SCENE II. Enter Chamberlain.

Gads. What, ho, chamberlain!.
Cham. At hand, quoth pick-purse.

Gads. That's even as fair, as at hand, quoth the chamberlain; for thou variet no more from picking of purfes, than giving direction doth from labouring. Thou lay'ft the plot how.

Cham. Good morrow, Mafter Gads-hill; it holds current that I told you yefternight. There's a franklin, in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold; I heard him tell it to one of his company laft night at fupper; a kind of auditor, one that hath abundance of charge too, God knows what: they are up already, and call for eggs and butter. They will away prefently.

Gads. Sirrah, if they meet not with St. Nicholas' clerks *, 1'll give thee this neck.

Cham. No, I'll none of it: 1 pr'ythee, keep that for the hangman; for I know thou worthipp'ft St. Nicholas as truly as a man of falfehood may.

Gads. What talk'ft thou to me of the hangman? if I hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows. For if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou know'ft he's no farveHag. Tut, there are other Trojans that thou dream'st not of, the which, for fport-fake, are content to do the profeffion fome grace; that would, if matters fhould be look'd into, for their own credit fake, make all whole. 1 am join'd with no foot-land-rakers, no long-staff-fix-penny Arikers, none of thofe mad muftachio-purple-hu'd maltworms; but with nobility and tranquillity; burgomafters, and great moneyers; fuch as can hold in; fuch as will krike fooner than fpeak, and speak fooner than think, and think fooner than pray; and yet I lie, for they pray continually unto their faint the commonwealth; or rather, not pray to her, but prey on her; for they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.

.

Cham.

St. Nicholas was the patron faint of fcholars; and Nicholas, or Old Nick, is a cant name for the devil. Hence he equivocally calls robbers St. Nicholas's clerks.

Cham. What, the commonwealth their boots? will fhe hold out water in foul way?

Gads. She will, fhe will; juftice hath liquor'd her. We fteal as in a castle, cock-fure; we have the receipt of fernfeed, we walk invifible.

Cham. Nay, I think rather, you are more beholden to the night, than the fern-feed, for your walking invifible. Gads. Give me thy hand: thou fhalt have a fhare in our purchase, as I am a true man.

Cham. Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.

Gads. Go to,-Homo is a common name to all men. Bid the oftler bring my gelding out of the stable. well, ye muddy kuave."

SCENE III. Changes to the high-way.

Enter Prince Henry, Poins, and Peto.

Fare

[Exeunt.

Poins. Come, fhelter, fhelter; I have removed Falstaff's horfe, and he frets like a gumm'd velvet.

P. Henry, Stand close.

Enter Falstaff.

Fal. Poins, Poins, and be hanged, Poins!

P. Henry. Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rafcal, what a brawling doft thou keep?

Fal. What, Poins! Hal!.

P. Henry He is walk'd up to the top of the hill, I'll go feek him...

Fal. I am accurs'd to rob in that thief's company: the rafcal hath removed my horse, and ty'd him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the square farther a-foot, I fhall break my wind. Weil, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'fcape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forfworn his company hourly any time this two and twenty year, and yet I am bewitch'd with the rogue's company. If the rafcal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I'll be hang'd; it could not be elfe; I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a plague upon you both. Bardolph! Peto! I'll ftarve ere I'll rob a foot further.

An 'twere not

as

as good a deed as to drink, to turn true-man, and to leave thefe rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chew'd with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground, is threescore and ten miles a-foot with me: and the ftony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon't, when thieves cannot be true one to another. [They while.} Whew!- —a plague upon you all. Give me my horse; you rogues, give me my horse, and be hang'd.

P. Henry. Peace, ye fat guts, lie down, lay thine ear close to the ground, and lift if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.

Fal. Have you any leavers to lift me up again, being down? 'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh fo far a-foot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?

P. Henry. Thou liest, thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.

Fal. I pr'ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to `my horfe, good King's fon.

