Fal. Get you down stairs.

[FALSTAFF, BARDOLPH, and PAGE, drive PISTOL out.

Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now.

Enter FALSTAFF.

Fal. A rascal! to brave me !

Dol. Ah, you sweet rogue, you !—Thou art as va◄ lorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than the nine worthies.

Fal. Sit on my knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from me like quicksilver.

Dol. When wilt thou leave fighting, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

Enter, behind, HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES, and POINS, disguised like Drawers.

Fal. Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's head; do not bid me remember mine end.

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?

Fal. A good shallow young fellow: he would have made a good pantler, he would have chipped bread well.

Dol. They say, Poins has a good wit.

Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon!-his wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard; there is no more conceit in him than is in à mallet.

Dol. Why doth the prince love him so then?

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bigness; and he plays at quoits well; and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons; and jumps upon joint-stools; and swears with a good grace; and such other gambol faculties he hath, that show a weak mind and an able body, for the which the prince admits him; for the prince himself is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois.

P. Hen. Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

Poins. Let's beat him before his wench.

P. Hen. Look, if the withered elder hath not his poll clawed like a parrot.

Fal. Thou dost give me flattering busses.

Dol. Nay, truly; I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

Fal. I am old, I am old.

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of them all.

Fal. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive money on Thursday: thou shalt have a cap tomorrow. Thou'lt forget me, when I am gone.

Dol. By my troth, thou'lt set me a weeping, an thou say'st so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return,-Well, hearken the end. Fal. Some sack, Francis.

P. Hen. Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the king's?—and art not thou Poins, his brother?

P. Hen. Why, thou globe of sinful continents, what a life dost thou lead?

Fal. A better than thou; I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.

P. Hen. Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears. [They throw off their Disguises. Host. O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! welcome to London.-Now Heaven bless that sweet face of thine! what, are you come from Wales!

Fal. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty,by this light flesh and corrupt blood, thou art wel[Leaning his hand upon Doll. Dol. How you fat fool, I scorn you!

come.

Poins. My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge, and turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

P. Hen. You whoreson candle-mine, you, how

vilely did you speak of me even now, before this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!

Host. 'Blessing o' your good heart! and so she is, by my troth.

Fal. Didst thou hear me?

P. Hen. Yes; and you knew me, as you did when you ran away by Gads-Hill; you knew I was at your back; and spoke it on purpose, to try my patience.

Fal. No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within hearing.

P. Hen. I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse; and then I know how to handle you.

Fal. No abuse, Hal, on mine honour; no abuse. P. Hen. No? to dispraise me; and call me pantler, and bread-chipper, and I know not what? Fal. No abuse, Hal.

Poins. No abuse?

Fal. No abuse, Ned, in the world; honest Ned, none. I dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked might not fall in love with him :-in which doing, I have done the part of a careful friend, and a true subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it. No abuse, Hal; none, Ned, none;-no, boys,

none.

P. Hen. See now, whether pure fear, and entire cowardice, doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us? Is she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked?

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

[A loud knocking without, Fal. Who knocks so loud at door? look to the door there, Hostess.

Enter GowER.

P. Hen. Gower, how now ? what news?
Gow. The king your father is at Westminster:
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts,
Come from the north and as I came along,

I met, and overtook, a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

P. Hen. By Heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,

So idly to profane the precious time;

When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt,
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.

Give me my sword, and cloak :-Falstaff, good night. [Exeunt the PRINCE, POINS, and GowER. Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence, and leave it unpicked.

[More knocking at the door without, More knocking at the door?-How now? what's the

matter?

Enter BARDOLPH.

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; a dozen captains stay at door for you.

[Exit BARDOLPH. Fal. Farewell, Hostess ;-farewell, Doll.-You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after : the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on. Farewell, good wenches:-If I be not sent away post, I will see you again ere I go.

Dol. I cannot speak :-If my heart be not ready to burst,-Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself Fal. Farewell, farewell.

[Exit FALSTAFF Bard. [Within.] Mistress Tearsheet,

Host. What's the matter?

Bard. Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.

Host. O run, Doll, run; run, good Doll.

[Exeunt.

ACT THE THIRD.

SCENE I.

JUSTICE SHALLOW's Seat in Glostershire.

Enter SHALLOW, meeting SILENce.

Shal. Come on, come on, come on; give me your hand, sir, give me your hand, sir: an early stirrer, by the rood! And how doth my good cousin Silence? Sil. Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

Shal. And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? and your fairest daughter, and mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

Sil. Alas, a black ouzel, cousin Shallow.

Shal. By yea and nay, sir, I dare say, my cousin William is become a good scholar: he is at Oxford still, is he not?

Sil. Indeed, sir; to my cost.

Shal. He must then to the inns of court shortly: I was once of Clement's Inn; where, I think, they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

Sil. You were called-lusty Shallow, then, cousin. Shal. By the mass, I was called any thing; and I would have done any thing, indeed, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire, and Black George Bare, and Francis Pick bone, and Will Squele a Cotswold man,-you had not four such swinge-bucklers in all the inns of court again: and I may say to you, we knew where the bona-robas were; and had the best of them all at commandment.