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London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap.
Enter two Drawers.

First Draw.
What the devil hast thou
brought there? apple-johns? thou knowest
Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.

Sec. Draw.
Mass, thou sayest true. The
prince once set a dish of apple-johns before
him, and told him there were five more Sir
Johns, and, putting off his hat, said 'I will now
take my leave of these six dry, round, old,
withered knights.' It angered him to the (10)
heart: but he hath forgot that.

First Draw.
Why, then, cover, and set them
down: and see if thou canst find out Sneak's
noise; Mistress Tearsheet would fain hear
some music. Dispatch: the room where they
supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.

Sec. Draw.
Sirrah, here will be the prince
and Master Poins anon; and they will put on
two of our jerkins and aprons; and Sir John
must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought (20)

First Draw.
By the mass, here be old
Utis: it will be an excellent stratagem.

Sec. Draw.
I'll see if I can find out Sneak. [Exit. Enter Hostess and DOLL TEARSHEET.

I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now
you are in an excellent good temperality: your
pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as heart
would desire; and your color, I warrant you,
is as red as any rose, in good truth, la! But,
i' faith, you have drunk too much canaries;
and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it
perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's
this?' How do you now?

Better than I was: hem!

Why, that 's well said; a good heart's
worth gold. Lo, here comes Sir John. Enter FALSTAFF.

'When Arthur first in court'
--Empty the jordan. [Exit First Drawer.] --
[Singing] 'And was a worthy king.' How
now, Mistress Doll! (40)

Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.

So is all her sect; and they be once in
a calm, they are sick.

You muddy rascal, is that all the
comfort you give me?

You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

I make them! gluttony and diseases
make them: I make them not.

If the cook help to make the gluttony,
you help to make the diseases, Doll: we catch
of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my (51)
poor virtue, grant that.

Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.

'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches:'
for to serve bravely is to come halting off, you
know: to come off the breach with his pike
bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to ven-
ture upon the charged chambers bravely,--

Hang yourself, you muddy conger, (59)
hang yourself!

By my troth, this is the old fashion;
you two never meet but you fall to some discord:
you are both, i' good truth, as rheumatic
as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear
with another's confirmities. What the good-year!
one must bear, and that must be you:
you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the
emptier vessel.

Can a weak empty vessel bear such a
huge full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's
venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him;
you have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the
hold. Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack:
thou art going to the wars; and whether I
shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody
cares. Re-enter First Drawer.

First Draw.
Sir, Ancient Pistol's below,
and would speak with you.

Hang him, swaggering rascal! let
him not come hither: it is the foul-mouthed'st
rogue in England.

If he swagger, let him not come
here: no, by my faith; I must live among my
neighbors: I 'll no swaggerers: I am in good
name and fame with the very best: shut the
door; there comes no swaggerers here: I have
not lived all this while, to have swaggering
now: shut the door, I pray you.

Dost thou hear, hostess?

Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John:
there comes no swaggerers here.

Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me:
your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors.
I was before Master Tisick, the debuty t'other
day; and, as he said to me, 'twas no longer
ago than Wednesday last. 'I' good faith,
neighbor Quickly,' says he; Master Dunbe,
our minister, was by then; 'neighbor Quickly,'
says he, 'receive those that are civil; for'
said he, 'you are in an ill name:' now a' said
so, I can tell whereupon: 'for,' says he, 'you
are an honest woman, and well thought on;
therefore take heed what guests you receive:
receive,' says he, 'no swaggering companions.'
There comes none here: you would
bless you to hear what he said: no, I'll no

He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame
cheater, i' faith; you may stroke him as
gently as a puppy greyhound: he'll not swagger
with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn
back in any show of resistance. Call him up,
drawer. [Exit First Drawer.

Cheater, call you him? I will bar
no honest man my house, nor no cheater: but
I do not love swaggering, by my troth; I am
the worse, when one says swagger: feel, masters,
how I shake; look you, I warrant you.

So you do, hostess.

Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an
'twere an aspen leaf: I cannot abide
swaggerers. Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and Page. (119)

God save you, Sir John!

Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol,
I charge you with a cup of sack: do you discharge
upon mine hostess.

