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Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone ?
Lady. But hcar you, my Lord.
Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape! a weazel hath not
brother Mortimer doth stir About his Title, and hath sent for
you To line his enterprize: but if you go
Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love.
with mammets, and to tilt with lips.
Lady. Do ye not love me? do you not, indeed? Well, do not then. For, since you love me not, #mamucts,] i. 6. Girls.
I will not love myself. Do you not love me?
Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride?
I know you wise; but yet no further wise
But yet a woman; and for secresy,
Lady. How! so far?
Hot. Not an inch further. But hark
Changes to the Boar's-Head Tavern in East-cheap.
Enter Prince Henry and Poins. P. Henry. NED; pr’ythee come out of that fat room,
and lend me thy hand to laugh a little, Poins. Where haft been, Hal ?
P. Henry. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I have founded the
very base string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their Christian names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their conscience, that though I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the King of courtesy ; telling me flatly, I am no proud Jack, like Fatstaff, but
a Corinthian, a lad of mettle, a good boy: (by the Lord, so they call me ;) and when I am King of England, I shall command all the good lads.in East-cheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when you breathe in your watering, they cry, hem; and bid you play it off. To conclude, I am so 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, sweet Ned,-(to sweeten which name of Net, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, 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 shrill addition, Anon, anon, Sir; Score a pint of bastard in the half moon, or so.) But, Ned, to drive away the time till Falstaff come, I pr’ythee, do thou stand in some bye-room, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar, and do thou never leave calling Francis, that his tale to me may be nothing but, anon. Step aside, and I'll shew thee a precedent.
[Poins retires. Poins. Francis, P. Henry. Thou art perfect. Poins. Francis.
AN DOMramen, dini look down into the
P. Henry. Five years; by'rlady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and shew it a fair pair of heels, and run from it?
Fran. O Lord, Sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in
Fran. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be
P. Henry. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gavest 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.
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 tob this leathern-jerkin, crystalbutton, knot-pated, agat-ring, puke-stocking, caddice-garter, smooth-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 sully. In Barbary, Sir, it cannot come to so much.
Fran. What Sir ?
P. Henry. Away, you rogue, dost thou not hear them call ?
Here they both call; the drawer stands amazed,
Enter Vintner. Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'ft such a Calling? Look to the guests within. My lord, old Sir John with half a dozen more are at the door; shall 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 rest of the thieves are at the door; shall we be merry ?
Poins. As merry as Crickets, my lad. But hark ye, what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? come, what's the issue?
P. Henry. I am now of all humours, that have shew'd themselves humours, since the old days of goodman Adam, to the pupil age of this present twelve o'clock at midnight. What's o'clock, Francis ?
Fran. Anon, anon, Sir.
P. Henry. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a Parrot, and yet the son of a Woman! His industry is up stairs and down stairs; his eloquence the parcel of a recko.mig. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the hot-spur of the north ; he that kills me some six 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 sweet Harry, says she, how many halt thou kill'd' to day? Give my roan horse a drench, says he, and answers, some fourteen, an hour after; á trifle, a trifle. I pr’ythee, call in Falstaff; l'll play Percy, and that damn'd Brawn fhall play dame Mortimer his wife. Ribi, says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.