[Act 2, Scene 4]
Enter Prince and Poines.
Ned, prethee come out of that fat roome, & lend
me thy hand to laugh a little.
Where hast bene
With three or foure Logger‑heads, amongst 3.
or fourescore Hogsheads. I haue sounded the verie base
string of humility; Sirra, I am sworn brother to a leash of
Drawers, and can call them by their names, as
Francis. They take it already vpon their confidence,
that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King
of Curtesie: telling me flatly I am no proud Iack like
, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy, and
when I am King of England, I shall command al the good
Laddes in East‑cheape. They call drinking deepe, dy
ing Scarlet; and when you breath in your watering, then
they cry hem, and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am
so good a proficient in one quarter of an houre, that I can
drinke with any Tinker in his owne Language during my
life. I tell thee
Ned, thou hast lost much honor, that thou
wer't not with me in this action: but sweet
Ned, to swee
ten which name of
Ned, I giue thee this peniworth of Su
gar, clapt euen now into my hand by an vnder Skinker,
one that neuer spake other English in his life, then
shillings and six pence
You are welcome: with this shril
Anon, Anon sir, Score a Pint of Bastard in the
, or so. But
Ned, to driue away time till
come, I prythee doe thou stand in some by‑roome,
while I question my puny Drawer, to what end hee gaue
me the Sugar, and do neuer leaue calling
Francis, that his
Tale to me may be nothing but, Anon: step aside, and Ile
shew thee a President.
Thou art perfect.
Anon, anon sir; looke downe into the Pomgar
How long hast thou to serue, Francis?
Forsooth fiue yeares, and as much as to⸺
Anon, anon sir.
Fiue yeares: Berlady a long Lease for the clin
king of Pewter. But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as
to play the coward with thy Indenture, & shew it a faire
paire of heeles, and run from it?
O Lord sir, Ile be sworne vpon all the Books in
England, I could finde in my heart.
Anon, anon sir.
How old art thou,
Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shalbe⸺
Anon sir, pray you stay a little, my Lord.
Nay but harke you Francis, for the Sugar thou
gauest me,'twas a peny worth, was't not?
O Lord sir, I would it had bene two.
I will giue thee for it a thousand pound: Aske
me when thou wilt, and thou shalt haue it.
Anon Francis? No Francis, but to morrow Fran
cis: or Francis, on thursday: or indeed Francis when thou
wilt. But Francis.
Wilt thou rob this Leatherne Ierkin, Christall
button, Not‑pated, Agat ring, Puke stocking, Caddice
garter, Smooth tongue, Spanish pouch.
O Lord sir, who do you meane?
Why then your browne Bastard is your onely
drinke: for looke you Francis, your white Canuas doub
let will sulley. In Barbary sir, it cannot come to so much.
Away you Rogue, dost thou heare them call?
Heere they both call him, the Drawer stands amazed,
not knowing which way to go.
What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a cal
ling? Looke to the Guests within: My Lord, olde Sir
Iohn with halfe a dozen more, are at the doore: shall I 1et
Let them alone a while, and then open the doore.
Anon, anon sir.
Falstaffe and the rest of the Theeues, are at
the doore, shall we be merry?
As merrie as Crickets my Lad. But harke yee,
What cunning match haue you made with this iest of the
Drawer? Come, what's the issue?
I am now of all humors, that haue shewed them
selues humors, since the old dayes of goodman
the pupill age of this present twelue a clock at midnight.
What's a clocke Francis?
Anon, anon sir.
That euer this Fellow should haue fewer words
then a Parret, and yet the sonne of a Woman. His indu
stry is vp‑staires and down‑staires, his eloquence the par
cell of a reckoning. I am not yet
of Percies mind, the Hot
spurre of the North, he that killes me some sixe or seauen
dozen of Scots at a Breakfast, washes his hands, and saies
to his wife; Fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O my
Harry sayes she, how many hast thou kill'd to day?
Giue my Roane horse a drench (sayes hee) and answeres,
some fourteene, an houre after: a trifle, a trifle. I prethee
Falstaffe, Ile play
Percy, and that damn'd Brawne
shall play Dame
Mortimer his wife.
Riuo, sayes the drun
kard. Call in Ribs, call in Tallow.
Welcome Iacke, where hast thou beene?
A plague of all Cowards I say, and a Vengeance
too, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sacke Boy. Ere
I leade this life long, Ile sowe nether stockes, and mend
them too. A plague of all cowards. Giue me a Cup of
Sacke, Rogue. Is there no Vertue extant?