I will discharge upon her, Sir John,
with two bullets.

She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall
hardly offend her.

Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no
bullets: I'll drink no more than will do me
good, for no man's pleasure, I.

Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I (131)
will charge you.

Charge me! I scorn you, companion.
What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating,
lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy
rogue, away! I am meat for your master.

I know you, Mistress Dorothy.

Away, you cut-purse rascal! you
filthy bung, away! by this wine, I 'll thrust
my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play
the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale
rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!
Since when, I pray you, sir? God's light, with
two points on your shoulder? much!

God let me not live, but I will murder
your ruff for this.

No more, Pistol; I would not have
you go off here: discharge yourself of our
company, Pistol.

No, Good Captain Pistol; not here, (150)
sweet captain.

Captain! thou abominable damned
cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called
captain? An captains were of my mind, they
would truncheon you out, for taking their
names upon you before you have earned them.
You a captain! you slave, for what? for
tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house?
He a captain! hang him, rogue! he lives
upon mouldy stewed prunes and dried cakes.
A captain! God's light, these villains will
make the word as odious as the word 'occupy;'
which was an excellent good word before
it was ill sorted: therefore captains had
need look to't.

Pray thee, go down, good ancient.

Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.

Not I: I tell thee what, Corporal
Bardolph, I could tear her: I 'll be revenged
of her.

Pray thee, go down.

I 'll see her damned first; to Pluto's
damned lake, by this hand, to the infernal
deep, with Erebus and tortures vile also. Hold
hook and line, say I. Down, down, dogs!
down, faitors! Have we not Hiren here ?

Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis
very late, i' faith: I beseek you now, aggravate
your choler.

These be good humors, indeed! Shall pack-horses
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,
Compare with Cæsars, and with Cannibals, (181)
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?

By my troth, captain, these are very
bitter words.

Be gone, good ancient: this will
grow to a brawl anon.

Die men like dogs! give crowns like (189)
pinsl Have we not Hiren here?

O' my word, captain, there's none
such here. What the good-year! do you think
I would deny her? For God's sake, be quiet.

Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Come, give's some sack.
'Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.'
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou there. [Laying down his sword.
Come we to fill points here; and are etceteras nothing ?

Pistol, I would be quiet.

Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif: what! (201)
we have seen the seven stars.

For God's sake, thrust him down
stairs: I cannot endure such a fustian rascal.

Thrust him down stairs! know we
not Galloway nags?

Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a
shove-groat shilling: nay, an a' do nothing
but speak nothing, a' shall be nothing here. (209)

Come, get you down stairs.

What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue? [Snatching up his sword.
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the Sisters Three! Come Atropos, I say!

Here's goodly stuff toward!

Give me my rapier, boy.

I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not

Get you down stairs. [Drawing, and driving Pistol out.

Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear
keeping house, afore I'll be in these
tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant
now. Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons,
put up your naked weapons. [Exeunt Pistol and Bardolph.

I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the
rascal's gone. Ah, you whoreson little valiant
villain, you!

Are you not hurt i' the groin? methought
a' made a shrewd thrust at your belly. Re-enter BARDOLPH.

Have you turned him out o' doors?

Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk: you (231)
have hurt him, sir, i' the shoulder.

A rascal! to brave me!

Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! alas,
poor ape, how thou sweatestl come, let me
wipe thy face; come on, you whoreson chops:
ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee: thou art as
valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of
Agamemnon, and ten times better than the
Nine Worthies: ah, villain!

A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue (241)
in a blanket.

Do, an thou darest for thy heart: an
thou dost, I 'll canvass thee between a pair of
sheets. Enter Music.

The music is come, sir.

Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my
knee, Doll. A rascal bragging slave! the rogue
fled from me like quicksilver.

I' faith, and thou followedst him like
a church. Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew
boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting
o' days and foining o' nights, and begin to
patch up thine old body for heaven? Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS, disguised

Peace, good Doll do not speak like
a death's-head; do not bid me remember mine

Sirrah, what humour's the prince of?

A good shallow young fellow: a'
would have made a good pantler, a' would
ha' chipped bread well. (260)

They say Poins has a good wit.

