No More Learning

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have more
anon.
Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?
Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in buckram
that I told thee of-
Prince. So, two more already.
Fal. Their points being broken-
Poins. Down fell their hose.
Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in,
foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid.
Prince. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!
Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves in
Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was so
dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.
Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them- gross as
a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou
knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-
Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?
Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green when
it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your
reason. What sayest thou to this?
Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Fal. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado or
all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion.
Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful as
blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion, I.
Prince. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine
coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill
of flesh-
Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath to
utter what is like thee! - you tailor's yard, you sheath, you
bowcase, you vile standing tuck!
Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when thou
hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.
Poins. Mark, Jack.
Prince. We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and were
masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put you
down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word, outfac'd
you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you here
in the house. And, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as
nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and still
run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. What a slave art thou
to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in
fight! What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou now
find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?
Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?
Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why, hear
you, my masters. Was it for me to kill the heir apparent? Should
I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as valiant as
Hercules; but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the true
prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on
instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee, during my
life- I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But, by
the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap to
the doors. Watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads, boys,
hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to you!
What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?
Prince. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away.
Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

Enter Hostess.

Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince!
Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me?
Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door
would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.
Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him
back again to my mother.
Fal. What manner of man is he?
Host. An old man.
Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him
his answer?
Prince. Prithee do, Jack.
Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing.
Exit.
Prince. Now, sirs. By'r Lady, you fought fair; so did you, Peto; so
did you, Bardolph. You are lions too, you ran away upon instinct,
you will not touch the true prince; no- fie!
Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so
hack'd?
Peto. Why, he hack'd it with his dagger, and said he would swear
truth out of England but he would make you believe it was done in
fight, and persuaded us to do the like.
Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them
bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear it
was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven year
before- I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.
Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago
and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blush'd
extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou
ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?
Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these
exhalations?
Prince. I do.
Bard. What think you they portend?
Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.
Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter.

Enter Falstaff.

Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet
creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou sawest
thine own knee?
Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an
eagle's talent in the waist; I could have crept into any
alderman's thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a
man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad. Here was
Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the
morning. That same mad fellow of the North, Percy, and he of
Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold,
and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh
hook- what a plague call you him?
Poins. O, Glendower.
Fal. Owen, Owen- the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old
Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that
runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular-
Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a
sparrow flying.
Fal. You have hit it.
Prince. So did he never the sparrow.
Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.
Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for
running!
Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a foot.
Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one
Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n away
to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news; you
may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.
Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and this
civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy
hobnails, by the hundreds.
Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall have
good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible
afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee out
three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit
Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly afraid?
Doth not thy blood thrill at it?
Prince. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct.
Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou comest to
thy father. If thou love me, practise an answer.
Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the
particulars of my life.
Fal. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this dagger my
sceptre, and this cushion my, crown.
Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden sceptre
for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful
bald crown.
Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt
thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red,
that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion,
and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.
Prince. Well, here is my leg.
Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.
Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!
Fal.
Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!
Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as
ever I see!
Fal. Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain. - Harry, I do
not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou
art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is trodden
on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the
sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy mother's
word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of
thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth
warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point: why,
being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of
heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to be
ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses? A
question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast
often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name
of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile;
so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not speak
to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in passion;
not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a virtuous
man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his
name.
Prince. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?
Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful
look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I think,
his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore; and
now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should be
lewdly, given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his
looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit
by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in
that Falstaff. Him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now,
thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?
Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll
play my father.
Fal. Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically,
both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a
rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.
Prince. Well, here I am set.
Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters.
Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you?
Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for a
young prince, i' faith.
Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on me.
Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil
haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man is
thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours,
that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of
dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of
guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly,
that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that
vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink
it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it?
wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany?
wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in
nothing?
Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your
Grace?
Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff,
that old white-bearded Satan.
Fal. My lord, the man I know.
Prince. I know thou dost.
Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to say
more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his white
hairs do witness it; but that he is (saving your reverence) a
whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault,
God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then many
an old host that I know is damn'd. If to be fat be to be hated,
then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord.
Banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet Jack
Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack
Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old Jack
Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy
Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!
Prince. I do, I will. [A knocking heard. ]
[Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph. ]

Enter Bardolph, running.

Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch
is at the door.
Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in the
behalf of that Falstaff.

Enter the Hostess.

Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord!
Prince. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick!
What's the matter?
Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are come
to search the house. Shall I let them in?
Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a
counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so.
Prince. And thou a natural coward without instinct.
Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if not,
let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man, a
plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled
with a halter as another.
Prince. Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above.
Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.
Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and therefore
I'll hide me. Exit.
Prince. Call in the sheriff.
[Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto. ]

Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.

Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?
Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath followed certain men unto this house.
Prince. What men?
Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord-
A gross fat man.
Carrier. As fat as butter.
Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here,
For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
That I will by to-morrow dinner time
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For anything he shall be charg'd withal;
And so let me entreat you leave the house.
Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
Prince. It may be so. If he have robb'd these men,
He shall be answerable; and so farewell.
Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not?
Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
Exit [with Carrier].
Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go call him
forth.
Peto. Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a
horse.
Prince. Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.
He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers.
What hast thou found?
Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.
Prince. Let's see whit they be. Read them.

Peto. [reads] 'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . . ii s. ii d.
Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . . iiii d.
Item, Sack two gallons . . .