and doe neuer leaue calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but, anon: steppe aside, and Ile fhew thee a prefent. Poines. Francis.

Prince. Thou art perfect.

Poines. Francis.

Enter drawer.

Fra. Anon, anon fir; looke downe into the pomgarnet,

Ralfe.

Prince. Come hither Francis.

Francis. My lord.

Prince. How long haft thou to ferue, Francis?
Francis. Forfooth fiue yeares, and as much as to

Poines. Francis.

Francis. Anone, anone fir.

Prince. Fiue yeares; berlady a long leafe for the clincking of pewter but Francis, darest thou be fo valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and fhew it a faire paire of heeles, and runne from it?

Francis. O lord fir, Ile befworne vpon all bookes in Eng. land, I could find in my heart.

Poines. Francis.

Francis. Anone fir.

Prince. How old art thou, Francis?

Francis. Let me fee, about Michaelmas next I shall be
Poines. Francis.

Francis. Anone fir, pray you stay a little, my lord.

Prince. Nay but harke you Francis, for the fugar thou ga

ueft me, t'was a † penny worth, waft not?

Francis. O lord, I would it had been two.

Prince. I will giue thee for it a thousand pound, afke mee when thou wilt, and thou shalt haue it.

Poines. Francis.

Francis. Anone, anone.

all the.

+ but a

Prince.

Prince. Anone Francis? no Francis, but to morrow Fran. cis: or Francis, on Thurfeday: or indeed Francis, when thou wilt: but Francis.

Francis. My lord.

Prince. Wilt thou rob this leatherne ierkin, christall button, not-pated, agat ring, puke ftocking, caddice garter, fmooth tongue, Spanish pouch.

Francis. O lord fir, who do you meane?

Prince. Why then your browne baftarde is your onely drinke: for looke you Francis, your white canuaffe doublet will fulley. In Barbary fir, it cannot come to fo much. Francis. What fir r;

Poines. Francis.

Prince. Away you rogue, doft thou not heare them call? Heere they both call him, the drawer ftandes amazed, not knowing which way to goe.

Enter vintner.

Vint. What, ftandft thou ftill, and hearft fuch a calling? looke to the gheftes within. My lord, old fir Iohn with halfe a dozen more, are at the doore, fhall I let them in ?

Prin. Let them alone a while, and then open the doore: Poines.

Poines. Anone, anone fir.

Enter Poines.

Prince. Sirra, Falstaffe and the reft of the theeues, are at the doore, fhall we be merry?

Pein. As merry as crickets, my lad: but harke yee, what cunning match haue you made with this ieft of the drawer; come, what's the iffue?

Princ. I am now of all humors, that haue fhewed themfelues humors, fince the old daies of goodman Adam, to the

pupill age of this present twelue a clocke at midnight. What's

a clocke Francis ?

Francis. Ánone, anone fir.

Princ. That euer this fellow fhould haue fewer words then a parret, and yet the fon of a woman. His industry is vp staires and downe ftaires, his eloquence the parcell of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north, he that kils me fome fixe or feuen dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his handes, and fayes to his wife, fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O my fweet Harry, fays fhe! how many haft thou kild to day? giue my roane horse a drench (fayes he) and anfweres, fome forteene, an houre after a trifle, a trifle. I prethee call in Falstaffe, Ile play Percy, and that damnde brawne fhall play dame Mortimer' his wife. Riuo, faies the drunkard: cal in ribs, call in tallow.

Enter Falstaffe.

Poines. Welcome lacke, where haft thou beene?

Fal. A plague of all cowards I fay, and a vengeance to, marry and amen: giue me a cup of fack boy. E're I lead this life long, Ile fowe neatherstocks, and mend them, and foote them too. A plague of all cowards, giue me a cup of facke, rogue, is there no vertue extant ? *

Prin. Didst thou neuer fee Titan kiffe a dish of butter, pittiful harted Titan that melted at the sweete tale of the funne? if thou didft, then behold that compound.

Fal. You rogue, heres lime in this fack too, there is nothing but rogery to be found in villanous man; yet a coward is worse the a cup of fack with lime in it. A villanous coward, go thy wayes old Tacke, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot vpō the face of the earth, then am I a

VOL. II.

* He drinketh,

E e

fhotten

fhotten herring there liucs not three good men vnhangd in England, and one of them is fatte, and growes old; God helpe the while, a bad world I say: I would I were a weauer, I could fing pfalmes, or any thing. A plague of all cowards, I fay ftill.

Prin. How now wolfacke, what mutter you?

Falf. A kings fonne? if I doe not beat thee out of thy kingdome with a dagger of lath, and driue all thy fubiectes afore thee like a flocke of wild-geefe, Ile neuer weare haire on my face more, you prince of Wales.

Prin. Why you horfon round man, what's the matter? Fal. Are you not a coward? answere me to that, and Poines there.

Prin. Zounds ye fat paunch, and ye call me coward, by the Lord Ile ftab thee.

Fal. I call thee coward? Ile fee thee damnde eare I call thee coward, but I would giue a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canft. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who fees your backe: call you that backing of your friendes? a plague vpon fuch backing: giue me them that will face me. Giue me a cup of fack, I am a rogue if I drunke to day.

Pri. O villaine, thy lips are fearfe wip'd fince thou drunkst laft.

Fal. All's one for that.

A plague of all cowards fill fay I.

Prin. Whats the matter?

He drinkes.

Fal. Whats the matter? here be foure of vs, haue tane a thoufand pound this morning.

Prin. Where is it? Iacke, where is it?

Falf. Where is it? taken from vs it is: a hundred vpon poore foure of vs.

Prin. What, a hundred man?.

Fal.

Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at halfe fword, with a dozen of them two houres together. I haue fcaped by myracle. I am eight times thruft through the doublet, foure through the hofe, my buckler cut through and through, my fword hackt like a hand-faw, ecce fignum. I neuer dealt better fince I was a man, al would not doe. A plague of all cowards, let them fpake; if they fpeake more or leffe then truth, they are villaines, and the fonnes of darknesse.

Gad. Speake, firs, how was it:

Rofs. We foure fet vpon fome dozen.
Falft. Sixteene, at least, my lord.
Refs. And bound them.

Peto. No, no, they were not bound.

Fal. You rogue they were bound, euery man of them, or I am a Iew elfe, an Ebrew Iew.

Rofs. As we were fharing, fome fixe or feuen frefh men fet

vpon vs.

Fal. And vnbound the reft, and then come in the other. Prin. What, fought yee with them all?

Falf. All? I know not what yee call all: but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty vpon poore old lacke, then am I no two leg'd creature.

Poines. Pray God, you haue not murthered fome of them.

Falf. Nay that's past praying for, I haue pepper'd two of them, two I am fure I haue payed, two rogues in buckrom futes I tel thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, fpit in my face; cal me horse: thou knoweft my old word*: here I lay, and thus I bore my point: foure rogues in buckrom let drive at me.

Prin. What, foure? thou faid'ft but two, euen now,
Falf. Foure Hal, I told thee foure.

Poin. I, I, he said foure.

warde.

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