SCENE II
London. Another street.Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS.
Prince.
Before God, I am exceeding weary.
Poins.
Is't come to that? I had thought
weariness durst not have attached one of so
high blood.
Prince.
Faith, it does me; though it dis-
colors the complexion of my greatness to acknowledge
it. Doth it not show vilely in me
to desire small beer?
Poins.
Why, a prince should not be so
loosely studied as to remember so weak a
composition.
Prince.
Belike then my appetite was not
princely got; for, by my troth, I do now remember
the poor creature, small beer. But,
indeed, these humble considerations make me
out of love with my greatness. What a disgrace
is it to me to remember thy name! or to know
thy face to-morrow! or to take note how
many pair of silk stockings thou hast, viz.
these, and those that were thy peach-colored
ones! or to bear the inventory of thy shirts,
as, one for superfluity, and another for use!
But that the tennis-court-keeper knows better
than I; for it is a low ebb of linen with thee
when thou keepest not racket there; as thou
hast not done a great while, because the rest
of thy low countries have made a shift to eat
up thy holland: and God knows, whether
those that bawl out the ruins of thy linen shall
inherit his kingdom: but the midwives say the
children are not in the fault; whereupon the
world increases, and kindreds are mightily
strengthened.
Poins.
How ill it follows, after you have
labored so hard, you should talk so idly! Tell
me, how many good young princes would do
so, their fathers being so sick as yours at this
time is?
Prince.
Shall I tell thee one thing, Poins?
Poins.
Yes, faith; and let it be an excellent
good thing.
Prince.
It shall serve among wits of no
higher breeding than thine.
Poins.
Go to; I stand the push of your one (41)
thing that you will tell.
Prince.
Marry, I tell thee, it is not meet
that I should be sad, now my father is sick:
albeit I could tell to thee, as to one it pleases me,
for fault of a better, to call my friend, I could
be sad, and sad indeed too.
Poins.
Very hardly upon such a subject.
Prince.
By this hand, thou thinkest me as
far in the devil's book as thou and Falstaff for
obduracy and persistency: let the end try the
man. But I tell thee, my heart bleeds inwardly
that my father is so sick: and keeping
such vile company as thou art hath in reason taken
from me all ostentation of sorrow.
Poins.
The reason?
Prince.
What wouldst thou think of me, if
I should weep?
Poins.
I would think thee a most princely (59)
hypocrite.
Prince.
It would be every man's thought;
and thou art a blessed fellow to think as every
man thinks: never a man's thought in the
world keeps the road-way better than thine: every
man would think me an hypocrite indeed.
And what accites your most worshipful thought
to think so?
Poins.
Why, because you have been so
lewd and so much engraffed to Falstaff.
Prince.
And to thee.
Poins.
By this light, I am well spoke on;
I can hear it with mine own ears: the worst
that they can say of me is that I am a second
brother and that I am a proper fellow of my
hands; and those two things, I confess, I cannot
help. By the mass, here comes Bardolph. Enter BARDOLPH and Page.
Prince.
And the boy that I gave Falstaff:
a' had him from me Christian; and look, if
the fat villain have not transformed him ape.
Bard.
God save your grace!
Prince.
And yours, most noble Bardolph!
Bard.
Come, you virtuous ass, you bashful
fool, must you be blushing? wherefore blush
you now? What a maidenly man-at-arms are
you become! Is 't such a matter to get a
pottle-pot's maidenhead?
Page.
A' calls me e'en now, my lord,
through a red lattice, and I could discern no
part of his face from the window; at last I
spied his eyes, and methought he had made
two holes in the ale-wife's new petticoat and
so peeped through. (90)
Prince.
Has not the boy profited?
Bard.
Away, you whoreson upright rabbit,
away!
Page.
Away, you rascally Althæa's dream,
away!
Prince.
Instruct us, boy; what dream, boy?
Page.
Marry, my lord, Althæa dreamed
she was delivered of a fire-brand; and therefore
I call him her dream.
Prince.
A crown's worth of good interpretation: (100)
there 'tis, boy.
Poins.
O, that this good blossom could be
kept from cankers! Well, there is sixpence
to preserve thee.
Bard.
An you do not make him hanged
among you, the gallows shall have wrong.
Prince.
And how doth thy master,
Bardolph?
Bard.
Well, my Lord. He heard of your
grace's coming to town: there's a letter for you.
Poins.
Delivered with good respect. And (110)
how doth the martlemas, your master?
Bard.
In bodily health, sir.
Poins.
Marry, the immortal part needs a
physician; but that moves not him: though
that be sick, it dies not.
Prince.
I do allow this wen to be as familiar
with me as my dog; and he holds his
place; for look you how he writes.
Poins.
[Reads]
'John Falstaff, knight,'-
every man must know that, as oft as he has
occasion to name himself: even like those that
are kin to the king; for they never prick their
finger but they say, 'There's some of the
king's blood spilt.' How comes that?' says
he, that takes upon him not to conceive. The
answer is as ready as a borrower's cap, 'I am
the king's poor cousin, sir.'
Prince.
Nay, they will be kin to us, or
they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the letter.
Poins.
[Reads]
'Sir John Falstaff, knight,
to the son of the king, nearest his father, Harry
Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why, this is a
certificate.
Prince.
Peace!
Poins.
[Reads]
' I will imitate the honorable
Romans in brevity:' he sure means brevity
in breath, short-winded. 'I commend me to
thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be
not too familiar with Poins; for he misuses
thy favors so much, that he swears thou art
to marry his sister Nell. Repent at idle times (141)
as thou mayest; and so, farewell.
'Thine, by yea and no, which is as much
as to say, as thou usest him, JACK
FALSTAFF with my familiars, JOHN
with my brothers and sisters, and SIR
JOHN with all Europe.'
My lord, I'll steep this letter in sack and
make him eat it.
Prince.
That's to make him eat twenty of
his words. But do you use me thus, Ned? (151)
must I marry your sister?
Poins.
God send the wench no worse fortune! But I never said so.
Prince.
Well, thus we play the fools with
the time, and the spirits of the wise sit in the
clouds and mock us. Is your master here in
London?
Bard.
Yea, my lord.
Prince.
Where sups he? doth the old boar (160)
feed in the old frank?
Bard.
At the old place, my lord, in East
cheap.
Prince.
What company?
Page.
Ephesians, my lord, of the old
church.
Prince.
Sup any women with him?
Page.
None, my lord, but old Mistress
Quickly and Mistress Doll Tearsheet.
Prince.
What pagan may that be?
Page.
A proper gentlewoman, sir, and a (170)
kinswoman of my master's.
Prince.
Even such kin as the parish heifers
are to the town bull. Shall we steal upon
them, Ned, at supper?
Poins.
I am your shadow, my lord; I'll
follow you.
Prince.
Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no
word to your master that I am yet come to
town: there's for your silence. (179)
Bard.
I have no tongue, sir.
Page.
And for mine, sir, I will govern it.
Prince.
Fare you well; go. [Exeunt Bardolph and Page.]
This Doll Tearsheet should
be some road.
Poins.
I warrant you, as common as the
way between Saint Alban's and London.
Prince.
How might we see Falstaff bestow
himself to-night in his true colours, and not
ourselves be seen?
Poins.
Put on two leathern jerkins and
aprons, and wait upon him at his table as (191)
drawers.
Prince.
From a God to a bull? a heavy
descension! it was Jove's case. From a prince
to a prentice? a low transformation! that shall
be mine; for in every thing the purpose must
weigh the folly. Follow me, Ned. [Exeunt.
