afoot again, for all the coin in thy father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye, 2 to colt me thus?

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

Fal. I pr'ythee, good prince Hal, help me to my horfe; good king's fon.

P. Hen. Out, you rogue! fhall I be your oftler? Fal. Go hang thyfelf in thy own 3 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 poison. When a jeft is fo forward, and afoot too!-I hate it.

Gads. Stand.

Enter Gads-bill.

Fal. So I do, against my will.

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

+ Bard. What news?

Gads. Cafe ye, cafe ye; on with your visors; 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

tavern.

2 To colt―] Is, to fool, to trick; but the prince taking it in another fenfe, oppofes it by uncolt, that is, unhorfe. JOHNSON. beir-apparent garters!] Alluding to the order of the garter, in which he was enrolled as heir-apparent.

JOHNSON. Bardolph. What news?-] In all the copies that I have feen Poins is made to speak upon the entrance of Gads-hill thus :"

O, 'tis our fetter; I know his voice.-Bardolph, what news? This is abfurd; he knows Gads-hill to be the fetter, and afks Bardolph what news. To countenance this impropriety, the later editions have made Gads-hill and Bardolph enter together, but the old copies bring in Gads-hill alone, and we find that Falstaff, who knew their fiations, calls to Bardolph among others for his horse, but not to Gads-hill, who was posted at a distance. We should therefore read,

Poins. O, 'tis our fetter, &c.

Bard. What news?

Gads. Cafe ye, &c. JOHNSON.

Gada

R 4

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, Peto. But how many be there of them? Gads. Some eight or ten.

Fal. Zounds! will they not rob us?

P. Hen. What, a coward, Sir John Paunch? Fal. Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet no coward, Hal.

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

Poins. Sirrah, Jack, thy horfe ftands behind the hedge; when thou need'ft him, there fhalt thou find him. Farewell, and ftand fast.

Fal. Now cannot I ftrike him, if I fhould be hang'd.

P. Hen. Ned, where are our disguises?
Poins. Here, hard by. Stand close.

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

Enter Travellers.

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

Thieves. Stand.

Trav. Jefu blefs us!

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

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

Fal. Hang ye, 5 gorbellied knaves, are you undone?' no, ye fat chuffs, I would your ftore were

here!

gorbellied—] i. e. fat and corpulent.
See the Gloffary to Kennet's Parochial Antiquities.

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 at the other part of the ftage.

Fal. Come, my masters, let us fhare, and then to horse before day. An the prince and Poins be not two arrant cowards, there's no equity ftirring. There's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild duck.

P. Henry. Your money.

Poins. Villains!

[As they are fharing, 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 poffeft with fear
So ftrongly, that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.

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

[Exeunt.

This word is likewife used by Sir Thomas North in his tranflation of Plutarch.

Nath, in his Have with you to Saffron Walden, 1596, fays— "O'tis an unconscionable gorbellied volume, bigger bulk'd " than a Dutch hoy, and far more boisterous and cumbersome than a payre of Swiffers omnipotent galeaze breeches."

STEEVENS.

SCENE

SCENE III.

Warkworth. A room in the cafle.

6 Enter Hotspur, reading a letter.

But for mine own part, my lord, I could be well contented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your boufe. He could be contented; why is he not then? in respect of the love he bears our boufe!-he fhews in this, he loves his own barn better than he loves our house. Let me fee fome more. The purpose you undertake is dangerous,-Why, that's certain: 'tis dangerous to take a cold, to fleep, to 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 itfelf, unforted; and your whole plot too light for the counterpoize 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 lack-brain 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-fpirited rogue is this? 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, 7 I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is there not my father, my uncle, and myself?

Lord

• Enter Hotspur folus, reading a letter.] This letter was from George Dunbar, earl of March, in Scotland.

7

Mr. EDWARDS's MS. Notes. I could brain him with his lady's fan.] Mr. Edwards obferves, in his Canons of Criticism, that the ladies in our author's time wore fans made of feathers. See Ben Jonfon's Every Man out of his Humour, act. ii. fc. 2.

"This feather grew in her sweet fan fometimes, tho' "now it be my poor fortune to wear it."

Lord Edmund Mortimer, my lord of York, and Owen Glendower? Is there not, befides, the Douglas? Have I not all their letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next month? and are there not fome of them fet forward already? What a pagan rafcal is this? an infidel? Ha! you fhall fee now, in very fincerity of fear and cold heart, will he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. O, I could divide myself, and go to bullets, for moving fuch a dish of skimm'd milk with fo honourable an action! Hang him! let him tell the king; we are prepared: I will fet forward to-night.

Enter lady Percy.

How now, Kate! I muft leave you within these two hours.

Lady. O my good lord, why are you thus alone? For what offence have I this fortnight been A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, fweet lord, what is't that takes from thee Thy ftomach, pleasure, and thy golden sleep? Why doft thou bend thy eyes upon the earth, And ftart fo often, when thou fit'ft alone? Why haft thou loft the fresh blood in thy cheeks; And given my treasures, and my rights of thee, To thick-ey'd mufing, and curs'd melancholy? In thy faint flumbers, I by thee have watch'd, And heard thee murmur tales of iron wars; Speak terms of manage to thy bounding steed;

So again, in Cynthia's Revels, act iii. fc. 4.

for a garter,

"Or the leaft feather in her bounteous fan." So in The fine Companion, a comedy, by S. Marmion, fhe fet as light by me, as by the least feather

" in her fan."

Again, in Chapman's May-day, a comedy, 1610,

"I will bring thee fome special favour from her, as a feather from her fan, &c."

STEEVENS.

Cry,