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(saies he) that takes vppon him not to conceiue the answer is as ready as a borowed cap: I am the kings poore cosin, sir.
Prince. Nay they will be kin to vs, or they will fetch it from Iaphet, but the letter, fir Iohn Falstaffe knight, to the sonne of the king, nearest his father, Harry prince of Wales, greeting
Poynes. Why this is a certificate.
Poynes. He sure meanes breuity in breath, short winded, I commend mee to thee, I commend thee, and, I leaue thee, be not too familiar with Poynes, for he misuses thy fauours so much, that he sweares thou art to mary his sister Nel, repent at idle times as thou maist, and so farwel.
Thine by yea, and no, which is as much as to say, as
thou vsest him, lacke Falstaffe with my family, lohn with my brothers and sisters, and fir Iohn with all
Europe. Poynes. My lord, Ile steep this letter in facke and make him eate it.
Prince. Thats to make him eate twenty of his words, but do you
vse me, thus Ned? must I marrie your fifter? Poynes. God send the wench no worse fortune, but I neuer said so.
Prince. Wel, thus we play the fooles with the time, and the spirits of the wife fit in the clowdes and mocke vs, is your master here in London?
Bard. Yea my lord.
Prince. Where fups he? doth the old boare feede in the old franke?
Bard. At the old place, my lord, in Eastcheape.
Boy. None my lord, but old mistris Quickly, and mistris Dol Tere-beet.
Prince. What Pagan may that be?
Boy. A proper gentlewoman sir, and a kinswoman of my masters.
Prince. Euen such kinne as the parish heicfors are to the towne bull, Mall we steale vpon them Ned at supper?
Poynes. I am your shadow my lord, Ile follow you.
Prince. Sirra, you boy and Bardolfe, no worde to your mafter that I am yet come to towne; theres for your
silence. Bar. I haue no tongue sir. Boy. And for mine sir, I will gouerne it.
Prince. Fare you well : go, this Doil Tere-fbeete should be fome rode.
Poyns. I warrant you, as common as the way between S. Albons and London.
Prince. How might we see Falstaffe bestow himself to night in his true colours, and not our selues be seene?
Poynes. Put on two letherne ierkins and aprons, and waite vpon him at his table as drawers.
Prince. From a god to a bul, a heauy descension, it was loues case, from a prince to a prentise, a low transformation, that Mal be mine, for in euery thing the purpose must weigh with the folly, follow me Ned.
Enter Northumberland his wife, and the wife to Harry Percie.
North. I pray thee louing wife and gentle daughter,
Wife. I haue giuen ouer, I will speake no more,
North. Alas sweete wife, my honour is at pawne, And but my going, nothing can redeeme it.
Kate. O yet for Gods fake, go not to these wars,
North. Beshrew your heart,
Wife. O fie to Scotland,
Kate. If they get ground and vantage of the king,
North. Come, come, go in with me, tis with my mind, As with the tide, sweld vp vnto his height,
That makes a stil stand, running neither way,
Enter a drawer or two.
Francis. What the diuel hast thou brought there apple lohns ? thou knowest fir lohn cannot indure an apple lohn.
Draw. Mas thou faist true, the prince once set a dish of apple lohns before him, and told him there were fiue more fir Iohns, and putting off his hat, faid, I will now take my leaue of these fix drie, round, old, withered knights, it angred him to the heart, but he hath forgot that.
Fran. Why then couer and set them downe, and see if thou capst find out Sneakes noise, mistris Tere-fbeet would faine heare some musique.
Dra. Dispatch, the roome where they supt is too hot, theile come in straight.
Francis. Sirra, here wil be the prince and master Poynes anon, and they will put on two of our ierkins and aprons, and fir lohn must not know of it, Bardolfe hath brought word.
Dra. By the mas here will be old vtis, it wil be an excel. lent stratagem. Francis. Ile see if I can find out Sneake.
Enter mistris Quickly, and Doll Tere-sheet.
Quickly. Yfaith sweet heart, me thinkes now you are in an excellent good temperalitie. Your pulfidge beates as extraordinarily as heart would desire, and your colour I warrant you is as red as any rose, in good truth law: but yfaith you hauz
drunke too much cannáries, and thats a maruelous searching wine, and it perfumes the bloud ere one can say, whats this, how do you now?
Tere. Better then I was : hem.
Qui. Why thats well said, a good heart's worth gold: loe here comes fir John.
Enter fir Iohn. Sir John. When Arthur first in court, empty the iourdaa and was a worthy king: how now mistris Doll ?
Hoft. Sicke of a calme, yea and good faith.
Tere. A pox damne you, you muddic rascall, is that all the comfort you giue me?
Falst. You make fat rascals mistris Dol.
Tere. I make thein ? gluttonie, and diseases make, I make them not.
Falst. If the cooke help to make the gluttonie, you helpe to make the diseases Doll, we catch of you Doll, we catch of you graunt that my poore vertue, grant that.
Doll. Yea ioy, our chaines and our iewels.
Fa. Your brooches, pearles, and ouches for to serue brauely, is to come halting off, you know to come off the breach, with his pike bent brauely, and to surgerie brauely, to venture vpon the chargde chambers brauely.
Doll. Hang your felfe, you muddie cunger, hang your fele.
Hoft. By my troth this is the old fashion, you two neuer meet but you fall to fome discord, you are both ygood truth as rewmatique as two dry tosts, you cannot one beare with anothers cofirmities, what the goodyere one must beare, and that must be you, you are the weaker vessell, as they say, the emptier vessel.