for the counterpoise of so great an opposition.-Say you so, say you so? I say unto you again, you are a shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lack-brain is this! By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and constant; a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is this! Why, my lord of York commends the plot, and the general course of the action. 'Zounds, an I were now by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself? lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, besides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are they not, some of them, set forward already? What a pagan rascal is this! an infidel! Ha! you shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to buffets, for moving such a dish of skimmed milk with so honorable an action. Hang him! let him tell the king. We are prepared; I will set forward to-night. Enter LADY PERCY. How now, Kate? I must leave you within these two hours. A banished woman from my Harry's bed? Of palisadoes, frontiers, parapets; Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin; Thy spirit within thee hath been so at war, Like bubbles in a late-disturbed stream; And in thy face strange motions have appeared, On some great sudden haste. O, what portents are these? Some heavy business hath my lord in hand, And I must know it, else he loves me not. Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone? Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the sheriff? Serv. It is, my lord. Hot. That roan shall be my throne. Well, I will back him straight. O esperance! Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Servant. Lady. But hear you, my lord. A weasel hath not such a deal of spleen, I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, Away, you trifler!-Love? I love thee not, I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate; No lady closer; for I well believe Thou wilt utter what thou dost not know; Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate! To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.― Will this content you, Kate? Lady. It must, of force. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern. Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS. P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where hast been, Hal? P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the very base string of humility. 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, dyeing 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 honor, 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 in 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 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 POINS. Fran. Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomegran ate, Ralph. 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'rlady, 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 heart Poins. [Within.] Francis! Fran. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? Fran. Let me see,-about Michaelmas next, I shall bePoins. [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. Poins. [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, smoothtongue, 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 canvass 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! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit FRAN.] 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? Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark yewhat cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue? P. Hen. I am now of all humors, that have showed themselves humors, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. [Reenter FRANCIS, with wine.] What's o'clock, Francis? Fran. 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? 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 play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play dame Mortimer, his wife. Rivo, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. Give |