Shakespeare - First Folio facsimile (1910)/The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth/Act 2 Scene 4
Scæna Quarta.
Enter two Drawers.
1.Drawer. What hast thou brought there? Apple-Iohns? Thou know'st Sir Iohn cannot endure an Apple-Iohn.
2.Draw. Thou say'st true: the Prince once set a Dish of Apple-Iohns before him, and told him there were fiue more Sir Iohns: and, putting off his Hat, said, I will now take my leaue of these sixe drie, round, old-wither'd Knights. It anger'd him to the heart: but hee hath forgot that.
1.Draw. Why then couer, and set them downe: and see if thou canst finde out Sneakes Noyse; Mistris Teare-sheet would faine haue some Musique.
2.Draw. Sirrha, heere will be the Prince, and Master Points, anon: and they will put on two of our Ierkins, and Aprons, and Sir Iohn must not know of it: Bardolph hath brought word.
1.Draw. Then here will be old Vtis: it will be an excellent stratagem.
2.Draw. Exit.Ile see if I can finde out Sneake.
Enter Hostesse, and Dol.
Host. Sweet-heart, me thinkes now you are in an excellent good temperalitie: your Pulsidge beates as extraordinarily, as heart would desire; and your Colour (I warrant you) is as red as any Rose: But you haue drunke too much Canaries, and that's a maruellous searching Wine; and it perfumes the blood, ere wee can say what's this. How doe you now?
Dol. Better then I was: Hem.
Host. Why that was well said: A good heart's worth Gold. Looke, here comes Sir Iohn.
Enter Falstaffe.
Falst. When Arthur first in Court — (emptie the Iordan) and was a worthy King: How now Mistris Dol?
Host. Sick of a Calme: yea, good-sooth.
Falst. So is all her Sect: if they be once in a Calme, they are sick.
Dol. You muddie Rascall, is that all the comfort you giue me?
Falst. You make fat Rascalls, Mistris Dol.
Dol. I make them? Gluttonie and Diseases make them, I make them not.
Falst. If the Cooke make the Gluttonie, you helpe to make the Diseases (Dol) we catch of you (Dol) we catch of you: Grant that, my poore Vertue, grant that.
Dol. I marry, our Chaynes, and our Iewels.
Falst. Your Brooches, Pearles, and Owches: For to serue brauely, is to come halting off: you know, to come off the Breach, with his Pike bent brauely, and to Surgerie brauely; to venture vpon the charg'd-Chambers brauely.
Host. Why this is the olde fashion: you two neuer meete, but you fall to some discord: you are both (in good troth) as Rheumatike as two drie Tostes, you cannot one beare with anothers Confirmities. What the good-yere? One must beare, and that must bee you: you are the weaker Vessell; as they say, the emptier Vessell.
Dol. Can a weake emptie Vessell beare such a huge full Hogs-head? There's a whole Marchants Venture of Burdeux-Stuffe in him: you haue not seene a Hulke better stufft in the Hold. Come, Ile be friends with thee Iacke: Thou art going to the Warres, and whether I shall euer see thee againe, or no, there is no body cares.
Enter Drawer.
Drawer. Sir, Ancient Pistoll is below, and would speake with you.
Dol. Hang him, swaggering Rascall, let him not come hither: it is the foule-mouth'dst Rogue in England.
Host. If hee swagger, let him not come here: I must liue amongst my Neighbors, Ile no Swaggerers: I am in good name, and fame, with the very best: shut the doore, there comes no Swaggerers heere: I haue not liu'd all this while, to haue swaggering now: shut the doore, I pray you.
Falst. Do'st thou heare, Hostesse?
Host. 'Pray you pacifie your selfe (Sir Iohn) there comes no Swaggerers heere.
Falst. Do'st thou heare? it is mine Ancient.
Host. Tilly-fally (Sir Iohn) neuer tell me, your ancient Swaggerer comes not in my doores. I was before Master Tisick the Deputie, the other day: and as hee said to me, it was no longer agoe then Wednesday last: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee;) Master Dombe, our Minister, was by then: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee) receiue those that are Ciuill; for (sayth hee) you are in an ill Name: now hee said so, I can tell whereupon: for (sayes hee) you are an honest Woman, and well thought on; therefore take heede what Guests you receiue: Receiue (sayes hee) no swaggering Companions. There comes none heere. You would blesse you to heare what hee said. No, Ile no Swaggerers.
