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SCENE IV.-Eastcheap.

A Room in the Boar's

Head Tavern.

Enter Prince HENRY.

P. Hen. Ned, pry'thee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Enter POINS.

Poins. Where hast been, Hal?

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads amongst

three or four score hogsheads.

the very base string of humility.

I have sounded

Sirrah, I am sworn 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 salvation, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy ; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, 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 shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap. 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 so 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, sweet Ned,-to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life, than-Eight shillings and sixpence,' and 'You are welcome ;' with this shrill addition,- 'Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half Moon,' or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some 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 aside, and I'll show thee a precedent. Poins. Francis !

P. Hen. Thou art perfect.

Poins. Francis!

Enter FRANCIS.

[Exit.

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.-Look down into the Pomegranate, Ralph.

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My Lord ?

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis ?

Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Five years! by 'r lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture and to show it a fair pair of heels and run from it?

Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heartPoins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis?

Fran. Let me see,-about Michaelmas next I shall be

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, sir.-Pray you, stay a little, my lord.

P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me,-'t was a penny-worth, was 't not?

Fran. O Lord, sir, I would it had been two!

P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis, — Fran. My Lord ?

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,Fran. O Lord, sir, what do you mean?

P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for, look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it

cannot come to so much.

Fran. What, sir?

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

P. Hen. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call?

[Here they both call him: the Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What, standest thou still, and hearest such a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit FRANCIS.] My lord, old Sir John, with half a dozen more, are at the door: shall I let them in?

P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins'

Re-enter POINS.

Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door: shall we be merry?

But hark

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. ye: what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue?

P. Hen. I am now of all humours that nave showed themselves humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.-What's o'clock, Francis?

Francis. [Within.] Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is up-stairs, and down-stairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the North; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife,— 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O my sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou killed to-day!' Give my roan horse a drench,' says he; and answers, 'some fourteen,' an hour after, 'a trifle, a trifle.'—I pr'ythee call in Falstaff: I'll

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