Poins. Why, because you have seen so lewd, and so much ingraffed to Falstaff.

P. Henry. And to thee.

Poins. Nay, I am well spoken of, I can hear it with mine own Ears; the worft they can fay of me is, that I am a fecond Brother, and that I am a proper Fellow of my Hands; and those two things I confefs I cannot help. Look, look, here comes Bardolph.

P. Henry. And the Boy that I gave Falstaff; he had him from me Chriftian, and fee if the fat Villain have not transform'd him Ape.

Enter Bardolph and Page.
Bard. Save your Grace.

P. Henry. And yours, moft noble Bardolph.

Poins. Come, you pernicious Afs, you bafhful Fool, muft you be blushing? wherefore blush you now? what a Maidenly Man at Arms are you become? Is it fuch a mat-. ter to get a Pottle-pots Maiden-head?"

Page. He call'd me even now, my Lord, through a red Lattice, and I could difcern no part of his Face from the Window; at laft 1 fpy'd his Eyes, and methought he had made two Holes in the Ale-wives new Petticoat, and peeped through.

P. Henry. Hath not the Boy profited?

Bard. Away, you whorfon upright Rabbet, away. Page. Away you rafcally Althea's Dream, away. P. Henry. Inftruct us, Boy, what Dream, Boy? Page. Marry, my Lord, Althea dream'd fhe was deliver'd of a Firebrand, and therefore I call him her Dream. P. Henry. A Crowns-worth of good Interpretation; there it is, Boy.

Poins. O that this good Bloffom could be kept from Cankers: Well, there is Six-pence to preferve thee.

Bard. If you do not make him be hang'd among you,' the Gallows fhall be wrong'd.

P. Henry. And how doth thy Mafter, Bardolph? Bard. Well, my good Lord; he heard of your Grace's coming to Town. There's a Letter for you.

P. Henry. Deliver'd with good refpect; and how doth the Martlemas, your Mafter?

Bard.

Bard. In bodily health, Sir. Poins. Marry, the immortal Part, needs a Phyfician; bus that moyes not him; though that be fick, it dies not.

P. Henry. 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 hath occafion to Name himself: Even like those that are Kin to the King, for they never prick their Finger, but they fay there is fome of the King's Blood fpilt. How comes that? fays he that takes upon him not to conceive: The Anfwer is as ready as a borrowed Cap; I am the King's poor Coufin, Sir.

P. Henry. Nay, they will be Kin to us, but they will fetch it from Japhet. But to the Letter: Sir John Falftaff, Knight, to the Son of the King, nearest his Father, Harry Frince of Wales, greeting.

Poins. Why this is a Certificate.

P. Henry. Peace.

I will imitate the honourable Romans in brevity.

Poins. Sure he means brevity in breath; fhort-winded. I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leave thee. Be not too familiar with Poins, for he mifufes thy Favours fo much, that he fwears thou art to marry his Sifter Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and fo farewel. Thine, by yea and no: Which is as much as to fay, as thou ufeft him, Jack Falftaff with my Familiars: John with my Brothers and › Sifters: And Sir John with all Europe.

My Lord, I will steep this Letter in Sack, and make him eat it.

P. Henry. That's to make him eat twenty of his Words. But do you use me thus, Ned? Muft I marry your Si

fter?

Poins. May the Wench have no worse Fortune. But I never faid fo.

P.Henry. Well, thus we play the Fool with the time, and the Spirits of the Wife fit in the Clouds, and mock us : Is your Mafter here in London ?

Bard, Yes, my Lord.

B 4

P. Henry.

P. Henry. Where fups he? Doth the old Boor feed in the old Frank?.

Bard. At the old place, my Lord, in Eaft-cheap.
P. Henry. What Company?

Page. Ephefians, my Lord, of the old Church.
P. Henry. Sup any Women with him?

Page. None, my Lord, but old Miftrefs Quickly, and Mrs. Dol Tear-fheet,

of

P. Henry. What Pagan may that be?

Page. A
proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswoman
my Mafter's.

P. Henry. Even fuch 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. P. Henry, Sirrah, you Boy, and Bardolph, no word to your Mafter that I am yet in Town.

There's for your Silence.

Bard. I have no Tongue, Sir.

