff with a moft monstrous Watch, is at the door.

Fal. Out, you rogue! play out the Play: I have much to lay in the behalf of that Falstaff.

Enter

Re-enter the Hoftefs.

Hoft. O, my lord, my lord!

Fal. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddle-ftick: what's the matter?

Hoft. The Sheriff and all the Watch are at the door: they are come to fearch the houfe: fhall I let them in? Fal. Doft thou hear, Hal? never call a truc piece of gold a counterfeit thou art effentially mad, without feeming fo.

P. Henry. And thou a natural coward, without inftinct.

Fal. I deny your major; if you will deny the Sheriff, fo; if not, let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up; I hope, I fhall as foon be ftrangled with a halter, as another.

P. Henry. Go, hide thee behind the arras, the reft walk up above. Now, my mafters, for a true face and good confcience.

Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore I'll hide me.

[Exeunt Falftaff, Bardolph, &c.

P. Henry. Call in the Sheriff. ——

Enter Sheriff and Carrier.

Now, mafter Sheriff, what is your will with me?
Sher. Firft, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath follow'd certain men unto this house.

P. Henry. What men?

Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A grofs fat man.

Car. As fat as butter.

P. Henry. The man, I do affure you, is not here,
For I my self at this time have imploy'd him;
And, Sheriff, I engage my word to thee,
That I will, by to morrow dinner time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For any thing he fhall be charg'd withal:
And fo let me intreat you leave the house.

Sher. I will, my lord: there are two gentlemen Have in this robbery loft three hundred marks. P. Henry. It may be fo; if he have robb'd thefe men, He fhall be anfwerable; and fo farewel.

A

Sher. Good night, my noble lord.

P. Henry. I think, it is good morrow, is it not? Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock. [Exit, P. Henry. This oily rafcal is known as well as Paul's; go call him forth.

Peto. Falstaff? faft asleep, behind the arras, and fnorting like a horse.

P. Henry. Hark, how hard he fetches breath: fearch his pockets.

[He fearches his packets, and finds certain papers. P. Henry. What haft thou found?

Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.

P. Henry. Let's fee, what be they? read them.
Peto. Item, a capon, 2 s. 2d.

Item, Sawce, 4 d.

Item, Sack, two gallons, s. 8 d.

Item, Anchoves and fack after fupper, 2s. 6d.
Item, Bread, a halfpenny.

P. Henry. O monftrous! but one halfpenny-worth of bread, to this intolerable deal of fack? What there is elfe, keep clofe, we'll read it at more advantage; there let him deep till day. I'll to the Court in the morning: we must all to the wars, and thy place fhall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot, and, I know, his death will be a march of twelvefcore. The mony fhall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning, and fo good morrow, Peto.

Peta. Good morrow, good my lord,

[Exeunt.

ACT

SCENE, the Archdeacon of Bangor's Houfe in WALES.

Enter Hot-fpur, Worcester, Lord Mortimer, and Owen Glendower,

T

MORTIMER.

HESE promises are fair, the parties fure,
And our induction full of profp'rous hope.
Hot, Lord Mortimer, and coufin Glendower,
fit down?

Will you

And, uncle Worcester A plague upon it!
I have forgot the map.

Glend. No, here it is;

Sit, coufin Percy, fit, good coufin Hot-fpur:
For by that name, as oft as Lancaster

Doth fpeak of you, his cheek looks pale; and with
A rifing figh, he wifheth you in heav'n.

Hot. And you in hell, as often as he hears

Owen Glendower spoke of.

Glend. I blame him not: at my Nativity,
The front of heav'n was full of fiery fhapes,
Of burning Creffets; know, that, at my birth,
The frame and the foundation of the earth
Shook like a coward.

Hot. So it wou'd have done

At the fame feafon, if your mother's cat

Had kitten'd, though your felf had ne'er been born, Glend. I fay, the earth did fhake when I was born. Hot. I fay, the earth then was not of my mind;

If you fuppofe, as fearing you, it fhook.

Glend. The heav'ns were all on fire, the earth did

tremble.