Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth/Act 2 Scene 2
Scena Secunda.
Enter Prince Henry, Pointz, Bardolfe, and Page.
Prin. Trust me, I am exceeding weary.
Poin. Is it come to that? I had thought wearines durst not haue attach'd one of so high blood.
Prin. 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?
Poin. Why, a Prince should not be so loosely studied, as to remember so weake a Composition.
Prince. Belike then, my Appetite was not Princely got: for (in troth) I do now remember the poore Creature, Small Beere. But indeede these humble considerations make me out of loue with my Greatnesse. What a disgrace is it to me, to remember thy name? Or to know thy face to morrow? Or to take note how many paire of Silk stockings yͧ 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, because the rest of thy Low Countries, haue made a shift to eate vp thy Holland.
Poin. 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 yours is?
Prin. Shall I tell thee one thing, Pointz?
Poin. Yes: and let it be an excellent good thing.
Prin. It shall serue among wittes of no higher breeding then thine.
Poin. Go to: I stand the push of your one thing, that you'l tell.
Prin. 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.
Poin. Very hardly, vpon such a subiect.
Prin. Thou think'st me as farre in the Diuels Booke, as thou, and Falstaffe, for obduracie and persistencie. Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inwardly, that my Father is so sicke: and keeping such vild company as thou art, hath in reason taken from me, all ostentation of sorrow.
Poin. The reason?
Prin. What would'st thou think of me, if I shold weep?
Poin. I would thinke thee a most Princely hypocrite.
Prin. 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 indeede. And what accites your most worshipful thought to thinke so?
Poin. Why, because you haue beene so lewde, and so much ingraffed to Falstaffe.
Prin. And to thee.
Pointz. 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 Bardolfe.
Prince. And the Boy that I gaue Falstaffe, he had him from me Christian, and see if the fat villain haue not transform'd him Ape.
Enter Bardolfe.
Bar. Saue your Grace.
Prin. And yours, most Noble Bardolfe.
Poin. Come you pernitious Asse, you bashfull Foole, must you be blushing? Wherefore blush you now? what a Maidenly man at Armes are you become? Is it such a matter to get a Pottle-pots Maiden-head?
Page. 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, & peeped through.
Prin. Hath not the boy profited?
Bar. Away, you horson vpright Rabbet, away.
Page. Away, you rascally Altheas dreame, away.
Prin. Instruct vs Boy: what dreame, Boy?
Page. Marry (my Lord) Althea dream'd, she was deliuer'd of a Firebrand, and therefore I call him hir dream.
Prince. A Crownes-worth of good Interpretation: There it is, Boy.
Poin. O that this good Blossome could bee kept from Cankers: Well, there is six pence to preserue thee.
Bard. If you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallowes shall be wrong'd.
Prince. And how doth thy Master, Bardolph?
Bar. Well, my good Lord: he heard of your Graces comming to Towne. There's a Letter for you.
Poin. Deliuer'd with good respect: And how doth the Martlemas, your Master?
Bard. In bodily health Sir.
Poin. Marry, the immortall part needes a Physitian: but that moues not him: though that bee sicke, it dyes not.
Prince. I do allow this Wen to bee as familiar with me, as my dogge: and he holds his place, for looke you he writes.
Poin. Letter. 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 borrowed cap: I am the Kings poore Cosin, Sir.
Prince. Nay, they will be kin to vs, but they wil fetch it from Iaphet. But to the Letter: Sir Iohn Falstaffe,Knight, to the Sonne of the King, neerest his Father, HarriePrince of Wales, greeting.
Poin. Why this is a Certificate.
Prin. Peace.I will imitate the honourable Romaines in breuitie.
Poin. 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 Pointz, for hee misuses thy Fauours somuch, that he sweares thou art to marrie his Sister Nell. Repent at idle times as thou mayst, and so farewell. Thine, by yea and no: which is as much as to say, as thouvsest him. Iacke Falstaffe with my Familiars:Iohn with my Brothers and Sister: & SirIohn, with all Europe.My Lord, I will steepe this Letter in Sack, and make him eate it.
Prin. That's to make him eate twenty of his Words. But do you vse me thus Ned? Must I marry your Sister?
Poin. May the Wench haue no worse Fortune. But I neuer said so.
Prin. 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?
Bard. Yes my Lord.
Prin. Where suppes he? Doth the old Bore, feede in the old Franke?
Bard. At the old place my Lord, in East-cheape.
Prin. What Company?
Page. Ephesians my Lord, of the old Church.
Prin. Sup any women with him?
Page. None my Lord, but old Mistris Quickly, and M. Doll Teare-sheet.
Prin. What Pagan may that be?
Page. A proper Gentlewoman, Sir, and a Kinswoman of my Masters.
Prin. Euen such Kin, as the Parish Heyfors are to the Towne-Bull?Shall we steale vpon them (Ned) at Supper?
Poin. I am your shadow, my Lord, Ile follow you.
Prin. Sirrah, you boy, and Bardolph, no word to your Master that I am yet in Towne.There's for your silence.
Bar. I haue no tongue, sir.
Page. And for mine Sir, I will gouerne it.
Prin. Fare ye well: go.This Doll Teare-sheet should be some Rode.
Poin. I warrant you, as common as the way betweene S. Albans, and London.
Prin. How might we see Falstaffe bestow himselfe to night, in his true colours, and not our selues be seene?
Poin. Put on two Leather Ierkins, and Aprons, and waite vpon him at his Table, like Drawers.
Prin. From a God, to a Bull? A heauie declension: It was Ioues case. From a Prince, to a Prentice, a low transformation, that shall be mine: for in euery thing, the purpose Exeunt.must weigh with the folly. Follow me Ned.