Fal. What beast? why, an otter.

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 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 ?

Bard. Indeed, Sir John, you said so.

Fal. Yea, if he said my ring was copper.

P. Hen. I say, 't is copper: darest thou be as good as thy word now?

Fal. Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but a man, I dare; but as thou art a 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 filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest woman with picking thy pocket! why, thou whoreson, impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in thy pocket but tavernreckonings, memorandums of bawdy-houses, and one poor pennyworth of sugar-candy to make thee long-winded, if thy pocket were enriched with any other injuries but these, I am a villain. And yet you will stand to it; you will not pocket up wrong. Art thou not ashamed?

Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest, in the state of innocency Adam fell; and what should poor Jack Falstaff do in the days of villainy? Thou seest I have more flesh than another man; and therefore more frailty. You confess, then, you picked my pocket?

P. Hen. It appears so by the story.

Fal. Hostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready breakfast; love thy husband, look to thy servants,

cherish thy guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason; thou seest I am pacified.Still-Nay, pr'ythee, be gone. Now, Hal, to the news at court. lad,-how is that answered?

[Exit Hostess. For the robbery,

P. Hen. O! my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to thee the money is paid back again.

Fal. O, I do not like that paying back; 't is a double labour.

P. Hen. I am good friends with my father, and may do anything.

Fal. Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and do it with unwashed hands too.

Bard. Do, my lord.

P. Hen. I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.

Fal. I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find one that can steal well? O, for a fine thief, of the age of two-and-twenty, or thereabouts! I am heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for these rebels,-they offend none but the virtuous: I laud them, I praise them.

P. Hen. Bardolph!

Bard. My lord.

P. Hen. Go bear this letter to Lord John of

Lancaster,

To

my brother John; this to my Lord of West

moreland.

[Exit BARDOLPH. Go, Poins, to horse, to horse! for thou and I Have thirty miles to ride ere dinner-time.

[Exit POINS.

Meet me to-morrow in the Temple Hall

At two o'clock, Jack, in the afternoon : There shalt thou know thy charge, and there re ceive

Money, and order for their furniture.

The land is burning, Percy stands on high;
And either they or we must lower lie.

[Exit.

Fal. Rare words! brave world !-Hostess, my breakfast; come :—·

O! I could wish this tavern were my drum. [Exit.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-The Rebel Camp near Shrewsbury.

Enter HOTSPUR, WORCESTER, and DOUGLAS.

Hot. Well said, my noble Scot: if speaking truth

In this fine age were not thought flattery,
Such attribution should the Douglas have,

As not a soldier of this season's stamp

Should go so general current through the world.
By God, I cannot flatter; I defy

The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
In my heart's love hath no man than yourself.
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
Doug. Thou art the king of honour :
No man so potent breathes upon the ground
But I will beard him.

Hot.

Do so, and 't is well.

Enter a Messenger with letters.

What letters hast thou there?-I can but thank

you.

Mess. These letters come from your father,Hot. Letters from him! why comes he not himself?

Mess. He cannot come, my lord: he's grievous

sick.

Hot. Zounds! how has he the leisure to be sick In such a justling time? Who leads his power? Under whose government come they along?

Mess. His letters bear his mind, not I, my lord. Wor. I pr'ythee, tell me, doth he keep his bed? Mess. He did, my lord, four days ere I set forth;