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grass, 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 monstrous devices.
P. Hen. 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 ?
P. Hen. I do.
Re-enter Falstaff. Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet creature of bombast 44 ? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou saw'st thine own knee?
Fal. My own knee? when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon 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 villainous 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 Amaimon 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. 0, Glendower.
Fal. Owen, Owen; the same;—and his son-inlaw, Mortimer; and old Northumberland; and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o’horseback up a hill perpendicular.
P. Hen. He that rides at high speed, and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying 4s.
Fal. You have hit it.
Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run.
P. Hen. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running?
Fal. O'horseback, ye cuckoo! but, afoot, he will not budge a foot.
P. Hen. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps 46 more: Worcester is stolen away to night: thy father's beard is turned white with the news; you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackarel 47.
P. Hen. Why then, 'tis like, if there come a hot June, and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.
Fal. By the mass, lad, thou say'st true; it is like we shall have good trading that way.-But, tell me, Hal, art thou not horribly 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?
P. Hen. 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 me, practise an answer.
P. Hen. 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 scepter, and this cushion my crown.
P. Hen. Thy state is taken for a joint-stool, thy golden scepter 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 mine 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.
P. Hen. Well, here is my leg.48
Fal. And here is my speech:-Stand aside, nobility.
Host. This is excellent sport, i'faith.
are vain. Host. O the father, how he holds his countenance! Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful
For tears do stop the flood gates of her eyes.
Host. O rare! he doth it as like one of these harlotry players, as I ever see.
Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good ticklebrain. -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 villainous 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, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher+), and eat blackberries? a question not to be ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take purses? a question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest : for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion: not in words only, but in woes also:-And yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name.
P. Hen. What manner of man, an it like your majesty ?
Fal. A good portly man, i'faith, and a corpulent;
woes als, but in p