I fear, my brother Mortimer doth stir
About his title ; and hath sent for you,
To line his enterprize: But if you go

Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.

Lady. Come, come, you paraquito, answer me
Directly to this question that I ask.

In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry,
An if thou wilt not tell me all things true..
Hot. Away,

Away, you trifler!-Love?-I love thee not,
I care not for thee, Kate: this is no world,
To play with mammets, and to tilt with lips:
We must have bloody noses, and crack'd crowns,
And pass them current too.-Gods me, my horse !—
What say'st thou, Kate? what would'st thou have with
me ?

Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed?
Well, do not then; for, since you love me not,
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Nay, tell me if you speak in jest, or no.

Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
And when I am o'horse-back, I will swear
I love thee infinitely. But hark you, Kate;
I must not have you henceforth question me
Whither I go, nor reason whereabout:
Whither I must, I must; and, to conclude,
This evening must I leave you, gentle Kate.
I know you wise; but yet no further wise,
Than Harry Percy's wife: constant you are;
But yet a woman: and for secrecy,

No lady closer; for I well believe,

Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate!
Lady. How so far?

Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate?
Whither I go, thither shall you go too;
To day will I set forth, to-morrow you→

Will this content you, Kate?

Lady.

SCENE IV.-Eastcheap.

It must, of force. [Exeunt.

A Room in the Boar's

Head Tavern. Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.

Poins. Where hast been, Hal?

P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their christian names, as-Tom, Dick, and Franeis. They take it already upon their salvation, that, though I be but prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff; but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy,-by the Lord, so they call me; and when I am king of England, I shall command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call-drinking deep, dying scarlet: and when you breathe in your watering, they cry-hem! and bid you play it off.-To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned,-to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now in my hand by an under-skinker; one that never spake other English in his life, than-Eight shillings and six pence, and-You are welcome; with this shrill addition,-Anon, anon, sir! Score a pint of bastard in the Half-moon, or so. But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in some by-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave calling-Francis, that his tale to me may be

nothing but-anon. Step aside, and I'll show thee a

precedent,

Poins. Francis!

P. Hen. Thou art perfect.

Poins. Francis!

Enter Francis.

[Exit Poins.

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.-Look down into the Pome

granate, Ralph.

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord.

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Fran. Forsooth, five year, and as much as to-
Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Five years? by 'rlady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and to show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Fran. O lord, sir! I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis?

Fran. Let me see,-about Michaelmas next I shall be

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, sir.-Pray you, stay a little, my lord. P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me,-'twas a pennyworth, was't not? Fran. O lord, sir; I would, it had been two.

P. Hen. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. Poins. [Within.] Francis!

Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but so-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Frantis,

Fran. My lord?

P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystalbutton, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddisgarter, smooth-tongue, Spanish pouch,

Fran. O lord, sir, who do you mean?

P. Hen. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink: for, look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully in Barbary, sir, it cannot come to se much.

Fran. What, sir?

Poins. [Within.] Francis!

P. Hen. Away, you rogue; Dost thou not hear them call? [Here they both call him: the drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint, What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling? Look to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old sir John, with half a dozen more, are at the door; Shall I let them in?

P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Exit Vintner.] Poins!

Re-enter Poins.

Poins. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door; Shall we be merry?

ye;

Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue?

P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have show'd themselves humours since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. [Re-enter Francis with wine.] What's o'clock, Francis?

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.

P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman!~~~ Vol. 3.

Z

His industry is-up-stairs, and down-stairs; his eloquence, the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands and says to his wife,-Fye upon this quiet life! I want work. O my sweet Harry, says she, how many hast thou killed to day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he; and answers, Some fourteen, an hour after; a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in Fal staff; I'll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play dame Mortimer his wife. Rivo, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.

Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto. Poins. Welcome, Jaek. Where hast thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and amen!-Give me a cup of sack, boy. -Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-stocks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all eowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue.-Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks.

P. Hen. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale of the son! if thou did'st, then behold that compound.

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: There is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man: Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it; a villanous coward.-Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhang'd in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say! I would, I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing: A plague of all cowards, I say still.

P. Hen. How now, wool-sack? what mutter you? Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy