[Act 2, Scene 2]
Enter Prince Henry, Pointz, Bardolfe,
Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Is it come to that? I had thought weariness durst
not haue attach'd one of so high blood.
It doth me: though it discolours the complexion
Of my Greatnesse to acknowledge it. Doth it not shew
vildely in me, to desire small Beere?
Why, a Prince should not be so loosely studied,
as to remember so weake a Composition.
Belike then, my Appetite was not Princely
got: for (in troth) I do now remember the poore Crea
ture, Small Beere. But indeede these humble considera
tions make me out of loue with my Greatnesse. What a
disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Or to know
thy face tomorrow? Or to take note how many paire of
Silk stockings y
u hast: (Viz. these, and those that were thy
peach‑colour'd ones:) Or to beare the Inuentorie of thy
shirts, as one for superfluity, and one other, for vse. But
that the Tennis‑Court‑keeper knowes better then I, for
it is a low ebbe of Linnen with thee, when thou kept'st
not Racket there, as thou hast not done a great while, be
cause the rest of thy Low Countries, haue made a shift to
eate vp thy Holland.
How ill it followes, after you haue labour'd so
hard, you should talke so idlely? Tell me how many good
yong Princes would do so, their Fathers lying so sicke, as
Shall I tell thee one thing,
Yes: and let it be an excellent good thing.
It shall serue among wittes of no higher breed
ing then thine.
Go to: I stand the push of your one thing, that
Why, I tell thee, it is not meet, that I should be
sad now my Father is sicke: albeit I could tell to thee (as
to one it pleases me, for fault of a better, to call my friend)
I could be sad, and sad indeed too.
Very hardly, vpon such a subiect.
Thou think'st me as farre in the Diuels Booke, as
Falstaffe, for obduracie and persistencie. Let the
end try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inward
ly, that my Father is so sicke: and keeping such vild com
pany as thou art, hath in reason taken from me, all osten
tation of sorrow.
What would'st thou think of me, if I shold weep?
I would thinke thee a most Princely hypocrite.
It would be euery mans thought: and thou art
a blessed Fellow, to thinke as euery man thinkes: neuer a
mans thought in the world, keepes the Rode‑way better
then thine: euery man would thinke me an Hypocrite in
deede. And what accites your most worshipful thought
to thinke so?
Why, because you haue beene so lewde, and so
much ingraffed to
And to thee.
Nay, I am well spoken of, I can heare it with
mine owne eares: the worst that they can say of me is, that
I am a second Brother, and that I am a proper Fellowe of
my hands: and those two things I confesse I canot helpe.
Looke, looke, here comes
And the Boy that I gaue
Falstaffe, he had him
from me Christian, and see if the fat villain haue not trans
form'd him Ape.
Saue your Grace.
And yours, most Noble
Come you pernitious Asse, you bashfull Foole,
must you be blushing? Wherefore blush you now
a Maidenly man at Armes are you become? Is it such a
matter to get a Pottle‑pots Maiden‑head
He call'd me euen now (my Lord) through a red
Lattice, and I could discerne no part of his face from the
window: at last I spy'd his eyes, and me thought he had
made two holes in the Ale‑wiues new Petticoat, & pee
Hath not the boy profited?
Away, you horson vpright Rabbet, away.
Away, you rascally
Altheas dreame, away.
Instruct vs Boy: what dreame, Boy
Marry (my Lord)
Althea dream'd, she was de
liuer'd of a Firebrand, and therefore I call him hir dream.
A Crownes‑worth of good Interpretation:
There it is, Boy.
O that this good Blossome could bee kept from
Cankers: Well, there is six pence to preserue thee.
If you do not make him be hang'd among you,
the gallowes shall be wrong'd.
And how doth thy Master,
Well, my good Lord: he heard of your Graces
comming to Towne. There's a Letter for you.
Deliuer'd with good respect: And how doth the
Martlemas, your Master?
In bodily health Sir.
Marry, the immortal part needes a Physitian
but that moues not him: though that bee sicke, it dyes
I do allow this Wen to bee as familiar with
me, as my dogge: and he holds his place, for looke you
Iohn Falstaffe Knight: (Euery man must
know that, as oft as hee hath occasion to name himselfe:)
Euen like those that are kinne to the King, for they neuer
pricke their finger, but they say, there is som of the kings
blood spilt. How comes that (sayes he) that takes vpon
him not to conceiue? the answer is as ready as a borrow
ed cap: I am the Kings poore Cosin, Sir.
Nay, they will be kin to vs, but they wil fetch
Iaphet. But to the Letter: ⸺
Sir Iohn Falstaffe,
Knight, to the Sonne of the King, neerest his Father, Harrie
Prince of Wales, greeting.
Why this is a Certificate.
I will imitate the honourable Romaines in breuitie.
Sure he meanes breuity in breath: short‑winded.
I commend me to thee, I commend thee, and I leaue thee. Bee
not too familiar with
for hee misuses thy Fauours so
much, that he sweares thou art to marrie his Sister
pent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell.
Thine, by yea and no: which is as much as to say, as thou
Iacke Falstaffe with my Familiars:
Iohn with my Brothers and sister: & Sir
Iohn, with all Europe.
My Lord, I will steepe this Letter in Sack, and make him
That's to make him eate twenty of his Words.
But do you vse me thus
Ned? Must I marry your Sister?
May the Wench haue no worse Fortune. But I
neuer said so.
Well, thus we play the Fooles with the time, &
the spirits of the wise, sit in the clouds, and mocke vs: Is
your Master heere in London?
Yes my Lord.
Where suppes he? Doth the old Bore, feede in
the old Franke?
At the old place my Lord, in East‑cheape.
Ephesians my Lord, of the old Church.
Sup any women with him?
None my Lord, but old Mistris
What Pagan may that be?
A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswoman
of my Masters.
Euen such Kin, as the Parish Heyfors are to the
Shall we steale vpon them
(Ned) at Supper?
I am your shadow, my Lord, Ile follow you.
Sirrah, you boy, and
Bardolph, no word to your
Master that I am yet in Towne.
There's for your silence.
I haue no tongue, sir.
And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it.
Fare ye well: go.
Doll Teare‑sheet should be some Rode.
I warrant you, as common as the way betweene
Albans, and London.
How might we see
Falstaffe bestow him selfe to
night, in his true colours, and not our selues be seene
Put on two Leather Ierkins, and Aprons, and
waite vpon him at his Table, like Drawers.
From a God, to a Bull? A heauie declension: It
was Ioues case. From a Prince, to a Prentice, a low trans
formation, that shall be mine: for in euery thing, the pur
pose must weigh with the folly. Follow me