P. Henry. Out, you rogue! fhall I be your oftler?

Fal. Go hang thyfelf in thy own heir apparent garters: if I be ta'en, I'll peach for this; an' I have not ballads made on you all, and fung to filthy tunes, let a cup of fack be my poifon; when a jeft is fo forward, and a-foot too! I hate it.

Enter Gads-bill and Bardolph.

Gads. Stand!.

Fal. So I do against my

will.

Poins. O, 'tis our fetter, I know his voice.

Bardolph, what news?

Bard. Cafe ye, cafe ye; on with your vizards; there's money of the King's coming down the hill, 'tis going to the King's exchequer.

Fal. You lie, you rogue, 'tis going to the King's ta

vern.

Gads. There's enough to make us all.

Fal. To be hang'd.

P. Henry. Sirs, you four fhall front them in the narrow lane; Ned Poins and I will walk lower; if they 'scape from your encounter, then they light on us.

VOL. IV.

I

Pelo.

Peto. But how came he to be of them?
Gads. Some eight or ten.

Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us?

P. Henry. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? Fal. Indeed I am not John of Gaunt, your grand-father; but yet no coward, Hal.

P. Henry. Well, we'll leave that to the proof.

Poins. Sirrah, Jack, thy horse ftands behind the hedge; when thou need'ft him, there fhalt thou find him; farewell, and ftand faft.

Fal. Now cannot I ftrike him if I fhould be hang'd. P. Henry. Ned, where are our difguifes?

Poins. Here, hard by: ftand close.

Fal. Now, my mafters, happy man be his dole, fay I; every man to his business.

SCENE IV. Enter Travellers.

Trav. Come, neighbour; the boy fhall lead our horfes down the hill: we'll walk a-foot a while, and ease our legs.

Thieves. Stand!.

Trav. Jefu bless us!

Fal. Strike; down with them, cut the villains' throats; ah! whorefon caterpillars; bacon-fed knaves; they hate us youth: down with them, fleece them.

ye

Trav. O, we are undone both we and ours for ever.

Fal. Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are you undone? no, fat chuffs, I would your ftore were here. On, bacons, on! what, ye knaves! young men must live; you are grand jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, i'faith.

[Here they rob and bind them. Exeunt.

Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

P. Henry. The thieves have bound the true men: now could thou and I rob the thieves, and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jeft for ever.

Poins. Stand clofe, I hear them coming.

Enter Thieves again.

Fal. Come, my mafters, let us fhare, and then to horfe before day; an' the Prince and Poins be not two

arrant

"

arrant cowards, there's equity stirring. There's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild duck.

P. Henry. Your money.

Poins. Villain!

[As they are baring, the Prince and Poins fet upon them. They all run away; and Falstaff, after a blow or two, runs away too, leaving the booty behind them.

P. Henry. Got with much eafe. Now merrily to horse:

The thieves are scatter'd, and poffefs'd with fear
So ftrongly, that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.

Away, good Ned. Now Falstaff fweats to death,
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
Poins. How the rogue roar'd!

SCENE V. Lord Percy's houfe.

Enter Hot-fpur folus, reading a letter.

[Exeunt.

Let

But for mine own part, my Lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your house. He could be contented to be there; why is he not then? In refpect of the love he bears our houfe! he fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. me fee fome more. The purpofe you undertake is dangerous. Why, that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, or drink: but I tell you, my Lord fool, out of this nettle danger, we pluck this flower fafety. The purpose you undertake is dangerous, the friends you have named uncertain, the time itself unforted, and your whole plot too light, for the counterpoife of fo great an oppofition. Say you fo, fay you fo? I fay unto you again, you are a fhallow cowardly hind, and you lie. What a lackbrain is this? By the Lord, our plot is a good plot as ever was laid; our friends true and conftant: a good plot, good friends, and full of expectation; an excellent plot, very good friends. What a frofty-spirited rogue this is? Why, my Lord of York commends the plot, and the general courfe of the action. By this hand, if I were now by this rafcal, I could brain him