Act I, Scene ii:
The same. An Apartment of Prince Henry's.

[Enter Prince Henry and Falstaff.]

FAL.:

Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?

PRINCE.:

Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and

unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches

after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which

thou wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the

time of the day? unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes

capons, and the blessed Sun himself a fair hot wench in

flame-coloured taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be

so superfluous to demand the time of the day.

FAL.:

Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses go

by the Moon and the seven stars, and not by Phoebus,—he, that

wandering knight so fair. And I pr'ythee, sweet wag, when thou

art king,—as, God save thy Grace—Majesty I should say, for

grace

thou wilt have none,—

PRINCE.:

What, none?

FAL.:

No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue

to an egg and butter.

PRINCE.:

Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.

FAL.:

Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that

are squires of the night's body be called thieves of the day's

beauty: let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade,

minions of the Moon; and let men say we be men of good

government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and

chaste mistress the Moon, under whose countenance we steal.

PRINCE.:

Thou say'st well, and it holds well too; for the fortune of

us that are the Moon's men doth ebb and flow like the sea,

being governed, as the sea is, by the Moon. As, for proof, now: A

purse of gold most resolutely snatch'd on Monday night, and most

dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing Lay by,

and spent with crying Bring in; now ill as low an ebb as the foot

of the ladder, and by-and-by in as high a flow as the ridge of the

gallows.

FAL.:

By the Lord, thou say'st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the

tavern a most sweet wench?

PRINCE.:

As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a

buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?

FAL.:

How now, how now, mad wag! what, in thy quips and thy

quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?

PRINCE.:

Why, what a pox have I to do with my hostess of the tavern?

FAL.:

Well, thou hast call'd her to a reckoning many a time and oft.

PRINCE.:

Did I ever call for thee to pay thy part?

FAL.:

No; I'll give thee thy due, thou hast paid all there.

PRINCE.:

Yea, and elsewhere, so far as my coin would stretch;

and where it would not, I have used my credit.

FAL.:

Yea, and so used it, that, were it not here apparent that

thou art heir-apparent—But I pr'ythee, sweet wag, shall there be

gallows standing in England when thou art king? and

resolution thus fobb'd as it is with the rusty curb of old father

antic the law? Do not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.

PRINCE.:

No; thou shalt.

FAL.:

Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.

PRINCE.:

Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have the

hanging of the thieves, and so become a rare hangman.

FAL.:

Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my humour;

as well as waiting in the Court, I can tell you.

PRINCE.:

For obtaining of suits?

FAL.:

Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman hath no

lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy as a gib-cat or a

lugg'd bear.

PRINCE.:

Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.

FAL.:

Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.

PRINCE.:

What say'st thou to a hare, or the melancholy of Moor-ditch?

FAL.:

Thou hast the most unsavoury similes, and art, indeed, the

most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young prince,—But, Hal, I

pr'ythee trouble me no more with vanity. I would to God thou and

I knew where a commodity of good names were to be bought. An old

lord of the Council rated me the other day in the street about you,

sir,—but I mark'd him not; and yet he talk'd very wisely,—but I

regarded him not; and yet he talk'd wisely, and in the street too.

PRINCE.:

Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the streets, and no man

regards it.

FAL.:

O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art, indeed, able to corrupt

a saint.

Thou hast done much harm upon me, Hal; God forgive thee for it!

Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man

should speak truly, little better than one of the wicked. I must

give over this life, and I will give it over; by the Lord, an I do

not, I am a villain: I'll be damn'd for never a king's son in

Christendom.

PRINCE.:

Where shall we take a purse to-morrow, Jack?

FAL.:

Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I'll make one: an I do not, call

me villain, and baffle me.

PRINCE.:

I see a good amendment of life in thee,—from praying to

purse-taking.

FAL.:

Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a man to labour

in his vocation.

[Enter Pointz.]

—Pointz!—Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a match. O, if

men were to be saved by merit, what hole in Hell were hot enough

for him? This is the most omnipotent villain that ever cried

Stand! to a true man.

PRINCE.:

Good morrow, Ned.

POINTZ.:

Good morrow, sweet Hal.—What says Monsieur Remorse? what

says Sir John Sack-and-sugar? Jack, how agrees the Devil and

thee about thy soul, that thou soldest him on Good-Friday last

for a cup of Madeira and a cold capon's leg?

PRINCE.:

Sir John stands to his word,—the Devil shall have his bargain;

for he was never yet a breaker of proverbs,—he will give the

Devil his due.

POINTZ.:

Then art thou damn'd for keeping thy word with the Devil.

PRINCE.:

Else he had been damn'd for cozening the Devil.

POINTZ.:

But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four o'clock,

early at Gads-hill! there are pilgrims gong to Canterbury

with rich offerings, and traders riding to London with fat

purses: I have visards for you all; you have horses for

yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke

supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap: we may do it as secure as

sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of crowns;

if you will not, tarry at home and be hang'd.

FAL.:

Hear ye, Yedward; if I tarry at home and go not, I'll hang you

for going.

POINTZ.:

You will, chops?

FAL.:

Hal, wilt thou make one?

PRINCE.:

Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.

FAL.:

There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee,

nor thou camest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not stand

for ten shillings.

PRINCE.:

Well, then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.

FAL.:

Why, that's well said.

PRINCE.:

Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.

FAL.:

By the Lord, I'll be a traitor, then, when thou art king.

PRINCE.:

I care not.

POINTZ.:

Sir John, I pr'ythee, leave the Prince and me alone: I will

lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.

FAL.:

Well, God give thee the spirit of persuasion, and him the ears

of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he

hears may be believed, that the true Prince may, for recreation-

sake, prove a false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want

countenance. Farewell; you shall find me in Eastcheap.

PRINCE.:

Farewell, thou latter Spring! farewell, All-hallown Summer!

[Exit Falstaff.]

POINTZ.:

Now, my good sweet honey-lord, ride with us to-morrow: I

have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff,

Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill, shall rob those men that we have

already waylaid: yourself and I will not be there; and when they

have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head off

from my shoulders.

PRINCE.:

But how shall we part with them in setting forth?

POINTZ.:

Why, we will set forth before or after them, and appoint them

a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail; and

then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which they

shall have no sooner achieved but we'll set upon them.

PRINCE.:

Ay, but 'tis like that they will know us by our horses, by our

habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

POINTZ.:

Tut! our horses they shall not see,—I'll tie them in the wood;

our visards we will change, after we leave them; and, sirrah, I

have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our noted

outward garments.

PRINCE.:

But I doubt they will be too hard for us.

POINTZ.:

Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred

cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight

longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of

this jest will be, the incomprehensible lies that this same fat

rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at least,

he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he

endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.

PRINCE.:

Well, I'll go with thee: provide us all things necessary and

meet me to-night in Eastcheap; there I'll sup. Farewell.

POINTZ.:

Farewell, my lord.

[Exit.]

PRINCE.:

I know you all, and will awhile uphold

The unyok'd humour of your idleness:

Yet herein will I imitate the Sun,

Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

To smother-up his beauty from the world,

That, when he please again to be himself,

Being wanted, he may be more wonder'd at,

By breaking through the foul and ugly mists

Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.

If all the year were playing holidays,

To sport would be as tedious as to work;

But, when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,

And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.

So, when this loose behaviour I throw off,

And pay the debt I never promised,

By how much better than my word I am,

By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;

And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,

My reformation, glittering o'er my fault,

Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes

Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

I'll so offend, to make offence a skill;

Redeeming time, when men think least I will.

[Exit.]