Henry IV, Part I William Shakespeare (best book series to read TXT) 📖
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- Author: William Shakespeare
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prithee, do thou stand in some by-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 show thee a precedent.
Poins
Francis!
Prince
Thou art perfect.
Poins
Francis! Exit Poins.
Enter Francis.
Francis
Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
Prince
Come hither, Francis.
Francis
My lord?
Prince
How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Francis
Forsooth, five years, and as much as to—
Poins
Within. Francis!
Francis
Anon, anon, sir.
Prince
Five year! by’r lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels and run from it?
Francis
O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart.
Poins
Within. Francis!
Francis
Anon, sir.
Prince
How old art thou, Francis?
Francis
Let me see—about Michaelmas next I shall be—
Poins
Within. Francis!
Francis
Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.
Prince
Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me, ’twas a pennyworth, wast’t not?
Francis
O Lord, I would it had been two!
Prince
I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.
Poins
Within. Francis!
Francis
Anon, anon.
Prince
Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, o’ Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis!
Francis
My lord?
Prince
Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch—
Francis
O Lord, sir, who do you mean?
Prince
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.
Francis
What, sir?
Poins
Within. Francis!
Prince
Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call? Here they both call him; the drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go.
Enter Vintner.
Vintner
What, standest thou still, and hearest such a calling? Look to the guests within. Exit Francis. My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozen more, are at the door: shall I let them in?
Prince
Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. Exit Vintner. Poins!
Re-enter Poins.
Poins
Anon, anon, sir.
Prince
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?
Prince
I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o’clock at midnight.
Re-enter Francis.
What’s o’clock, Francis?
Francis
Anon, anon, sir. Exit.
Prince
That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs and downstairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy’s mind, the Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says to his wife “Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.” “O my sweet Harry,” says she, “how many hast thou killed to-day?” “Give my roan horse a drench,” says he; and answers “some fourteen,” an hour after; “a trifle, a trifle.” I prithee, call in Falstaff: I’ll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. “Rivo!” says the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.
Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto; Francis following with wine.
Poins
Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been?
Falstaff
A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy. Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew nether stocks and mend them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? He drinks.
Prince
Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun’s! if thou didst, then behold that compound.
Falstaff
You rogue, here’s lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man: yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A villanous 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 shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still.
Prince
How now, wool-sack! what mutter you?
Falstaff
A king’s son! 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-geese, I’ll never wear hair on my face more. You Prince of Wales!
Prince
Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter?
Falstaff
Are not you a coward? answer me to that: and Poins there?
Poins
’Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab thee.
Falstaff
I call thee coward! I’ll see thee damned ere I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back: call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me. Give me a cup of sack: I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day.
Prince
O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last.
Falstaff
All’s one for that. He drinks. A plague of all cowards, still say I.
Prince
What’s
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