abuse, Hal: none, Ned, none: no, faith,

boys, none.

Prince. 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?

Poins. Answer, thou dead elm, answer.
Fal. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph ir-
recoverable; 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.

Prince. For the women?

Fal. For one of them, she is in hell already, and

370

burns poor souls. For the other, I owe her 380
money; and whether she be damned for that,
I know not.

Host. No, I warrant you.

Fal. No, I think thou art not; I think thou art

quit for that. Marry, there is another in

371. "thou dead elm"; Falstaff is apparently so called "on account of the weak support he had given to Doll Tearsheet" (his "vine" or "female ivy") (Schmidt).-C. H. H.

385-387. "Marry, there is another indictment," etc.; Baret defines a “victualling-house, a tavern where meate is eaten out of due season." By several statutes made in the reigns of Elizabeth and James I for the regulation and observance of fish days, victualers were expressly forbidden to utter flesh in Lent. The brothels were formerly screened under the pretence of being victualing houses and taverns.-H. N. H.

dictment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be
eaten in thy house, contrary to the law; for
the which I think thou wilt howl.

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

Prince. You, gentlewoman,―
Dol. What says your grace?

Fal. His grace says that which his flesh rebels
against.

390

[Knocking within. Host. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to the door there, Francis.

Enter Peto.

Prince. Peto, how now! what news?

Peto. The king your father is at Westminster; And there are twenty weak and wearied posts Come from the north: and as I came along, 400 I met and overtook a dozen captains,

Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns, And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff. Prince. 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.

Fal. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the 410 night, and we must hence, and leave it un

picked. [Knocking within.] More knock-
ing at the door!

Re-enter Bardolph.

How now! what's the matter?

Bard. You must away to court, sir, presently; A dozen captains stay at door for you. Fal. [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, 420 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.

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

thyself.

Fal. Farewell, farewell.

[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph. Host. Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty nine years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man,- 430 well, fare thee well.

Bard. [Within] Mistress Tearsheet!
Host. What's the matter?

Bard. [Within] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come
to my master.

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

[Exeunt.

ACT THIRD

SCENE I

Westminster. The palace.

Enter the King in his nightgown, with a Page.

King. Go call the Earls of Surrey and of Warwick;

But, ere they come, bid them o'er-read these
letters,

And well consider of them: make good speed.
[Exit Page.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
Are at this hour asleep! O sleep, O gentle

sleep,

Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?
Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

10

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy
slumber,

Than in the perfumed chambers of the great,
Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sound of sweetest melody?

1. The whole scene omitted in Q. 1 (i. e. the earlier copies of the edition).-I. G.

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile
In loathsome beds, and leavest the kingly couch
A watch-case or a common 'larum-bell?
Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge,
And in the visitation of the winds,

20

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,
Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging
them

With deafening clamor in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

31

15. "why liest thou," etc.; the most probable meaning of this obscure passage is, that the kingly couch, when sleep has left it, is as the case or box which shelters the watchman; or as the common bell that is to sound the alarm and rouse the sleeping people at the coming of danger. Strutt, however, in his Manners and Customs, cites from an old inventory a passage that may fit the text with a different explanation: "Item, a laume or watch of iron, in an iron case, with two leaden plumets." Knight remarks, that "by this laume or watch of iron, we are to understand the instrument now called an alarm,—a machine attached to a clock so as to ring at a certain hour." And he adds,-"It is difficult to say whether Shakespeare means by the watch-case the box of a sentinel, and by the common 'larum bell, the alarm bell which is rung out in cases of danger; or whether the watch-case is the covering of an instrument which gives motion to the bell of an alarum."-H. N. H.

25. "that"; so that.-C. H. H.

30. "Then happy low, lie down!"; Q. reads "Then (happy) low lie downe.". Coleridge suggested “Then, happy low-lie-down"; Warburton, "happy lowly clown." The Folio seems to make the meaning