ready upon their confcience, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of courtefie; telling me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy: (by the Lord, fo they call me ;) and when I am King of England, I fhall command all the good lads in Eaft-cheap. They call drinking deep, dying fcarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry, hem! and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am fo good a proficient in one quarter of an hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own language during my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou haft loft much honour, that thou wert not with me in this action; but, fweet Ned,- (to fweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of fugar, clapt even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life, than Eight Shillings and Six Pence, and You are welcome, Sir: with this fhrill addition, Anon, anon, Sir; Score a pint of baftard in the half moon, or fo.) But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr'ythee, do thou stand in fome bye-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the fugar; and do thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but, anon. Step afide, and I'll fhew thee a precedent. [Poins retires.

Poins. Francis,

P. Henry. Thou art perfect.

Poins. Francis.

SCENE VIII.

Enter Francis the drawer.

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir; look down into the pomgranet, Ralph.

P. Henry. Come hither, Francis.

Fran. My lord.

P. Henry. How long haft thou to serve, Francis?

Fran.

Fran. Forfooth, five years, and as much as toPoins. Francis,

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry. Five years; by'rlady, along leafe for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, dareft thou be fo valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and fhew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?

Fran. O lord, Sir, I'll be fworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart—

Poins. Francis,

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry. How old art thou, Francis?

Fran. Let me fee, about Michaelmas next I fhall be

Poins. Francis,

Fran. Anon, Sir; pray you ftay a little, my lord. P. Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gaveft me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not? Fran. O lord, I would it had been two.

P. Henry. I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it, Poins. Francis,

Fran. Anon, anon.

P. Henry. Anon, Francis? no, Francis, but to morrow, Francis, or Francis, on Thursday; or, indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,

Fran. My lord?

P. Henry. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystalbutton, knot-pated, agat-ring, puke-stocking, caddicegarter, fmooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch.

Fran. O lord, Sir, who do you mean?

P. Henry. Why then your brown bastard is your only drink; for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will fully. In Barbary, Sir, it cannot come to fo much.

Fran. What, Sir?
Poins. Francis,

P. Henry.

K 3

P. Henry. Away, you rogue, doft thou not héar them call?

Here they both call; the drawer ftands amazed, not knowing which way to go.

Enter Vintner.

Vint. What, ftand'st thou ftill, and hear'ft fuch a Calling? Look to the guests within. My lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door; fhall I let them in?

P. Henry. Let them alone a while, and then open the door. Poins, [Exit Vintner.

Enter Poins.

Poins. Anon, anon, Sir;

P. Henry. Sirrah, Falstaff and the reft of the thieves are at the door; fhall we be merry?

Poins. As merry as Crickets, my lad. But hark ye, what cunning match have you made with this jeft of the drawer? come, what's the iffue?

P. Henry. I am now of all humours, that have fhew'd themselves humours, fince the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this prefent twelve o'clock at midnight. What's o'clock, Francis?

Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.

P. Henry. That ever this fellow fhould have fewer words than a Parrot, and yet the fon of a Woman!His industry is up ftairs and down ftairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the hot-spur of the north; he that kills me fome fix or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands and fays to his wife, "fie upon this quiet life! I want work. "O my fweet Harry, fays the, how many haft thou kill'd to day? "Give my roan horfe a drench, fays he, and answers, fome fourteen, an hour after; a trifle, a trifle. I pr'ythee, call in FalStaff; I'll play Percy, and that damn'd Brawn fhall

play

play dame Mortimer his wife. (a) Ribi, fays the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.

Enter Falstaff, Gads-hill, Bardolph, and Peto. Poins. Welcome, Jack; where haft thou been? Fal. A plague of all cowards, I fay, and a vengeance too, marry and Amen! Give me a cup of fack, boy- Ere I lead this life long, I'll fow nether focks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of fack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? He drinks. P. Henry. Didft thou never see Titan kifs a difh of butter? (pitiful-hearted Titan!) that melted at the fweet tale of the Sun? if thou didft, then behold that compound.

2

Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this fack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man;

yet

2 Did thou never fee Titan kifs a dish of butter? pitifulhearted Titan! that melted at the fweet tale of the Sun?] This perplexes Mr. Theobald; he calls it nonfenfe, and indeed, having made nonfenfe of it, changes it to pitiful-hearted Butter. But the common reading is right: And all that wants restoring is a parenthefis into which (pitiful hearted Titan!) fhould be put. Pitiful-hearted means only amorous, which was Titan's character : the pronoun that refers to butter. But the Oxford Editor goes ftill further, and not only takes without ceremony, Mr. Theobald's bread and butter, but turns tale into face; not perceiving that the heat of the Sun is figuratively reprefented as a love-tale, the poet having before called him pitiful-hearted, or amorous.

3 here's lime in this fack too; there is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man ;] Sir Richard Hawkins, one of Queen Elizabeth's fea-captains, in his voyages, p. 379. fays, Since the Spanish Jacks have been common in our taverns, which for confer vation are mingled with lime in the making, our nation complains of calentures, of the ftone, the dropfy, and infinite other diffempers not heard of before this wine came into frequent use. Befides, there

[(e) Ribi. Oxford Editor.-Vulg. Rivo.]

K4

is

yet a coward is worse than a cup of fack with lime in it. A villainous coward-Go thy ways, old Jack, die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a fhotten herring: there live not three good men unhang'd in England, and one of them is fat, and grows old, God help, the while! a bad world; I fay. I would, I were a weaver; I could fing pfalms, and all manner of fongs. A plague of all cowards, I fay ftill!

P. Henry. How now, Woolfack, what mutter you? Fal. A King's fon? if I do not beat thee out of thy Kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy Subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geefe, I'll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales? P. Henry. Why, you whorfon round man! what's the matter?

Fal. Are you not a coward? answer me to that, and Poins there?

P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll ftab thee.

is no year that it wafteth not two millions of crowns of our subfance by conveyance into foreign countries. This latter, indeed, was a fubftantial evil. But as to lime's giving the ftone, this fure must be only the good old man's prejudice; fince in a wifer age by far, an old woman made her fortune, by fhewing us that lime was a cure for the flone. Sir John Falfaff, were he alive again, would say she deserved it, for fatisfying us that we might drink fack in fafety: But that liquor has been long fince out of date. I think Lord Clarendon, in his Apology, tells us, That fweet wines before the Refloration, were fo much to the English tafle, that we engroffed the whole product of the Canaries; and that not a pipe of it was expended in any other country in Europe. But the banished Cavaliers brought home with them the gouft for French wines, which has continued ever fince; and from whence, perhaps, we may more truly date the greater frequency of the fone.

4 I would, I were a weaver; I could fing pfalms, &c.] In the perfecutions of the proteftants in Flanders under Philip II. those who came over into England on that occafion, brought with them the woollen manufactory. Thefe were Calvinifts, who were always diftinguished for their love of pfalmody.

Fal.