Page. And for mine, Sir, I will govern it.
P. Henry. Fare ye well: Go.

This Dol Tear-fheet fhould be fome Road.

Poins. I warrant you, as common as the way between St. Albans and London.

P. Henry. How might we fee Falstaff beftow himself to Night in his true Colours, and not our felves be feen-? Poins. Put on two Leather Jerkins, and Aprons, and wait upon him at his Table, like Drawers.

P. Henry From a God to a Bull? A heavy declenfion: It was Jove's Cafe. From a Prince to a Prentice, a low transformation, that fhall be mine: For in every thing, the Purpose must weigh with the Folly. Follow me, Ned.

SCENE III.

[Exeunt.

Enter Northumberland, Lady Northumberland, and Lady

Percy

North. I prethee, loving Wife, and gentle Daughter,

Give an even way unto my rough Affairs.

Put

Put not you on the Vifage of the Times,
And be like them to Percy, troublesome.

L. North. I have given over, I will speak no more: Do what you will: Your Wifdom be your Guide. North. Alas, fweet Wife, my Honour is at Pawn, And but my going, nothing can redeem it.

L. Percy. Oh yet, for Heav'ns fake, go not to these Wars
The time was, Father, when you broke your Word,
When you were more endear'd to it, than now,
When your own Percy, when my Heart-dear Harry,
Threw many a Northward Look, to fee his Father
Bring up his Powers: But he did long in vain.
Who then perfuaded you to ftay at home?
There were two Honours loft; yours and your Son's
For yours, may heav'nly Glory brighten it:
For his, it ftuck upon him, as the Sun
In the grey Vault of Heav'n: And by his Light
Did all the Chevalry of England move

To do brave Acts. He was, indeed, the Glafs
Wherein the noble Youth did drefs themselves.
He had no Legs, that practis'd not his Gate:
And fpeaking thick, which Nature made his blemish
Became the Accents of the Valiant.

For thefe that could fpeak low, and tardily,
Would turn their own Perfection to Abuse,
To seem like him. So that in Speech, in Gate;
In Diet, in Affections of delight,

In Military Rules, Humours of Blood,

He was the Mark, and Glafs, Copy, and Book,
That fashion'd others. And him, a wondrous him?

O Miracle of Men! Him did you leave
Second to none, un-feconded by you;
To look upon the hideous God of War,
In difadvantage, to abide a Field,

Where nothing but the found of Hot-pur's Name
Did feem defenfible: So you left him.
Never, O never do his Ghoft the wrong;
To hold your Honour more precife and nice
With others, than with him. Let them alone:
The Marshal and the Archbishop are ftrong..

Had my fweet Harry had but half their Numbers,
To day might I (hanging on Hot-fpur's Neck)
Have talk'd of Monmouth's Grave.

North. Befhrew your Heart,

Fair Daughter, you do draw my Spirits from me,
With new lamenting ancient Over-fights..
But I must go, and meet with danger there;
Or it will feek me in another place,

And find me worfe provided.

L. North. O fly to Scotland,

'Till that the Nobles, and the armed Commons,

Have of their Puiffance made a little tafte.

L. Percy. If they get Ground, and 'vantage of the King They join you with them, like a Rib of Steel, To make Strengh ftronger.. But, for all our loves, First let them try themfelves. So did your Son.. He was fo fuffer'd; fo came I a Widow: And never shall have length of Life enough, To rain upon Remembrance with mine Eyes, That it may grow and sprout, as high as Heav'n, For Recordation to my Noble Husband.

North Come, come, go in with me: 'tis with my Mind As with the Tyde, fwell'd up unto his height, That makes a ftill-ftand, running neither way.. Fain would I go to meet the Archbishop, But many thousand Reafons hold me back: I will refolve for Scotland; there am I, Till Time and Vantage crave my Company.

SCENE IV..

Enter two Drawers.

[Exeunt

1 Draw. What haft thou brought there? Apple-Johns? Thou know'ft Sir John cannot endure an Apple-John.

Draw Thou fay'ft true; the Prince once fet a Difh of Apple Johns before him, and told him there were five more Sir Johns; and, putting off his Hat, faid, I will now takè my leave of thefe fix dry, round, old wither'd Knights. It anger'd him to the Heart; but he hath forgot that.