Falst. Hee's no Swaggerer (Hostesse:) a tame Cheater, hee: you may stroake him as gently, as a Puppie Greyhound: hee will not swagger with a Barbarie Henne, if her feathers turne backe in any shew of resistance. Call him vp (Drawer.)
Host. Cheater, call you him? I will barre no honest man my house, nor no Cheater: but I doe not loue swaggering; I am the worse when one sayes, swagger: Feele Masters, how I shake: looke you, I warrant you.
Dol. So you doe, Hostesse.
Host. Doe I? yea, in very truth doe I, if it were an Aspen Leafe: I cannot abide Swaggerers.
Enter Pistol, and Bardolph and his Boy.
Pist. 'Saue you, Sir Iohn.
Falst. Welcome Ancient Pistol. Here (Pistol) I charge you with a Cup of Sacke: doe you discharge vpon mine Hostesse.
Pist. I will discharge vpon her (Sir Iohn) with two Bullets.
Falst. She is Pistoll-proofe (Sir) you shall hardly offend her.
Host. Come, Ile drinke no Proofes, nor no Bullets: I will drinke no more then will doe me good, for no mans pleasure, I.
Pist. Then to you (Mistris Dorothie) I will charge you.
Dol. Charge me? I scorne you (scuruie Companion) what? you poore, base, rascally, cheating, lacke-Linnen-Mate: away you mouldie Rogue, away; I am meat for your Master.
Pist. I know you, Mistris Dorothie.
Dol. Away you Cut-purse Rascall, you filthy Bung, away: By this Wine, Ile thrust my Knife in your mouldie Chappes, if you play the sawcie Cuttle with me. Away you Bottle-Ale Rascall, you Basket-hilt stale Iugler, you. Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two Points on your shoulder? much.
Pist. I will murther your Ruffe, for this.
Host. No, good Captaine Pistol: not heere, sweete Captaine.
Dol. Captaine? thou abhominable damn'd Cheater, art thou not asham'd to be call'd Captaine? If Captaines were of my minde, they would trunchion you out, for taking their Names vpon you, before you haue earn'd them. You a Captaine? you slaue, for what? for tearing a poore Whores Ruffe in a Bawdy-house? Hee a Captaine? hang him Rogue, hee liues vpon mouldie stew'd-Pruines, and dry'de Cakes. A Captaine? These Villaines will make the word Captaine odious: Therefore Captaines had neede looke to it.
Bard. 'Pray thee goe downe, good Ancient.
Falst. Hearke thee hither, Mistris Dol.
Pist. Not I: I tell thee what, Corporall Bardolph, I could teare her: Ile be reueng'd on her.
Page. 'Pray thee goe downe.
Pist. Ile see her damn'd first: to Pluto's damn'd Lake, to the Infernall Deepe, where Erebus and Tortures vilde also. Hold Hooke and Line, say I: Downe: downe Dogges, downe Fates: haue wee not Hiren here?
Host. Good Captaine Peesel be quiet, it is very late:I beseeke you now, aggrauate your Choler.
Pist. These be good Humors indeede. Shall Pack-Horses, and hollow-pamper'd Iades of Asia, which cannot goe but thirtie miles a day, compare with Cæsar, and with Caniballs, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather damne them with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roare: shall wee fall foule for Toyes?
Host. By my troth Captaine, these are very bitter words.
Bard. Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to a Brawle anon.
Pist. Die men, like Dogges; giue Crownes like Pinnes: Haue we not Hiren here?
Host. On my word (Captaine) there's none such here. What the good-yere, doe you thinke I would denye her? I pray be quiet.
Pist. Then feed, and be fat (my faire Calipolis.) Come, giue me some Sack, Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contente. Feare wee broad-sides? No, let the Fiend giue fire: Giue me some Sack: and Sweet-heart lye thou there: Come wee to full Points here, and are et cetera's nothing?
Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet.
Pist. Sweet Knight, I kisse thy Neaffe: what? wee haue seene the seuen Starres.
Dol. Thrust him downe stayres, I cannot endure such a Fustian Rascall.
Pist. Thrust him downe stayres? know we not Galloway Nagges?
Fal. Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a shoue-groat shilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but speake nothing, hee shall be nothing here.
Bard. Come, get you downe stayres.
Pist. What? shall wee haue Incision? shall wee embrew? then Death rocke me asleepe, abridge my dolefull dayes: why then let grieuous, gastly, gaping Wounds, vntwin'd the Sisters three: Come Atropos, I say.
