Document:  All > Shakespeare > Histories > King Henry IV, part II > Act II, scene IV

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	[Enter two Drawers]

First Drawer: What the devil hast thou brought there? apple-johns?
	thou knowest Sir John cannot endure an apple-john.

Second Drawer: Mass, thou sayest true. The prince once set a dish
	of apple-johns before him, and told him there were
	five more Sir Johns, and, putting off his hat, said
	'I will now take my leave of these six dry, round,
	old, withered knights.' It angered him to the
	heart: but he hath forgot that.

First Drawer: Why, then, cover, and set them down: and see if
	thou canst find out Sneak's noise; Mistress
	Tearsheet would fain hear some music. Dispatch: the
	room where they supped is too hot; they'll come in straight.

Second Drawer: Sirrah, here will be the prince and Master Poins
	anon; and they will put on two of our jerkins and
	aprons; and Sir John must not know of it: Bardolph
	hath brought word.

First Drawer: By the mass, here will be old Utis: it will be an
	excellent stratagem.

Second Drawer: I'll see if I can find out Sneak.



MISTRESS QUICKLY: I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an
	excellent good temperality: your pulsidge beats as
	extraordinarily as heart would desire; and your
	colour, I warrant you, is as red as any rose, in good
	truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too much
	canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine,
	and it perfumes the blood ere one can say 'What's
	this?' How do you now?

DOLL TEARSHEET: Better than I was: hem!

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Why, that's well said; a good heart's worth gold.
	Lo, here comes Sir John.


FALSTAFF: [Singing]  'When Arthur first in court,'
	--Empty the jordan.

	[Exit First Drawer]


	--'And was a worthy king.' How now, Mistress Doll!

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Sick of a calm; yea, good faith.

FALSTAFF: So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

DOLL TEARSHEET: You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

FALSTAFF: You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

DOLL TEARSHEET: I make them! gluttony and diseases make them; I
	make them not.

FALSTAFF: If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to
	make the diseases, Doll: we catch of you, Doll, we
	catch of you; grant that, my poor virtue grant that.

DOLL TEARSHEET: Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.

FALSTAFF: 'Your broaches, pearls, and ouches:' for to serve
	bravely is to come halting off, you know: to come
	off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to
	surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged
	chambers bravely,--

DOLL TEARSHEET: Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!

MISTRESS QUICKLY: By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never
	meet but you fall to some discord: you are both,
	i' good truth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; you
	cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What
	the good-year! one must bear, and that must be
	you: you are the weaker vessel, as they say, the
	emptier vessel.

DOLL TEARSHEET: Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full
	hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of
	Bourdeaux stuff in him; you have not seen a hulk
	better stuffed in the hold. Come, I'll be friends
	with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars; and
	whether I shall ever see thee again or no, there is
	nobody cares.

	[Re-enter First Drawer]

First Drawer: Sir, Ancient Pistol's below, and would speak with

DOLL TEARSHEET: Hang him, swaggering rascal! let him not come
	hither: it is the foul-mouthed'st rogue in England.

MISTRESS QUICKLY: If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by my
	faith; I must live among my neighbours: I'll no
	swaggerers: I am in good name and fame with the
	very best: shut the door; there comes no swaggerers
	here: I have not lived all this while, to have
	swaggering now: shut the door, I pray you.

FALSTAFF: Dost thou hear, hostess?

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Pray ye, pacify yourself, Sir John: there comes no
	swaggerers here.

FALSTAFF: Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Tilly-fally, Sir John, ne'er tell me: your ancient
	swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before Master
	Tisick, the debuty, t'other day; and, as he said to
	me, 'twas no longer ago than Wednesday last, 'I'
	good faith, neighbour Quickly,' says he; Master
	Dumbe, our minister, was by then; 'neighbour
	Quickly,' says he, 'receive those that are civil;
	for,' said he, 'you are in an ill name:' now a'
	said so, I can tell whereupon; 'for,' says he, 'you
	are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore
	take heed what guests you receive: receive,' says
	he, 'no swaggering companions.' There comes none
	here: you would bless you to hear what he said:
	no, I'll no swaggerers.

FALSTAFF: He's no swaggerer, hostess; a tame cheater, i'
	faith; you may stroke him as gently as a puppy
	greyhound: he'll not swagger with a Barbary hen, if
	her feathers turn back in any show of resistance.
	Call him up, drawer.

	[Exit First Drawer]

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my
	house, nor no cheater: but I do not love
	swaggering, by my troth; I am the worse, when one
	says swagger: feel, masters, how I shake; look you,
	I warrant you.

DOLL TEARSHEET: So you do, hostess.

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, an 'twere an aspen
	leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.

	[Enter PISTOL, BARDOLPH, and Page]

PISTOL: God save you, Sir John!

FALSTAFF: Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge
	you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess.

PISTOL: I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.

FALSTAFF: She is Pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets: I'll
	drink no more than will do me good, for no man's
	pleasure, I.

PISTOL: Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.

DOLL TEARSHEET: Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What!
	you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen
	mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for
	your master.

PISTOL: I know you, Mistress Dorothy.