Did st thou neuer see Titan kisse a dish of Butter,
pittifull hearted Titan that melted at the sweete Tale of
the Sunne? If thou didst, then behold that compound.
You Rogue, heere's Lime in this Sacke too: there
is nothing but Roguery to be found in Villanous man; yet
a Coward is worse then a Cup of Sack with lime. A vil
lanous Coward, go thy wayes old Iacke, die when thou
wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot vpon the
face of the earth, then am I a shotten Herring: there liues
not three good men vnhang'd in England, & one of them
is fat, and growes old, God helpe the while, a bad world I
say. I would I were a Weauer, I could sing all manner of
songs. A plague of all Cowards, I say still.
How now Woolsacke, what m
A Kings Sonne? If I do not beate thee out of thy
Kingdome with a dagger of Lath, and driue all thy Sub
iects afore thee like a flocke of Wilde‑geese, Ile neuer
weare haire on my face more. You Prince of Wales?
Why you horson round man? what's the matter?
Are you not a Coward? Answer me to that, and
Ye fatch paunch, and yee call mee Coward, Ile
I call thee Coward? Ile see thee damn'd ere I call
the Coward: but I would giue a thousand pound I could
run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the
shoulders, you care not who sees your backe: Call you
that backing of your friends? a plague vpon such bac
king: giue me them that will face me. Giue me a Cup
of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunke to day.
O Villaine, thy Lippes are scarce wip'd, since
thou drunk'st last.
All's one for that.
A plague of all Cowards still, say I.
What's the matter?
What's the matter? here be foure of vs, ha
ta'ne a thousand pound this Morning.
Where is it,
Iack? where is it?
Where is it? taken from vs, foure of vs.
What, a hundred, man?
I am a Rogue, if I were not at halfe Sword with
a dozen of them two houres together. I haue scaped by
miracle. I am eight time thrust through the Doublet,
foure through the Hose, my Buckler cut through and
through, my Sword hackt like a Hand‑saw,
I neuer dealt better since I was a man: all would not doe.
A plague of all Cowards: let them speake; if they speake
more or lesse then truth, they are villaines, and the sonnes
Speake sirs, how was it?
We foure set vpon some dozen.
Sixteene, at least, my Lord.
And bound them.
No, no, they were not bound.
You Rogue, they were bound, euery man of
them, or I am a Iew else, an Ebrew Iew.
As we were sharing, some sixe or seuen fresh men
set vpon vs.
And vnbound the rest, and then come in the
What, fought yee with them all?
All? I know not what yee call all: but if I
fought not with fiftie of them, I am a bunch of Radish:
if there were not two or three and fiftie vpon poore olde
Iack, then am I no two‑legg'd Creature.
Pray Heauen, you haue not murthered some of
Nay, that's past praying for, I haue pepper'd
two of them: Two I am sure I haue payed, two Rogues
in Buckrom Sutes. I tell thee what,
Hal, if I tell thee a
Lye, spit in my face, call me Horse: thou knowest my olde
word: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; foure Rogues
in Buckrom let driue at me.
What, foure? thou sayd'st but two.euen now.
Hal, I told thee foure.
I, I, he said foure.
These foure came all a‑front, and mainely thrust
at me; I made no more adoe, but tooke all their seuen
points in my Targuet, thus.
Seuen? why there were but foure, euen now.
I, foure, in Buckrom Sutes.
Seuen, by these Hilts, or I am a Villaine else.
Prethee let him alone, we shall haue more anon.
Doest thou heare me,
I, and marke thee too,
Doe so, for it is worth the listning too: these
nine in Buckrom, that I told thee of.
So, two more alreadie.
Their Points being broken.
Downe fell his Hose.
Began to giue me ground: but I followed me
close, came in foot and hand; and with a thought, seuen of
the eleuen I pay'd.
O monstrous! eleuen Buckrom men growne
out of two?
But as the Deuill would haue it, three mis‑be
gotten Knaues, in Kendall Greene, came at my Back, and
let driue at me; for it was so darke,
Hal, that thou could'st
not see thy Hand.
These Lyes are like the Father that begets them,
grosse as a Mountaine, open, palpable. Why thou Clayߛ
brayn'd Guts, thou Knotty‑pated Foole, thou Horson ob
scene greasie Tallow Catch.
What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the
truth, the truth?
Why, how could'st thou know these men in
Kendall Greene, when it was so darke, thou could'st not
see thy Hand? Come, tell vs your reason: what say'st thou
Come, your reason Iack, your reason.
What, vpon compulsion? No: were I at the
Strappado, or all the Racks in the World, I would not
tell you on compulsion. Giue you a reason on compulsi
on? If Reasons were as plentie as Black‑berries, I would
giue no man a Reason vpon compulsion, I.
