Shakespeare's First Folio Part 292

Prin. Wilt thou rob this Leatherne Ierkin, Christall b.u.t.ton, Not-pated, Agat ring, Puke stocking, Caddice garter, Smooth tongue, Spanish pouch

Fran. O Lord sir, who do you meane?

Prin. Why then your browne b.a.s.t.a.r.d is your onely drinke: for looke you Francis, your white Canuas doublet will sulley. In Barbary sir, it cannot come to so much

Fran. What sir?

Poin. Francis

Prin. Away you Rogue, dost thou heare them call?

Heere they both call him, the Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling?

Looke to the Guests within: My Lord, olde Sir Iohn with halfe a dozen more, are at the doore: shall I let them in?

Prin. Let them alone awhile, and then open the doore.

Poines.

Enter Poines.

Poin. Anon, anon sir

Prin. Sirra, Falstaffe and the rest of the Theeues, are at the doore, shall we be merry?

Poin. As merrie as Crickets my Lad. But harke yee, What cunning match haue you made this iest of the Drawer? Come, what's the issue?

Prin. I am now of all humors, that haue shewed themselues humors, since the old dayes of goodman Adam, to the pupill age of this present twelue a clock at midnight.

What's a clocke Francis?

Fran. Anon, anon sir

Prin. That euer this Fellow should haue fewer words then a Parret, and yet the sonne of a Woman. His industry is vp-staires and down-staires, his eloquence the parcell of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percies mind, the Hotspurre of the North, he that killes me some sixe or seauen dozen of Scots at a Breakfast, washes his hands, and saies to his wife; Fie vpon this quiet life, I want worke. O my sweet Harry sayes she, how many hast thou kill'd to day?

Giue my Roane horse a drench (sayes hee) and answeres, some fourteene, an houre after: a trifle, a trifle. I prethee call in Falstaffe, Ile play Percy, and that d.a.m.n'd Brawne shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. Riuo, sayes the drunkard.

Call in Ribs, call in Tallow.

Enter Falstaffe.

Poin. Welcome Iacke, where hast thou beene?

Fal. A plague of all Cowards I say, and a Vengeance too, marry and Amen. Giue me a cup of Sacke Boy. Ere I leade this life long, Ile sowe nether stockes, and mend them too. A plague of all cowards. Giue me a Cup of Sacke, Rogue. Is there no Vertue extant?

Prin. Didst thou neuer see t.i.tan kisse a dish of b.u.t.ter, pittifull hearted t.i.tan that melted at the sweete Tale of the Sunne? If thou didst, then behold that compound

Fal. You Rogue, heere's Lime in this Sacke too: there is nothing but Roguery to be found in Villanous man; yet a Coward is worse then a Cup of Sack with lime. A villanous Coward, go thy wayes old Iacke, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood be not forgot vpon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten Herring: there liues not three good men vnhang'd in England, & one of them is fat, and growes old, G.o.d helpe the while, a bad world I say. I would I were a Weauer, I could sing all manner of songs. A plague of all Cowards, I say still

Prin. How now Woolsacke, what mutter you?

Fal. A Kings Sonne? If I do not beate thee out of thy Kingdome with a dagger of Lath, and driue all thy Subiects afore thee like a flocke of Wilde-geese, Ile neuer weare haire on my face more. You Prince of Wales?

Prin. Why you horson round man? what's the matter?

Fal. Are you not a Coward? Answer me to that, and Poines there?

Prin. Ye fat paunch, and yee call mee Coward, Ile stab thee

Fal. I call thee Coward? Ile see thee d.a.m.n'd ere I call the Coward: but I would giue a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your backe: Call you that backing of your friends? a plague vpon such backing: giue me them that will face me. Giue me a Cup of Sack, I am a Rogue if I drunke to day

Prin. O Villaine, thy Lippes are scarce wip'd, since thou drunk'st last

Falst. All's one for that.

He drinkes.

A plague of all Cowards still, say I

Prince. What's the matter?

Falst. What's the matter? here be foure of vs, haue ta'ne a thousand pound this Morning

Prince. Where is it, Iack? where is it?

Falst. Where is it? taken from vs, it is: a hundred vpon poore foure of vs

Prince. What, a hundred, man?

Falst. I am a Rogue, if I were not at halfe Sword with a dozen of them two houres together. I haue scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the Doublet, foure through the Hose, my Buckler cut through and through, my Sword hackt like a Hand-saw, ecce signum.

I neuer dealt better since I was a man: all would not doe.

A plague of all Cowards: let them speake; if they speake more or lesse then truth, they are villaines, and the sonnes of darknesse

Prince. Speake sirs, how was it?

Gad. We foure set vpon some dozen

Falst. Sixteene, at least, my Lord

Gad. And bound them

Peto. No, no, they were not bound

Falst. You Rogue, they were bound, euery man of them, or I am a Iew else, an Ebrew Iew

Gad. As we were sharing, some sixe or seuen fresh men set vpon vs

Falst. And vnbound the rest, and then come in the other

Prince. What, fought yee with them all?

Falst. All? I know not what yee call all: but if I fought not with fiftie of them, I am a bunch of Radish: if there were not two or three and fiftie vpon poore olde Iack, then am I no two-legg'd Creature

Poin. Pray Heauen, you haue not murthered some of them

Falst. Nay, that's past praying for, I haue pepper'd two of them: Two I am sure I haue payed, two Rogues in Buckrom Sutes. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a Lye, spit in my face, call me Horse: thou knowest my olde word: here I lay, and thus I bore my point; foure Rogues in Buckrom let driue at me

Prince. What, foure? thou sayd'st but two, euen now

Falst. Foure Hal, I told thee foure

Poin. I, I, he said foure

Falst. These foure came all a-front, and mainely thrust at me; I made no more adoe, but tooke all their seuen points in my Targuet, thus

Prince. Seuen? why there were but foure, euen now

Falst. In buckrom