[Act 3, Scene 3]
Enter Falstaffe and Bardolph.
Bardolph, am I not falne away vilely, since this
last action? doe I not bate? doe I not dwindle? Why
my skinne hangs about me like an olde Ladies loose
Gowne: I am withered like an olde Apple
Ile repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking;
I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall haue no
strength to repent. And I haue not forgotten what the
in‑side of a Church is made of, I am a Pepper‑Corne, a
Brewers Horse, the in‑side of a Church. Company, villa
nous Company hath been the spoyle of me.
Iohn, you are so fretfull, you cannot liue
Why there is it: Come, sing me a bawdy Song,
make me merry: I was as vertuously giuen, as a Gentle
man need to be; vertuous enough, swore little, dic'd not
aboue seuen times a weeke, went to a Bawdy‑house not
aboue once in a quarter of an houre, payd Money that I
borrowed, three or foure times; liued well, and in good
compasse: and now I liue out of all order, out of com
Why, you are so fat, Sir
Iohn, that you must
needes bee out of all compasse; out of all reasonable
Doe thou amend thy Face, and Ile amend thy
Life: Thou art our Admirall, thou bearest the Lanterne
in the Poope, but 'tis in the Nose of thee; thou art the
Knight of the burning Lampe.
Iohn, my Face does you no harme.
No, Ile be sworne: I make as good vse of it, as
many a man doth of a Deaths‑Head, or a
I neuer see thy Face, but I thinke vpon Hell fire, and
that liued in Purple; for there he is in his Robes burning,
burning. If thou wert any way giuen to vertue, I would
sweare by thy Face; my Oath should bee,
By this Fire:
But thou art altogether giuen ouer; and wert indeede,
but for the Light in thy Face, the Sunne of vtter Darke
nesse. When thou ran'st vp Gads‑Hill in the Night, to
catch my Horse, if I did not thinke that thou hadst beene
Ignis fatuus, or a Ball of Wild‑fire, there's no Purchase
in Money. O, thou art a perpetual Triumph, an euer
lasting Bone‑fire‑Light: thou hast saued me a thousand
Markes in Linkes and Torches, walking with thee in the
Night betwixt Tauerne and Tauerne: But the Sack that
thou hast drunke me, would haue bought me Lights as
good cheape, as the dearest Chandlers in Europe. I haue
maintain'd that Salamander of yours with fire, any time
this two and thirtie yeeres, Heauen reward me for it.
I would my Face were in your Belly.
So should I be sure to be heart‑burn'd.
How now, Dame
Partlet the Hen, haue you enquir'd yet
who pick'd my Pocket?
Why Sir John, what doe you thinke, Sir
doe you thinke I keepe Theeues in my House? I haue
search'd, I haue enquired, so haz my Husband, Man by
Man, Boy by Boy, Seruant by Seruant: the tight of a
hayre was neuer lost in my house before.
Ye lye Hostesse:
Bardolph was shau'd, and lost
many a hayre; and Ile be sworne my Pocket was pick'd:
goe to, you are a Woman, goe.
Who I? I defie thee: I was neuer call'd so
in mine owne house before.
Goe to, I know you well enough.
Iohn, you doe not know me, Sir
I know you, Sir
Iohn: you owe me Money, Sir
now you picke a quarrell, to beguile me of it: I bought
you a dozen of Shirts to your Backe.
Doulas, filthy Doulas: I haue giuen them
away to Bakers Wiues, and they haue made Boulters of
Now was I am a true Woman, Holland of eight
shillings an Ell: You owe Money here besides, Sir
for your Dyet, and by‑Drinkings, and Money lent you,
foure and twentie pounds.
Hee had his part of it, let him pay.
Hee? alas hee is poore, hee hath no
How? Poore? Looke vpon his Face: What call
you Rich? Let them coyne his Nose, let them coyne his
Cheekes, Ile not pay a Denier. What, will you make a
Younker of me? Shall I not take mine ease in mine Inne,
but I shall haue my Pocket pick'd? I haue lost a Seale
Ring of my Grand‑fathers, worth fortie Marke.
I haue heard the Prince tell him, I know not
how oft, that that Ring was Copper.
How? the Prince is a Iacke, a Sneake‑Cuppe:
and if hee were heere, I would cudgell him like a Dogge,
if hee would say so.
Enter the Prince marching, and Falstaffe meets
him, playing on his Trunchion
like a Fife.
How now Lad? is the Winde in that Doore?
Must we all march?
Yea, two and two, Newgate fashion.
My Lord, I pray you heare me.
What say'st thou, Mistresse
does thy Husband? 1 loue him well, hee is an honest
Good, my Lord, heare mee.
