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Enter Poins at a distance. Fal. Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.—Poins !-Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match.-0, if men were to be saved by merit, what hole in hell were hot enough for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried stand to a true man.
P. Hen. Good-morrow, Ned.
Poins. Good-morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? What says Sir John Sack-and-sugar? Jack, how agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good Friday last for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg?
P. Hen. Sir John stands to his word,—the devil shall have his bargain; for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs, -he will give the devil his due.
Poins. Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.
P. Hen. Else he had been damned for cozening the devil.
Poins. But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses: I have visards for you all; you have horses for yourselves : Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may do it as secure as sleep. If you
I will stuff your purses full of crowns; if you will not, tarry at home and be hanged.
Fal. Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you for going.
Poins. You will, chops?
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.
P. Hen. Well, then, once in my days I'll be a madcap. Fal. Why, that's well said. P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home. Fal. By the Lord, I'll be a traitor, then, when thou art king.
P. Hen. I care not.
Poins. Sir John, I prythee, leave the prince and me alone: I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure that he shall go.
Fal. Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he hears may be believed, that the true prince may, for recreation sake, prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell : you shall find me in Eastcheap.
P. Hen. Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell, Allhallown summer !
[Exit FALSTAFF. Poins. Now, my good sweet honey-lord, ride with us to-morrow : I have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when they have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head from my shoulders.
P. Hen. But how shall we part with them in setting forth?
Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.
P. Hen. Ay, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.
Poins. Tut, our horses they shall not see,—I'll tie them in the wood; our visards we will change after we leave them; and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.
P. Hen. But I doubt they will be too hard for us.
Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least, he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.
P. Hen. Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary, and meet me to-morrow night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell. Poins. Farewell, my lord.
[Exit Poins. P. Hen. I know you all, and will awhile uphold The unyok'd humour of your idleness: Yet herein will I imitate the sun, Who doth permit the base contagious clouds To smother up his beauty from the world,
That, when he please again to be himself,
the debt I never promised,
SCENE III.- The same. Another Room in the Palace.
HOTSPUR, SIR WALTER BLUNT, and others.
Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves
North. My lord,
K. Hen. Worcester, get thee gone; for I see danger And disobedience in thine eye: 0, sir, Your presence is too bold and peremptory, And majesty might never yet endure The moody frontier of a servant brow. You have good leave to leave us: when we need Your use and counsel we shall send for you. [Exit Wor. You were about to speak.
[To NORTHUMBERLAND. North.
Yea, my good lord.
envy, therefore, or misprision Is guilty of this fault, and not my son.
Hot. My liege, I did deny no prisoners. But I remember when the fight was done, When I was dry with rage and extreme toil, Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword, Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd, Fresh as a bridegroom; and his chin new reap'd Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home; He was perfumed like a milliner; And ’twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took't away again;Who therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff:—and still he smil'd and talk'd; And as the soldiers bore dead bodies by, He call’d them untaught knaves, unmannerly, To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse Betwixt the wind and his nobility. With many holiday and lady terms He question’d me; among the rest, demanded My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. I, then all smarting with my wounds being cold, To be so pester'd with a popinjay, Out of my grief and my impatience, Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what,He should, or he should not;—for he made me mad To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet, And talk so like a waiting-gentlewoman Of guns, and drums, and wounds,—God save the mark ! And telling me the sovereign’st thing on earth Was parmaceti for an inward bruise; And that it was great pity, so it was, This villanous saltpetre should be digg'd Out of the bowels of the harmless earth, Which many a good tall fellow had destroy'd So cowardly; and but for these vile guns He would himself have been a soldier. This bald unjointed chat of his, my lord, I answer'd indirectly, as I said; And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation
Blunt. The circumstance consider’d, good my lord,
K. Hen. Why, yet he doth deny his prisoners,
Hot. Revolted Mortimer!
K. Hen. Thou dost belie him, Percy, thou dost belie him;