He a good wit? hang him, baboon!
his wit's as thick as Tewksbury mustard;
there's no more conceit in him than is in a

Why does the prince love him so,
then ?

Because their legs are both of a bigness,
and a' plays at quoits well, and eats
conger and fennel, and drinks off candles'
ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild-mare
with the boys, and jumps upon joined-stools,
and swears with a good grace, and wears his
boots very smooth, like unto the sign of the
leg, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet
stories; and such other gambol faculties a'
has, 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 (280)

Would not this nave of a wheel (279)
have his ears cut off?

Let's beat him before his whore.

Look, whether the withered elder
hath not his poll clawed like a parrot.

Is it not strange that desire should
so many years outlive performance?

Kiss me, Doll.

Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction!
what says the almanac to that?

And, look, whether the fiery Trigon,
his man, be not lisping to his master's old (290)
tables, his note-book, his counsel-keeper.

Thou dost give me flattering busses.

By my troth, I kiss thee with a most
constant heart.

I am old, I am old.

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

What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I
shall receive money o' Thursday: shalt have a
cap to-morrow. A merry song, come: it grows
late; we'll to bed. Thou'lt forget me when I
am gone.

By my troth, thou'lt set me a-weeping,
an thou sayest so: prove that ever I dress
myself handsome till thy return: well, harken
at the end.

Some sack, Francis.

Prince. Poins.
Anon, anon, sir. [Coming forward.

Ha! a bastard son of the king's? And art not thou Poins his brother?

Why, thou globe of sinful continents, (310)
what a life dost thou lead!

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

Very true, sir; and I come to draw
you out by the ears.

O, the Lord preserve thy good grace!
by my troth, welcome to London. Now, the
Lord bless that sweet face of thine! O Jesu,
are you come from Wales?

Thou whoreson mad compound of
majesty, by this light flesh and corrupt blood, (321)
thou art welcome.

How, you fat fool! I scorn you.

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

You whoreson candle-mine, you,
how vilely did you speak of me even now be-
fore this honest, virtuous, civil gentlewoman!

God's blessing of your good heart! (330)
and so she is, by my troth.

Didst thou hear me?

Yea, and you knew me, as you did
when you ran away by Gad's-hill: you knew I
was at your back, and spoke it on purpose to
try my patience.

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

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

No abuse, Hal, o' mine honor; no

Not to dispraise me, and call me
pantler and bread-chipper and I know not

No abuse, Hal.

No abuse?

No abuse, Ned, i' 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, faith, boys, none.

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? or is thy boy of the wicked? or
honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose,
of the wicked?

Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph
irrevocable; and his face is Lucifer's
privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but
roast malt-worms. For the boy, there is a
good angel about him; but the devil outbids
him too.

For the women?

For one of them, she is in hell already,
and burns poor souls. For the other, I owe
her money; and whether she be damned for
that, I know not. (369)

No, I warrant you.

No, I think thou art not; I think thou
art quit for that. Marry, there is another indictment
upon thee, for suffering flesh to be
eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for
the which I think thou wilt howl.

All victuallers do so: what's a joint
of mutton or two in a whole Lent?

You, gentlewoman,--

What says your grace?

His grace says that which his flesh
rebels against. [Knocking within.

Who knocks so loud at door? Look
to the door there, Francis. Enter PETO.

Peto, how now! what news?

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. (390)

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 vapor, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night. [Exeunt Prince Henry, Poins, Peto and Bardolph,

Now comes in the sweetest morsel of
the night, and we must hence and leave it un
picked. [Knocking within.] More knocking
at the door! Re-enter BARDOLPH. (400)
How now! what's the matter?

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

[To the Page]
Pay the musicians,
sirrah. 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.

I cannot speak; if my heart be not
ready to burst,--well, sweet Jack, have a care
of thyself.

Farewell, farewell. [Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph.

Well, fare thee well: I have known
thee these twenty nine years, come peascodtime;
but an honester and truer-hearted man,
--well, fare thee well.

Mistress Tearsheet!

What's the matter?

Good Mistress Tearsheet (419)
come to my master.

O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll:
come. [She comes blubbered.] Yea, will you
come, Doll? [Exeunt.

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