meet that I should be fad, now my father is ill ;and yet I could tell thee (as to one it pleases me, for want of a better, to call my friend) I could be fad, and fad indeed. Poins. Hardly, on such a subject. P. Hen. Thou thinkeft me as far gone in obduracy as thou and Falstaff. Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly, that my father is fick but keeping fuch vile company as thine has taken from me all appearance of forrow. Poins. The reafon? P. Hen. What wouldst thou think of me, if I fhould weep? Poins. I would think thee a moft princely hypocrite. P. Hen. And what excites your most worshipful thought to think fo? Poins. Why, because you have been fo profligate, and fo attached to Falstaff. P. Hen. And to thee? Poins. Nay, by this light, I am well spoken of: I can hear it with my own ears. The worst they can fay of me is, that I had not refolution enough to withstand the temptations thrown in my way by by-Harry of Monmouth, heir apparent to the Crown of England!-But look, here comes Falftaff's Page! P. Hen. He had him from me chriftian, and fee if the fat villain have not transformed him ape. Enter PAGE. How does thy Master, boy? Page. Well, my good Lord; he heard of your Grace's coming to town. There's a letter for you. P. Hen. This fwollen excrefcence is as familiar with me as my dog and fee, how he writes. Poins. (reads) "Sir J. Falstaff, knight"-Every man must know that, as oft as he has occafion to name himself; like those who are kin to the King; for they never prick their finger, but they fay: there is some of the blood royal spilt ! P. Hen. Now for the letter. Poins, "Sir J. Falstaff, knight, to the son of the King, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting"-Why, this is a certificate. P. Hen. Peace! Poins. "I will imitate the Roman Conqueror in brevity." Sure he means brevity in breath, short winded. "I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with E 2 Poins, Poins, for he mifufes thy favors. Repent at idle times as thou mayeft, and fo farewell! Thine, by yea and no (which is as much as to fay-as thou useft him) Jack Falstaff with my familiars; John with my brothers and fifters; and Sir John with all Europe." My Lord, I will steep this letter in fack, and make him eat it. P. Hen. That's to make him eat his own words. Well, thus we play the fool with the time, and the fpirits of the wife fit in the clouds, and mock us.Is your mafter in London? Page. He is, my Lord. P. Hen. Where fups he? Page. At the old place, my Lord, in Eaftcheap. Page. Bardolph, My Lord, and old Mistress P. Hen. Shall we fteal upon them, Ned, at Poins. I am your shadow, my Lord. I'll fol'low you. P. Hen. Sirrah, boy! not a word to your Mafter, that I am yet come to town. There's for your filence. Page. Page. I have no tongue, my Lord. P. Hen. Farewell, go! [Exit PAGE.] How might we fee Falstaff beftow himself to-night in his true colors, and not ourselves be seen? Poins. Put on two jerkins and aprons, and wait upon him at table as drawers. P. Hen. From a Prince to a Prentice! a low transformation! that fhall be mine: for in every thing, the purpose muft weigh with the folly.Follow me, Ned. (Exeunt. SCENE II. A Room in the BOAR'S-HEAD Tavern, in Eastcheap. Enter FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, HOSTESS QUICKLY. Fal. The fupper room is too hot. Bring the wine into this room. table with wine and fruit.] PAGE brings in a Bardolph, you have The rubies of the drunk too much canaries. wine have given a deeper color to your nose. See whether the reflexion of your face does not make the poor boy blush! Boy, haft thou not been looking at Bardolph? ' Page. He called me even now, my Lord, thro' a red lattices, and I could difcern no part of his face face from the window. At laft I efpied his eyes'; and methought he had made two holes in a fearlet petticoat, and was peeping thro'. Bar. Away, you upright rabbit, away! Page. Away, you flaming Hecuba's dream! Fal. Inftruct us, boy: What dream? Page. Sir, Hecuba dreamed she was delivered of a firebrand; and therefore I call him her dream. Host. Marry, it is well that we are so near the Thames, or the poor Boar's Head might be foon reduced to afhes. But come, Sir John, fit down! (They sit and drink. Fal. You make your guests fat, Hostess Quickly. Host. I make them! no, Sir John, gluttony makes them. Fal. If the cook help to make the gluttony, your entertainments are the cause, Hostess. How now? Piftol! Enter PISTOL. Pist. Save you, Sir John! Fal. Welcome, ancient Piftol. Here, Piftol, I charge you with a cup of fack; do you charge mine Hoftefs. Bar. |