Host. Here's good stuffe toward.
Fal. Giue me my Rapier, Boy.
Dol. I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw.
Fal. Get you downe stayres.
Host. Here's a goodly tumult: Ile forsweare keeping house, before Ile be in these tirrits, and frights. So: Murther I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Weapons, put vp your naked Weapons.
Dol. I prethee Iack be quiet, the Rascall is gone: ah, you whorson little valiant Villaine, you.
Host. Are you not hurt i'th' Groyne? me thought hee made a shrewd Thrust at your Belly.
Fal. Haue you turn'd him out of doores?
Bard. Yes Sir: the Rascall's drunke: you haue hurt him (Sir) in the shoulder.
Fal. A Rascall to braue me.
Dol. Ah, you sweet little Rogue, you: alas, poore Apehow thou sweat'st? Come, let me wipe thy Face: Come on, you whorson Chops: Ah Rogue, I loue thee: Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth fiue of Agamemnon, and tenne times better then the nine Worthies: ah Villaine.
Fal. A rascally Slaue, I will tosse the Rogue in a Blanket.
Dol. Doe, if thou dar'st for thy heart: if thou doo'st,Ile canuas thee betweene a paire of Sheetes.
Enter Musique.
Page. The Musique is come, Sir.
Fal. Let them play: play Sirs. Sit on my Knee, Dol.A Rascall, bragging Slaue: the Rogue fled from me likeQuick-siluer.
Dol. And thou followd'st him like a Church: thouwhorson little tydie Bartholmew Bore-pigge, when wiltthou leaue fighting on dayes, and foyning on nights, andbegin to patch vp thine old Body for Heauen?
Enter the Prince and Poines disguis'd.
Fal. Peace (good Dol) doe not speake like a Deaths-head: doe not bid me remember mine end.
Dol. Sirrha, what humor is the Prince of?
Fal. A good shallow young fellow: hee would hauemade a good Pantler, hee would haue chipp'd Breadwell.
Dol. They say Poines hath a good Wit.
Fal. Hee a good Wit? hang him Baboone, his Wit isas thicke as Tewksburie Mustard: there is no more conceit in him, then is in a Mallet.
Dol. Why doth the Prince loue him so then?
Fal. Because their Legges are both of a bignesse: andhee playes at Quoits well, and eates Conger and Fennell,and drinkes off Candles ends for Flap-dragons, and ridesthe wilde-Mare with the Boyes, and iumpes vpon Ioyn'd-stooles, and sweares with a good grace, and weares hisBoot very smooth, like vnto the Signe of the Legge; andbreedes no bate with telling of discreete stories: and suchother Gamboll Faculties hee hath, that shew a weakeMinde, and an able Body, for the which the Prince admitshim; for the Prince himselfe is such another: theweight of an hayre will turne the Scales betweene theirHaber-de-pois.
Prince. Would not this Naue of a Wheele haue hisEares cut off?
Poin. Let vs beat him before his Whore.
Prince. Looke, if the wither'd Elder hath not his Pollclaw'd like a Parrot.
Poin. Is it not strange, that Desire should so manyyeeres out-liue performance?
Fal. Kisse me Dol.
Prince. Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction?What sayes the Almanack to that?
Poin. And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man,be not lisping to his Masters old Tables, his Note-Booke,his Councell-keeper?
Fal. Thou do'st giue me flatt'ring Busses.
Dol. Nay truely, I kisse thee with a most constant heart.
Fal. I am olde, I am olde.
Dol. I loue thee better, then I loue ere a scuruie youngBoy of them all.
Fal. What Stuffe wilt thou haue a Kirtle of? I shallreceiue Money on Thursday: thou shalt haue a Cappeto morrow. A merrie Song, come: it growes late,wee will to Bed. Thou wilt forget me, when I am gone.
Dol. Thou wilt set me a weeping, if thou say'st so:proue that euer I dresse my selfe handsome, till thy returne: well, hearken the end.
Fal. Some Sack, Francis.
Prin. Poin. Anon, anon, Sir.
Fal. Ha? a Bastard Sonne of the Kings? And art notthou Poines, his Brother?
Prince. Why thou Globe of sinfull Continents, whata life do'st thou lead?
Fal. A better then thou: I am a Gentleman, thou arta Drawer.
Prince. Very true, Sir: and I come to draw you outby the Eares.
