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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. It must, of force, [Ereunt.


The Boar's Head Tavern, in Eastcheap.


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

Enter Poins.

Poins. Where hast been, Hal 2

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 Francis. 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. 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 into my hand by an under-skinker; one that never spake other English in his life, than—“Eight shillings and sixpence,”—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 prythee, 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 1 [Erit Poins,

P. Hen. Thou art perfect.

Poins. Francis'

Enter FRANcis.

Fran. Anon, anon, sir.—Look down into the Pomgranate, Ralph.

P. Hen. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord.

P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?

Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to—

Poins. Francis'

Fran. Anon, anon, sir. .

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

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Fran. O lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart— Puins. Francis I Fran. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis 2 Fran. Let me see,_About Michaelmas next I shall be— Poins. Francis Fran. Anon, sir.——"Pray you stay a little, my lord, P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gav'st 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. Francis' Fran. Anon, anon. P. Hen. Anon, Francis 3–No, Francis ; but, tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis— Fran. My lords P. Hen. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal button, nott-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, 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 so much. - Fran. What, sir? Poins. Francis' P. Hen. Away, you rogue; dost thou not hear them call 2 [Here they both call him ; , FRANC is stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Host Ess.
Host. What! stand'st thou still, and hear'st such

a calling 2—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 3 P. Hen. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [Erit HostEss.] Poins,

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Poins. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. Sirrah! Falstaff, and the rest of the thieves are at the door; shall we be merry?. Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But, hark ye; what cunning match have ye made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue? P. Hen. I am now of all humours, that have showed themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight.—What’s o'clock, Francis? Fran. [Within..] Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman!— 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—“Fie upon this quiet life!—I want work”—“O my sweet Harry,” says she, “how many hast thou killed today;”—Give my roan horse a drench,” says he; and answers, “Some fourteen,” an hour after; “a trifle, a trifle!” I pr’ythee, call in Falstaff; I'll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer, his wife. Rivo, says the drunkard.—Call in ribs, call in tallow !


Poins. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been
Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a ven-

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geance, too ! marry, and amen!—Give me a cup of 9

sack, boy.-Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether-
socks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague
of all cowards!—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 sun ? if thou didst, 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
unhanged in England, and one of them is fat, and
grows old : Heaven help the while ! a bad world, I
say!—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 kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy
subjects before thee like a flock of wild-geese, I’ll
never wear hair on my face more. You Prince
of Wales |
P. Hen. Why, you whoreson round man! what's
the matter?
Fal. Are you not a coward —answer me to that;
and Poins there 2. - -
P. Hen. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward,
I'll stab thee.
Fal. I call thee coward I'll see thee damned ere
I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand
pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are
straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who
sees your back: call you that backing of your
friends? A plague upon such backing ! give me

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