Ile be no longer guiltie of this sinne. This san
guine Coward, this Bed‑presser, this Hors‑back‑breaker,
this huge Hill of Flesh.
Away you Starueling, you Elfe‑skin, you dried
Neats tongue, Bulles‑pissell, you stocke‑fish: O for breth
to vtter. What is like thee? You Tailors yard, you sheath
you Bow‑case, you vile standing tucke.
Well, breath a‑while, and then to't againe: and
when thou hast tyr'd thy selfe in base comparisons, heare
me speake but thus.
We two, saw you foure set on foure and bound
them, and were Masters of their Wealth: mark now how
a plaine Tale shall put you downe. Then did we two, set
on you foure, and with a word, outfac'd you from your
prize, and haue it: yea, and can shew it you in the House.
Falstaffe, you caried your Guts away as nimbly, with
as quicke dexteritie, and roared for mercy, and still ranne
and roar'd, as euer I heard Bull‑Calfe. What a Slaue art
thou, to hacke thy sword as thou hast done, and then say
it was in fight. What trick? what deuice? what starting
hole canst thou now find out, to hide thee from this open
and apparant shame?
Come, let's heare Iacke: What tricke hast
I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why heare
ye my Masters, was it for me to kill the Heire apparant?
Should I turne vpon the true Prince? Why, thou knowest
I am as valiant as
Hercules: but beware Instinct, the Lion
will not touch the true Prince: Instinct is a great matter.
I was a Coward on Instinct: I shall thinke the better of
my selfe, and thee, during my life: I, for a valiant Lion,
and thou for a true Prince. But Lads, I am glad you haue
the Mony. Hostesse, clap to the doores: watch to night,
pray to morrow. Gallants, Lads, Boyes, Harts of Gold,
all the good Titles of Fellowship come to you. What,
shall we be merry? shall we haue a Play extempory.
Content, and the argument shall be, thy runing
A, no more of that
Hall, and thou louest me.
My Lord, the Prince?
How now my Lady the Hostesse, what say'st
thou to me?
Marry, my Lord, there is a Noble man of the
Court at doore would speake with you: hee sayes, hee
comes from your Father.
Giue him as much as will make him a Royall
man, and send him backe againe to my Mother.
What manner of man is hee?
An old man.
What doth Grauitie out of his Bed at Midnight?
Shall I giue him his answere?
'Faith, and Ile send him packing.
Now Sirs: you fought faire; so did you
Peto, so did you
Bardol: you are Lyons too, you ranne
away vpon instinct: you will not touch the true Prince;
'Faith, I ranne when I saw others runne.
Tell mee now in earnest, how came
Sword so hackt?
Why, he hackt it with his Dagger, and said, hee
would sweare truth out of England, but hee would make
you beleeue it was done in fight, and perswaded vs to doe
Yea, and to tickle our Noses with Spear‑grasse,
to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our garments
with it, and sweare it was the blood of true men. I did
that I did not this seuen yeeres before, I blusht to heare
his monstrous deuices.
O Villaine, thou stolest a Cup of Sacke eigh
teene yeeres agoe, and wert taken with the manner, and
euer since thou hast blusht extempore: thou hadst fire
and sword on thy side, and yet thou ranft away; what
instinct hadst thou for it ?
My Lord, doe you see these Meteors? doe you
behold these Exhalations?
What thinke you they portend?
Hot Liuers, and cold Purses.
Choler, my Lord, if rightly taken.
No, if rightly taken, Halter.
Heere comes leane
Iacke, heere comes bare‑bone. How
now my sweet Creature of Bombast, how long is't agoe,
Iacke, since thou saw'st thine owne Knee?
My owne Knee? When I was about thy yeeres
Hal) I was not an Eagles Talent in the Waste, I could
haue crept into any Aldermans Thumbe‑Ring: a plague
of sighing and griefe, it blowes a man vp like a Bladder.
There's villanous Newes abroad: heere was Sir
from your Father; you must goe to the Court in
the Morning. The same mad fellow of the North,
and hee of Wales, that gaue
Amamon the Bastinado,
Lucifer Cuckold, and swore the Deuill his true
Liege‑man vpon the Crosse of a Welch‑hooke; what a
plague call you him?
Owen, Owen; the same, and his Sonne in Law
Mortimer, and old
Northumberland, and the sprightly
Scot of Scots,
Dowglas, that runnes a Horse‑backe vp a
Hee that rides at high speede, and with a Pistoll
kills a Sparrow flying.