Host. Oh, the Lord preserue thy good Grace: Welcome to London. Now Heauen blesse that sweete Faceof thine: what, are you come from Wales?
Fal. Thou whorson mad Compound of Maiestie: bythis light Flesh, and corrupt Blood, thou art welcome.
Dol. How? you fat Foole, I scorne you.
Poin. My Lord, hee will driue you out of your reuenge, and turne all to a merryment, if you take not the heat.
Prince. You whorson Candle-myne you, how vildlydid you speake of me euen now, before this honest, vertuous, ciuill Gentlewoman?
Host. 'Blessing on your good heart, and so shee is by my troth.
Fal. Didst thou heare me?
Prince. Yes: and you knew me, as you did when youranne away by Gads-hill: you knew I was at your back,and spoke it on purpose, to trie my patience.
Fal. No, no, no: not so: I did not thinke, thou wastwithin hearing.
Prince. I shall driue you then to confesse the wilfullabuse, and then I know how to handle you.
Fal. No abuse (Hall) on mine Honor, no abuse.
Prince. Not to disprayse me? and call me Pantler, andBread-chopper, and I know not what?
Fal. No abuse (Hal.)
Poin. No abuse?
Fal. No abuse (Ned) in the World: honest Ned none.I disprays'd him before the Wicked, that the Wickedmight not fall in loue with him: In which doing, I hauedone the part of a carefull Friend, and a true Subiect, andthy Father is to giue me thankes for it. No abuse (Hal:)none (Ned) none; no Boyes, none.
Prince. See now whether pure Feare, and entire Cowardise, doth not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentlewoman, to close with vs? Is shee of the Wicked? Is thineHostesse heere, of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of theWicked? Or honest Bardolph (whose Zeale burnes in hisNose) of the Wicked?
Poin. Answere thou dead Elme, answere.
Fal. The Fiend hath prickt downe Bardolph irrecoue-rable, and his Face is Lucifers Priuy-Kitchin, where heedoth nothing but rost Mault-Wormes: for the Boy,there is a good Angell about him, but the Deuill outbids him too.
Prince. For the Women?
Fal. For one of them, shee is in Hell alreadie, andburnes poore Soules: for the other, I owe her Money; and whether shee bee damn'd for that, I know not.
Host. No, I warrant you.
Fal. No, I thinke thou art not: I thinke thou art quitfor that. Marry, there is another Indictment vpon thee,for suffering flesh to bee eaten in thy house, contrary tothe Law, for the which I thinke thou wilt howle.
Host. All Victuallers doe so: What is a Ioynt ofMutton, or two, in a whole Lent?
Prince. You, Gentlewoman.
Dol. What sayes your Grace?
Falst. His Grace sayes that, which his flesh rebells against.
Host. Who knocks so lowd at doore? Looke to thedoore there, Francis?
Enter Peto.
Prince. Peto, how now? what newes?
Peto. The King, your Father, is at Westminster,And there are twentie weake and wearied Postes,Come from the North: and as I came along,I met, and ouer-tooke a dozen Captaines,Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the Tauernes,And asking euery one for Sir Iohn Falstaffe.
Prince. By Heauen (Poines) I feele me much to blame,So idly to prophane the precious time,When Tempest of Commotion, like the South,Borne with black Vapour, doth begin to melt,And drop vpon our bare vnarmed heads.Giue me my Sword, and Cloake:Exit.Falstaffe, good night.
Falst. Now comes in the sweetest Morsell of thenight, and wee must hence, and leaue it vnpickt. Moreknocking at the doore? How now? what's the matter?
Bard. You must away to Court, Sir, presently,A dozen Captaines stay at doore for you.
Falst. Pay the Musitians, Sirrha: farewell Hostesse,farewell Dol. You see (my good Wenches) how men ofMerit are sought after: the vndeseruer may sleepe, whenthe man of Action is call'd on. Farewell good Wenches:if I be not sent away poste, I will see you againe, ere I goe.
Dol. I cannot speake: if my heart bee not readieto burst—Well (sweete Iacke) haue a care of thy selfe.
Falst. Exit.Farewell, farewell.
Host. Well, fare thee well: I haue knowne theethese twentie nine yeeres, come Pescod-time: but anhonester, and truer-hearted man——— Well, fare thee well.
Bard. Mistris Teare-sheet.
Host. What's the matter?
Bard. Bid Mistris Teare-sheet come to my Master.
Host. Exeunt.Oh runne Dol, runne: runne, good Dol.