fight! What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou now

find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?
Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?

Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear
you, my masters. Was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should

I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as
Hercules; but bewareinstinct. The lion will not touch the true

prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on
instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my

life- I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by
the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to

the doors. Watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys,
hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you!

What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?
Prince. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away.

Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!
Enter Hostess.

Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince!
Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me?

Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door
would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.

Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him
back again to my mother.

Fal. What manner of man is he?
Host. An old man.

Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him
his answer?

Prince. Prithee do, Jack.
Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing.

Exit.
Prince. Now, sirs. By'r Lady, you fought fair; so did you, Peto; so

did you, Bardolph. You are lions too, you ran away upon instinct,
you will not touch the true prince; no- fie!

Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so

hack'd?
Peto. Why, he hack'd it with his dagger, and said he would swear

truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in
fight, and persuaded us to do the like.

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them
bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear it

was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven year
before- I blush'd to hear his monstrousdevices.

Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago
and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blush'd

extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou
ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these
exhalations?

Prince. I do.
Bard. What think you they portend?

Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter.
Enter Falstaff.

Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet
creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest

thine own knee?
Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an

eagle's talent in the waist; I could have crept into any
alderman's thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a

man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad. Here was
Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the

morning. That same mad fellow of the North, Percy, and he of
Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold,

and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh
hook- what a plague call you him?

Poins. O, Glendower.
Fal. Owen, Owen- the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old

Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that
runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular-

Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a
sparrow flying.

Fal. You have hit it.
Prince. So did he never the sparrow.

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.
Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for

running!
Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a foot.

Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one

Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n away
to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news; you

may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.
Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and this

civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy
hobnails, by the hundreds.

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall have
good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible

afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out
three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit

Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid?
Doth not thy blood thrill at it?

Prince. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct.
Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to

thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer.
Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the

particulars of my life.
Fal. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this dagger my

sceptre, and this cushion my, crown.
Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden sceptre

for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful
bald crown.

Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt
thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red,

that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion,
and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.

Prince. Well, here is my leg.
Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.

Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!
Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.

Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!
Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!

For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as

ever I see!
Fal. Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain.- Harry, I do

not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou
art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is trodden

on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the
sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy mother's

word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of
thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth

warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point: why,