We must have bloody noses and crack'd crowns, And pass them current too. - Gods me, my horse! Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know, – Hot. Not an inch further. But hark Lady. - you, It must of force. Kate: [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Eastcheap. A room in the Boar's-Head Tavern. Enter Prince HENRY. P. Hen. Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Enter POINTZ. Poin. Where hast been, Hal? P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers; I 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, 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 Halfmoon," or so: - but, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee, 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. [Exit Pointz. Poin. [within] Francis! P. Hen. Thou art perfect. Enter FRANCIS. Fran. Anon, anon, sir. granate, Ralph. Look down into the Pome P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. Fran. My lord? P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, 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 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 heart Poin. [within] Francis! P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? Fran. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be Poin. [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, 'twas a pennyworth, 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. Poin. [within] Francis! Fran. Anon, anon. P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, 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, who 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? Poin. [within] Francis! P. Hen. Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call? [Here they both call him; Francis stands amazed, not knowing which way to go. Enter Vintner. Vint. What, standest thou still, and hearest such a call ing? Look to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozem more, are at the door: shall I let them in? P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Pointz! Re-enter POINTZ. Poin. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door: shall we be merry? Poin. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark 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 have 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? Fran. [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 prithee, call in Falstaff: I'll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. "Rivo," says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. Enter FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, and PETO; followed by FRANCIS with wine. Poin. Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. — Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks, and mend them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [Drinks. P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun! if thou didst, then behold that compound. a villan Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man: yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it, ous coward. Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague of all cowards! I say still. P. Hen. How now, wool-sack! what mutter you? Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales! P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter? Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that: and Pointz there? Poin. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I'll stab thee. Fal. I call thee coward! I'll see thee damned ere I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound, I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. P. Hen. O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last. Fal. All's one for that. A plague of all cowards! still say I. [Drinks. |