You haue hit it.
So did he neuer the Sparrow.
Well, that Rascall hath good mettall in him,
hee will not runne.
Why, what a Rascall art thou then, to prayse him
so for running
A Horse‑backe (ye Cuckoe) but a foot hee will
not budge a foot.
Iacke, vpon instinct.
I grant ye, vpon instinct: Well, hee is there too,
Mordake, and a thousand blew‑Cappes more.
Worcester is stolne away by Night: thy Fathers Beard is
turn'd white with the Newes; you may buy Land now
as cheape as stinking Mackrell.
Then 'tis like, if there come a hot Sunne, and this I
ciuill buffetting hold, wee shall buy Maiden‑heads as
they buy Hob‑nayles, by the Hundreds.
By the Masse Lad, thou say'st true, it is like wee
shall haue good trading that way. But tell me
not thou horrible afear'd? thou being Heire apparant, I
could the World picke thee out three such Enemyes a
gaine, as that Fiend
Dowglas, that Spirit
Percy, and that
Glendower? Art not thou horrible afraid? Doth
not thy blood thrill at it?
Not a whit: I lacke some of thy instinct.
Well, thou wilt be horrible chidde to morrow,
when thou commest to thy Father: if thou doe loue me,
practise an answere.
Doe thou stand for my Father, and examine mee
vpon the particulars of my Life.
Shall I? content: This Chayre shall bee my
State, this Dagger my Scepter, and this Cushion my
Thy State is taken for a Ioyn'd‑Stoole, thy Gol
den Scepter for a Leaden Dagger, and thy precious rich
Crowne, for a pittifull bald Crowne.
Well, and the fire of Grace be not quite out of
thee, now shalt thou be moued. Giue me a Cup of Sacke
to make mine eyes looke redde, that it may be thought I
haue wept, for I must speake in passion, and I will doe it
Well, heere is my Legge.
And heere is my speech: stand aside Nobilitie.
This is excellent sport, yfaith.
Weepe not, sweet Queene, for trickling teares
O the Father, how hee holdes his counte
For Gods sake Lords, conuey my trustfull Queen,
For teares doe stop the floud‑gates of her eyes.
O rare, he doth it as like one of these harlotry
Players, as euer I see.
Peace good Pint‑pot, peace good Tickle‑braine.
Harry, I doe not onely maruell where thou spendest thy
time; but also, how thou art accompanied: For though
the Camomile, the more it is troden, the faster it growes;
yet Youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it weares.
Thou art my Sonne: I haue partly thy Mothers Word,
partly my Opinion; but chiefely, a villanous tricke of
thine Eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether Lippe, that
doth warrant me. If then thou be Sonne to mee, heere I
lyeth the point: why being Sonne to me, art thou so
? Shall the blessed Sonne of Heauen proue a
Micher, and eate Black‑berryes
? a question not to bee
askt. Shall the Sonne of England proue a Theefe, and
take Purses? a question to be askt. There is a thing,
Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is knowne to
many in our Land, by the Name of Pitch: this Pitch (as
ancient Writers doe report) doth defile; so doth the com
panie thou keepest: for
Harry, now I doe not speake to
thee in Drinke, but in Teares; not in Pleasure, but in Pas
sion; not in Words onely, but in Woes also: and yet
there is a virtuous man whom I haue often noted in thy
companie, but I know not his Name.
What manner of man, and it like your Ma
A goodly portly man yfaith, and a corpulent,
of a chearefull Looke, a pleasing Eye, and a most noble
Carriage, and as I thinke, his age some fiftie, or (byrlady)
inclining to threescore; and now I remember mee, his
Falstaffe: if that man should be lewdly giuen,
hee deceiues mee; for
Harry, I see Vertue in his Lookes.
If then the Tree may be knowne by the Fruit, as the Fruit
by the Tree, then peremptorily I speake it, there is Vertue
Falstaffe: him keepe with, the rest banish. And
tell mee now, thou naughtie Varlet, tell mee, where hast
thou beene this moneth?
Do'st thou speake like a King? doe thou stand
for mee, and Ile play my Father.
Depose me: if thou do'st it halfe so grauely, so
maiestically, both in word and matter, hang me vp by the
heeles for a Rabbet‑sucker, or a Poulters Hare.
Well, heere I am set.
And heere I stand: iudge my Masters.
Harry, whence come you?
My Noble Lord, from East‑cheape.
The complaints I heare of thee, are grieuous.
Yfaith, my Lord, they are false: Nay, Ile tickle
ye for a young Prince.
