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  • Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH

  • Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since this last
    action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why my
    skin hangs about me like an like an old lady's loose
    gown; I am withered like an old apple-john. Well,
    I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some
    liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I
    shall have no strength to repent. An I have not
    forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I
    am a peppercorn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a
    church! Company, villanous company, hath been the
    spoil of me.

  • Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long.

  • Why, there is it: come sing me a bawdy song; make
    me merry. I was as virtuously given as a gentleman
    need to be; virtuous enough; swore little; diced not
    above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house once
    in a quarter--of an hour; paid money that I
    borrowed, three of four times; lived well and in
    good compass: and now I live out of all order, out
    of all compass.

  • Why, you are so fat, Sir John, that you must needs
    be out of all compass, out of all reasonable
    compass, Sir John.

  • Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life:
    thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in
    the poop, but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the
    Knight of the Burning Lamp.

  • Why, Sir John, my face does you no harm.

  • No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many
    a man doth of a Death's-head or a memento mori: I
    never see thy face but I think upon hell-fire and
    Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his
    robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way
    given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath
    should be 'By this fire, that's God's angel:' but
    thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but
    for the light in thy face, the son of utter
    darkness. When thou rannest up Gadshill in the
    night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou
    hadst been an ignis fatuus or a ball of wildfire,
    there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a
    perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light!
    Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and
    torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt
    tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast
    drunk me would have bought me lights as good cheap
    at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have
    maintained that salamander of yours with fire any
    time this two and thirty years; God reward me for
    it!

  • 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly!

  • God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned.
    Enter Hostess
    How now, Dame Partlet the hen! have you inquired
    yet who picked my pocket?

  • Why, Sir John, what do you think, Sir John? do you
    think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched,
    I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy
    by boy, servant by servant: the tithe of a hair
    was never lost in my house before.

  • Ye lie, hostess: Bardolph was shaved and lost many
    a hair; and I'll be sworn my pocket was picked. Go
    to, you are a woman, go.

  • Who, I? no; I defy thee: God's light, I was never
    called so in mine own house before.

  • Go to, I know you well enough.

  • No, Sir John; You do not know me, Sir John. I know
    you, Sir John: you owe me money, Sir John; and now
    you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought
    you a dozen of shirts to your back.

  • Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to
    bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them.

  • Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight
    shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, Sir
    John, for your diet and by-drinkings, and money lent
    you, four and twenty pound.

  • He had his part of it; let him pay.

  • He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing.

  • How! poor? look upon his face; what call you rich?
    let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks:
    Ill not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker
    of me? shall I not take mine case in mine inn but I
    shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a
    seal-ring of my grandfather's worth forty mark.

  • O Jesu, I have heard the prince tell him, I know not
    how oft, that ring was copper!

  • How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup: 'sblood, an
    he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he
    would say so.
    Enter PRINCE HENRY and PETO, marching, and FALSTAFF
    meets them playing on his truncheon like a life

    How now, lad! is the wind in that door, i' faith?
    must we all march?

  • Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.

  • My lord, I pray you, hear me.

  • What sayest thou, Mistress Quickly? How doth thy
    husband? I love him well; he is an honest man.

  • Good my lord, hear me.

  • Prithee, let her alone, and list to me.

  • What sayest thou, Jack?

  • The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras
    and had my pocket picked: this house is turned
    bawdy-house; they pick pockets.

  • What didst thou lose, Jack?

  • Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of
    forty pound apiece, and a seal-ring of my
    grandfather's.

  • A trifle, some eight-penny matter.

  • So I told him, my lord; and I said I heard your
    grace say so: and, my lord, he speaks most vilely
    of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said
    he would cudgel you.

  • There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else.

  • There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed
    prune; nor no more truth in thee than in a drawn
    fox; and for womanhood, Maid Marian may be the
    deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing,
    go

  • Say, what thing? what thing?

  • What thing! why, a thing to thank God on.

  • I am no thing to thank God on, I would thou
    shouldst know it; I am an honest man's wife: and,
    setting thy knighthood aside, thou art a knave to
    call me so.

  • Setting thy womanhood aside, thou art a beast to say
    otherwise.

  • Say, what beast, thou knave, thou?

  • What beast! why, an otter.

  • An otter, Sir John! Why an otter?

  • Why, she's neither fish nor flesh; a man knows not
    where to have her.

  • Thou art an unjust man in saying so: thou or any
    man knows where to have me, thou knave, thou!

  • Thou sayest true, hostess; and he slanders thee most grossly.

  • So he doth you, my lord; and said this other day you
    ought him a thousand pound.

  • Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?

  • A thousand pound, Ha! a million: thy love is worth
    a million: thou owest me thy love.

  • Nay, my lord, he called you Jack, and said he would
    cudgel you.

  • Indeed, Sir John, you said so.

  • Yea, if he said my ring was copper.

  • I say 'tis copper: darest thou be as good as thy word now?

  • Why, Hal, thou knowest, as thou art but man, I dare:
    but as thou art prince, I fear thee as I fear the
    roaring of a lion's whelp.

  • And why not as the lion?

  • The king is to be feared as the lion: dost thou
    think I'll fear thee as I fear thy father? nay, an
    I do, I pray God my girdle break.

  • O, if it should, how would thy guts fall about thy
    knees! But, sirrah, there's no room for faith,
    truth, nor honesty in this bosom of thine; it is all
    filled up with guts and midriff. Charge an honest
    woman with picking thy pocket! why, thou whoreson,
    impudent, embossed rascal, if there were anything in
    thy pocket but tavern-reckonings, memorandums of
    bawdy-houses, and one poor penny-worth of
    sugar-candy to make thee long-winded, if thy pocket
    were enriched with any other injuries but these, I
    am a villain: and yet you will stand to if; you will
    not pocket up wrong: art thou not ashamed?

  • Dost thou hear, Hal? thou knowest in the state of
    innocency Adam fell; and what should poor Jack
    Falstaff do in the days of villany? Thou seest I
    have more flesh than another man, and therefore more
    frailty. You confess then, you picked my pocket?

  • It appears so by the story.

  • Hostess, I forgive thee: go, make ready breakfast;
    love thy husband, look to thy servants, cherish thy
    guests: thou shalt find me tractable to any honest
    reason: thou seest I am pacified still. Nay,
    prithee, be gone.
    Exit Hostess
    Now Hal, to the news at court: for the robbery,
    lad, how is that answered?

  • O, my sweet beef, I must still be good angel to
    thee: the money is paid back again.

  • O, I do not like that paying back; 'tis a double labour.

  • I am good friends with my father and may do any thing.

  • Rob me the exchequer the first thing thou doest, and
    do it with unwashed hands too.

  • I have procured thee, Jack, a charge of foot.

  • I would it had been of horse. Where shall I find
    one that can steal well? O for a fine thief, of the
    age of two and twenty or thereabouts! I am
    heinously unprovided. Well, God be thanked for
    these rebels, they offend none but the virtuous: I
    laud them, I praise them.

  • Go bear this letter to Lord John of Lancaster, to my
    brother John; this to my Lord of Westmoreland.
    Exit Bardolph
    Go, Peto, to horse, to horse; for thou and I have
    thirty miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
    Exit Peto
    Jack, meet me to-morrow in the temple hall at two
    o'clock in the afternoon.
    There shalt thou know thy charge; and there receive
    Money and order for their furniture.
    The land is burning; Percy stands on high;
    And either we or they must lower lie.

  • Exit PRINCE HENRY

  • Rare words! brave world! Hostess, my breakfast, come!
    O, I could wish this tavern were my drum!