Prethee let her alone, and list to mee.
What say'st thou,
The other Night I fell asleepe heere behind the
Arras, and had my Pocket pickt: this House is turn'd
Bawdy‑house, they picke Pockets.
What didst thou lose,
Wilt thou beleeue me, Hal? Three or foure Bonds
of fortie pound apeece, and a Seale‑Ring of my Grand
A Trifle, some eight‑penny matter.
So I told him, my Lord; and I said, I heard your
Grace say so: and (my Lord) hee speakes most vilely of
you, like a foule‑mouth'd man as hee is, and said, hee
would cudgell you.
What hee did not?
There's neyther Faith, Truth, nor Woman‑hood
in me else.
There's no more faith in thee then a stu'de Prune;
nor no more truth in thee, then in a drawne Fox: and for
Wooman‑hood, Maid‑marian may be the Deputies wife
of the Ward to thee. Go you nothing: go.
Say, what thing? what thing?
What thing? why a thing to thanke heauen on.
I am no thing to thanke heauen on, I wold thou
shouldst know it: I am an honest mans wife: and setting
thy Knighthood aside, thou art a knaue to call me so.
Setting thy woman‑hood aside, thou art a beast
to say otherwise.
Say, what beast, thou knaue thou?
? Why an Otter.
An Otter, sir
Iohn? Why an Otter?
Why? She's neither fish nor flesh; a man knowes not where to haue her.
Thou art vniust man in saying so; thou, or anie
man knowes where to haue me, thou knaue thou.
Thou say'st true Hostesse, and he slanders thee
So he doth you, my Lord, and sayde this other
day, You ought him a thousand pound.
Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound
A thousand pound
Hal? A Million. Thy loue is
worth a Million: thou ow'st me thy loue.
Nay my Lord, he call'd you Iacke, and said hee
would cudgell you.
Iohn, you said so.
Yea, if he said my Ring was Copper.
I say 'tis Copper. Dar'st thou bee as good as
thy word now?
Hal? thou know'st, as thou art but a man, I
dare: but, as thou art a Prince, I feare thee, as I feare the
roaring of the Lyons Whelpe.
And why not as the Lyon?
The King himselfe is to bee feared as the Lyon:
Do'st thou thinke Ile feare thee, as I feare thy Father? nay
if I do, let my Girdle breake.
O, if it should. how would thy guttes fall about
thy knees. But sirra: There's no roome for Faith, Truth,
nor Honesty, in this bosome of thine: it is all fill'd vppe
with Guttes and Midriffe. Charge an honest Woman
with picking thy pocket? Why thou horson impudent
imbost Rascall, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but
Memorandums of Bawdie‑houses,
and one poore peny‑worth of Sugar‑candie to make thee
long‑winded: if thy pocket were enrich'd with anie o
ther iniuries but these, I am a Villaine: And yet you will
stand to it, you will not Pocket vp wrong. Art thou not
Do'st thou heare
Hal? Thou know'st in the state
Adam fell: and what should
do, in the days of Villany? Thou seest, I haue
more flesh then another man, and therefore more frailty.
You confesse then you pickt my Pocket
It appears so by the story.
Hostesse, I forgiue thee:
Go make ready Breakfast, loue thy Husband,
Looke to thy Seruants, and cherish thy Guests:
Thou shalt find me tractable to any honest reason;
Thou feest, I a
Nay, I prethee be gone.
Hal, to the newes at Court for the Robbery, Lad?
How is that answered?
O my sweet Beefe:
I must still be good Angell to thee.
The Monie is paid backe againe.
O, I do not like that paying backe, 'tis a double
I am good Friends with my Father, and may do
Rob me the Exchequer the first thing thou do'st,
and do it with vnwash'd hands too.
Do my Lord.
I haue procured thee
Iacke, a Charge of Foot.
I would it had beene of Horse. Where shal I finde
one that can steale well? O, for a fine theefe of two and
twentie, or thereabout: I am heynously vnprouided. Wel
God be thanked for these Rebels, they offend none but
the Vertuous. I laud them, I praise them.
Go beare this Letter to Lord
Iohn of Lancaster
To my Brother
Iohn. This to my Lord of Westmerland,
Peto, to horse: for thou, and I,
Haue thirtie miles to ride yet ere dinner time.
Iacke, meet me tomorrow in the Temple Hall
At two a clocke in the afternoone,
There shalt thou know thy Charge, and there receiue
Money and Order for their Furniture.
The Land is burning,
Percie stands on hye,
And either they, or we must lower lye.
Rare words! braue world.
Hostesse, my breakfast, come:
Oh, I could wish thit Tauerne were my drumme.