DOLL TEARSHEET: Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away!
	by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy
	chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away,
	you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale
	juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? God's
	light, with two points on your shoulder? much!

PISTOL: God let me not live, but I will murder your ruff for this.

FALSTAFF: No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here:
	discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.

MISTRESS QUICKLY: No, Good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.

DOLL TEARSHEET: Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou
	not ashamed to be called captain? An captains were
	of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for
	taking their names upon you before you have earned
	them. You a captain! you slave, for what? for
	tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a
	captain! hang him, rogue! he lives upon mouldy
	stewed prunes and dried cakes. A captain! God's
	light, these villains will make the word as odious
	as the word 'occupy;' which was an excellent good
	word before it was ill sorted: therefore captains
	had need look to 't.

BARDOLPH: Pray thee, go down, good ancient.

FALSTAFF: Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.

	tear her: I'll be revenged of her.

Page: Pray thee, go down.

PISTOL: I'll see her damned first; to Pluto's damned lake,
	by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and
	tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I.
	Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have we not
	Hiren here?

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i'
	faith: I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.

PISTOL: These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack-horses
	And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
	Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,
	Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
	And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
	King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
	Shall we fall foul for toys?

MISTRESS QUICKLY: By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

BARDOLPH: Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to abrawl anon.

PISTOL: Die men like dogs! give crowns like pins! Have we
	not Heren here?

MISTRESS QUICKLY: O' my word, captain, there's none such here. What
	the good-year! do you think I would deny her? For
	God's sake, be quiet.

PISTOL: Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
	Come, give's some sack.
	'Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.'
	Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
	Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou there.

	[Laying down his sword]

	Come we to full points here; and are etceteras nothing?

FALSTAFF: Pistol, I would be quiet.

PISTOL: Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf: what! we have seen
	the seven stars.

DOLL TEARSHEET: For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I cannot
	endure such a fustian rascal.

PISTOL: Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?

FALSTAFF: Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
	shilling: nay, an a' do nothing but speak nothing,
	a' shall be nothing here.

BARDOLPH: Come, get you down stairs.

PISTOL: What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?

	[Snatching up his sword]

	Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
	Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
	Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Here's goodly stuff toward!

FALSTAFF: Give me my rapier, boy.

DOLL TEARSHEET: I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.

FALSTAFF: Get you down stairs.

	[Drawing, and driving PISTOL out]

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping
	house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights.
	So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up
	your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.


DOLL TEARSHEET: I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone.
	Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you!

MISTRESS QUICKLY: He you not hurt i' the groin? methought a' made a
	shrewd thrust at your belly.

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH]

FALSTAFF: Have you turned him out o' doors?

BARDOLPH: Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt him,
	sir, i' the shoulder.

FALSTAFF: A rascal! to brave me!

DOLL TEARSHEET: Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! alas, poor ape,
	how thou sweatest! come, let me wipe thy face;
	come on, you whoreson chops: ah, rogue! i'faith, I
	love thee: thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy,
	worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better than
	the Nine Worthies: ah, villain!

FALSTAFF: A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.

DOLL TEARSHEET: Do, an thou darest for thy heart: an thou dost,
	I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.

	[Enter Music]

Page: The music is come, sir.

FALSTAFF: Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Doll.
	A rascal bragging slave! the rogue fled from me
	like quicksilver.

DOLL TEARSHEET: I' faith, and thou followedst him like a church.
	Thou whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig,
	when wilt thou leave fighting o' days and foining
	o' nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

	[Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS, disguised]

FALSTAFF: Peace, good Doll! do not speak like a death's-head;
	do not bid me remember mine end.

DOLL TEARSHEET: Sirrah, what humour's the prince of?

FALSTAFF: A good shallow young fellow: a' would have made a
	good pantler, a' would ha' chipp'd bread well.

DOLL TEARSHEET: They say Poins has a good wit.

FALSTAFF: He a good wit? hang him, baboon! his wit's as thick
	as Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him
	than is in a mallet.

DOLL TEARSHEET: Why does the prince love him so, then?

FALSTAFF: Because their legs are both of a bigness, and a'
	plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel,
	and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons, and
	rides the wild-mare with the boys, and jumps upon
	joined-stools, and swears with a good grace, and
	wears his boots very smooth, like unto the sign of
	the leg, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet
	stories; and such other gambol faculties a' has,
	that show a weak mind and an able body, for the
	which the prince admits him: for the prince himself
	is such another; the weight of a hair will turn the
	scales between their avoirdupois.

PRINCE HENRY: Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

POINS: Let's beat him before his whore.

PRINCE HENRY: Look, whether the withered elder hath not his poll
	clawed like a parrot.

POINS: Is it not strange that desire should so many years
	outlive performance?

FALSTAFF: Kiss me, Doll.

PRINCE HENRY: Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what
	says the almanac to that?

POINS: And look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not
	lisping to his master's old tables, his note-book,
	his counsel-keeper.

FALSTAFF: Thou dost give me flattering busses.

DOLL TEARSHEET: By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

FALSTAFF: I am old, I am old.