Swearest thou, vngracious Boy? Henceforth
ne're looke on me: thou art violently carryed away from
Grace: there is a Deuill haunts thee, in the likenesse of a
fat old Man; a Tunne of Man is thy Companion: Why
do'st thou conuerse with that Trunke of Humors, that
Boulting‑Hutch of Beastlinesse, that swolne Parcell of
Dropsies, that huge Bombard of Sacke, that stuft Cloake
bagge of Guts, that rosted Manning Tree Oxe with the
Pudding in his Belly, that reuerend Vice, that grey Ini
quitie, that Father Ruffian, that Vanitie in yeeres? where
in is he good, but to taste Sacke, and drinke it? wherein
neat and cleanly, but to carue a Capon, and eat it? where
in Cunning, but in Craft? wherein Craftie, but in Villa
nie? wherein Villanous, but in all things? wherein wor
thy, but in nothing?
I would your Grace would take me with you:
whom meanes your Grace?
That villanous abhominable mis‑leader of
Falstaffe, that old white‑bearded Sathan.
My Lord, the man I know.
I know thou do'st.
But to say, I know more harme in him then in
my selfe, were to say more then I know. That hee is olde
(the more the pittie) his white hayres doe witnesse it:
but that hee is (sauing your reuerence) a Whore‑ma
ster, that I vtterly deny. If Sacke and Sugar bee a fault,
Heauen helpe the Wicked: if to be olde and merry, be a
sinne, then many an olde Hoste that I know, is damn'd:
if to be fat, be to be hated, then
Pharaohs leane Kine are
to be loued. No, my good Lord, banish
Poines: but for sweete
Iacke Falstaffe, true
Iacke Falstaffe, valiant
, and therefore more valiant, being as hee is olde
, banish not him thy
Harryes companie, banish
not him thy
Harryes companie; banish plumpe
banish all the World.
I doe, I will.
Enter Bardolph running.
O, my Lord, my Lord, the Sherife, with a most
most monstrous Watch, is at the doore.
Out you Rogue, play out the Play: I haue much
to say in the behalfe of that
Enter the Hostesse.
O, my Lord, my Lord.
Heigh, heigh, the Deuill rides vpon a Fiddle
sticke: what's the matter?
The Sherife and all the Watch are at the
doore: they are come to search the House, shall I let
Do'st thou heare
Hal, neuer call a true peece of
Gold a Counterfeit: thou art essentially made, without
And thou a naturall Coward, without in
I deny your
Maior: if you will deny the
Sherife, so: if not, let him enter. If I become not a Cart
as well as another man, a plague on my bringing vp: I
hope I shall as soone be strangled with a Halter, as ano
Goe hide thee behinde the Arras, the rest
walke vp aboue. Now my Masters, for a true Face and
Both which I haue had: but their date is out,
and therefore Ile hide me.
Call in the Sherife.
Enter Sherife and the Carrier.
Now Master Sherife, what is your will with
First pardon me, my Lord. A Hue and Cry hath
followed certaine men vnto this house.
One of them is well knowne, my gracious Lord,
a grosse fat man.
As fat as Butter.
The man, I doe assure you, is not heere,
For I my selfe at this time haue imploy'd him:
And Sherife, I will engage my word to thee,
That I will by to morrow Dinner time,
Send him to answere thee, or any man,
For any thing he shall be charg'd withall:
And so let me entreat you, leaue the house.
I will, my Lord: there are two Gentlemen
Haue in this Robberie lost three hundred Markes.
It may be so: if he haue robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable: and so farewell.
Good Night, my Noble Lord.
I thinke it is good Morrow, is it not?
Indeede, my Lord, I thinke it be two a Clocke.
This oyly Rascall is knowne as well as Poules:
goe call him forth.
Falstaffe? fast asleepe behinde the Arras, and
snorting like a Horse.
Harke, how hard he fetches breath: search his
He searcheth his Pickets, and findeth
What hast thou found?
Nothing but Papers, my Lord.
Let's see, what be they? reade them.
Item, a Capon.
Item, Sacke, two Gallons.
Item, Anchoues and Sacke after Supper.
O monstrous, but one halfe penny‑worth of
Bread to this intollerable deale of Sacke? What there is
else, keepe close, wee'le reade it at more aduantage: there
let him sleepe till day. Ile to the Court in the Morning:
Wee must all to the Warres, and thy place shall be hono
rable. Ile procure this fat Rogue a Charge of Foot,
and I know his death will be a Match of Twelue‑score.
The Money shall be pay'd backe againe with aduantage.
Be with me betimes in the Morning: and so good mor
Good morrow, good my Lord.