DOLL TEARSHEET: I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young
	boy of them all.

FALSTAFF: What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive
	money o' Thursday: shalt have a cap to-morrow. A
	merry song, come: it grows late; we'll to bed.
	Thou'lt forget me when I am gone.

DOLL TEARSHEET: By my troth, thou'lt set me a-weeping, an thou
	sayest so: prove that ever I dress myself handsome
	till thy return: well, harken at the end.

FALSTAFF: Some sack, Francis.

	|  Anon, anon, sir.

	[Coming forward]

FALSTAFF: Ha! a bastard son of the king's? And art not thou
	Poins his brother?

PRINCE HENRY: Why, thou globe of sinful continents! what a life
	dost thou lead!

FALSTAFF: A better than thou: I am a gentleman; thou art a drawer.

PRINCE HENRY: Very true, sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears.

MISTRESS QUICKLY: O, the Lord preserve thy good grace! by my troth,
	welcome to London. Now, the Lord bless that sweet
	face of thine! O, Jesu, are you come from Wales?

FALSTAFF: Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light
	flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.

DOLL TEARSHEET: How, you fat fool! I scorn you.

POINS: My lord, he will drive you out of your revenge and
	turn all to a merriment, if you take not the heat.

PRINCE HENRY: You whoreson candle-mine, you, how vilely did you
	speak of me even now before this honest, virtuous,
	civil gentlewoman!

MISTRESS QUICKLY: God's blessing of your good heart! and so she is,
	by my troth.

FALSTAFF: Didst thou hear me?

PRINCE HENRY: Yea, and you knew me, as you did when you ran away
	by Gad's-hill: you knew I was at your back, and
	spoke it on purpose to try my patience.

FALSTAFF: No, no, no; not so; I did not think thou wast within hearing.

PRINCE HENRY: I shall drive you then to confess the wilful abuse;
	and then I know how to handle you.

FALSTAFF: No abuse, Hal, o' mine honour, no abuse.

PRINCE HENRY: Not to dispraise me, and call me pantier and
	bread-chipper and I know not what?

FALSTAFF: No abuse, Hal.

POINS: No abuse?

FALSTAFF: No abuse, Ned, i' the world; honest Ned, none. I
	dispraised him before the wicked, that the wicked
	might not fall in love with him; in which doing, I
	have done the part of a careful friend and a true
	subject, and thy father is to give me thanks for it.
	No abuse, Hal: none, Ned, none: no, faith, boys, none.

PRINCE HENRY: See now, whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth
	not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to
	close with us? is she of the wicked? is thine
	hostess here of the wicked? or is thy boy of the
	wicked? or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his
	nose, of the wicked?

POINS: Answer, thou dead elm, answer.

FALSTAFF: The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable;
	and his face is Lucifer's privy-kitchen, where he
	doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy,
	there is a good angel about him; but the devil
	outbids him too.

PRINCE HENRY: For the women?

FALSTAFF: For one of them, she is in hell already, and burns
	poor souls. For the other, I owe her money, and
	whether she be damned for that, I know not.

MISTRESS QUICKLY: No, I warrant you.

FALSTAFF: No, I think thou art not; I think thou art quit for
	that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee,
	for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house,
	contrary to the law; for the which I think thou wilt howl.

MISTRESS QUICKLY: All victuallers do so; what's a joint of mutton or
	two in a whole Lent?

PRINCE HENRY: You, gentlewoman,-

DOLL TEARSHEET: What says your grace?

FALSTAFF: His grace says that which his flesh rebels against.

	[Knocking within]

MISTRESS QUICKLY: Who knocks so loud at door? Look to the door there, Francis.

	[Enter PETO]

PRINCE HENRY: Peto, how now! what news?

PETO: The king your father is at Westminster:
	And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
	Come from the north: and, as I came along,
	I met and overtook a dozen captains,
	Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
	And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.

PRINCE HENRY: By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
	So idly to profane the precious time,
	When tempest of commotion, like the south
	Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
	And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
	Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.


FALSTAFF: Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and
	we must hence and leave it unpicked.

	[Knocking within]

	More knocking at the door!

	[Re-enter BARDOLPH]

	How now! what's the matter?

BARDOLPH: You must away to court, sir, presently;
	A dozen captains stay at door for you.

FALSTAFF: [To the Page]  Pay the musicians, sirrah. Farewell,
	hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches,
	how men of merit are sought after: the undeserver
	may sleep, when the man of action is called on.
	Farewell good wenches: if I be not sent away post,
	I will see you again ere I go.

DOLL TEARSHEET: I cannot speak; if my heart be not read to burst,--
	well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.

FALSTAFF: Farewell, farewell.


MISTRESS QUICKLY: Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these
	twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an
	honester and truer-hearted man,--well, fare thee well.

BARDOLPH: [Within]  Mistress Tearsheet!

MISTRESS QUICKLY: What's the matter?

BARDOLPH: [Within]  Good Mistress Tearsheet, come to my master.

MISTRESS QUICKLY: O, run, Doll, run; run, good Doll: come.

	[She comes blubbered]

	Yea, will you come, Doll?



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