Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,3- K. Hen. The earl of Westmoreland set forth to day; With him my son, lord John of Lancaster; Our business valued, some twelve days hence 4 SCENE III, [Exeunt. Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's Head Tavern. Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH. Fal. Bardolph, am I not fallen away vilely since 3 Lord Mortimer of Scotland hath sent word,] There was no such person as Lord Mortimer of Scotland; but there was a Lord March of Scotland, (George Dunbar,) who having quitted his own country in disgust, attached himsetf so warmly to the English, and did them such signal services in their wars with Scotland, that the Parliament petitioned the King to bestow some reward on him. He fought on the side of Henry in this rebellion, and was the means of saving his life at the battle of Shrewsbury, as is related by Holinshed. This, no doubt, was the lord whom Shakspeare designed to represent in the act of sending friendly intelligence to the King. 4 Advantage feeds him fat,] i. e. feeds himself. VOL. IV. 5 this last action? do I not bate? do I not dwindle? Why, my skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown; I am wither'd like an old apple-John. Well, I'll repent, and that suddenly, while I am in some liking; I shall be out of heart shortly, and then I shall have no strength to repent. An I have not forgotten what the inside of a church is made of, I am a pepper-corn, a brewer's horse: the inside of a church! Company, villainous company, hath been the spoil of me. Bard. Sir John, you are so fretful, you cannot live long. Fal. Why, there is it:-come, sing me a bawdy song; make me merry. I was as virtuously given, as a gentleman need to be; virtuous enough: swore little; diced, not above seven times a week; went to a bawdy-house, not above once in a quarter-of an hour; paid money that I borrowed, three or four times; lived well, and in good compass: and now I live out of all order, out of all compass. Bard. Why, you are so fat, sir John, that you must needs be out of all compass; out of all reasonable compass, sir John. Fal. Do thou amend thy face, and I'll amend my life: Thou art our admiral, thou bearest the lantern in the poop,-but 'tis in the nose of thee; thou art the knight of the burning lamp. 5 Bard. Why, sir John, my face does you no harm. while I am in some liking;] While I have some flesh, some substance. We have had well-liking in the same sense in a former play. MALONE. Thou art our admiral, &c.] Decker, in his Wonderful Yeare, 1603, has the same thought. He is describing the Host of a country inn: "An antiquary might have pickt rare matter out of his nose. -The Hamburgers offered I know not how imány dollars for his companie in an East-Indian voyage, to have stoode a nightes in the Poope of their Admirall, onely to save the charges of candles." Fal. No, I'll be sworn; I make as good use of it as many a man doth of a death's head, or a memento mori: I never see thy face, but I think upon hell-fire, and Dives that lived in purple; for there he is in his robes, burning, burning. If thou wert any way given to virtue, I would swear by thy face; my oath should be, By this fire: but thou art altogether given over; and wert indeed, but for the light in thy face, the sun of utter darkness. When thou ran'st up Gads-hill in the night to catch my horse, if I did not think thou hadst been an ignis fatuus, or a ball of wildfire, there's no purchase in money. O, thou art a perpetual triumph, an everlasting bonfire-light! Thou hast saved me a thousand marks in links and torches, walking with thee in the night betwixt tavern and tavern: but the sack that thou hast drunk me, would have bought me lights as good cheap, at the dearest chandler's in Europe. I have maintainedthat salamander of yours with fire, any time this two and thirty years; Heaven reward me for it! Bard. 'Sblood, I would my face were in your belly! Fal. God-a-mercy! so should I be sure to be heart-burned. Enter Hostess." How now, dame Partlet the hen? have you inquired yet, who picked my pocket? Host. Why, sir John! what do you think, sir John? Do you think I keep thieves in my house? I have searched, I have inquired, so has my husband, man by man, boy by boy, servant by servant: 7 dame Partlet-] Dame Partlet is the name of the hen in the old story-book of Reynard the Fox: and in Chaucer's tale of The Cock and the Fox, the favourite hen is called dame Pertelote. the tithe of a hair was never lost in my house before. Fal. You lie, hostess; Bardolph was shaved, and lost many a hair: and I'll be sworn, my pocket was picked: Go to, you are a woman, go. Host. Who I? I defy thee: I was never called so in mine own house before. Fal. Go to, I know you well enough. Host. No, sir John; you do not know me, sir John: I know you, sir John: you owe me money, sir John, and now you pick a quarrel to beguile me of it: I bought you a dozen of shirts to your back. Fal. Dowlas, filthy dowlas: I have given them away to bakers' wives, and they have made bolters of them. Host. Now, as I am a true woman, holland of eight shillings an ell. You owe money here besides, sir John, for your diet, and by-drinkings, and money lent you, four and twenty pound. Fal. He had his part of it; let him pay. Host. He? alas, he is poor; he hath nothing. Fal. How! poor? look upon his face; What call you rich? let them coin his nose, let them coin his cheeks; I'll not pay a denier. What, will you make a younker of me? shall I not take mine ease in mine inn, but I shall have my pocket picked? I have lost a seal-ring of my grandfather's, worth forty mark. 8 Host. O Jesu! I have heard the prince tell him, I know not how oft, that that ring was copper. Fal. How! the prince is a Jack, a sneak-cup; and, if he were here, I would cudgel him like a dog, if he would say so. the prince is a Jack,] This term of contempt occurs frequently in our author. In The Taming of the Shrew, Katharine calls her musick-master, in derision, a twangling Jack, Enter Prince HENRY and POINS, marching. FALSTAFF meets the Prince, playing on his truncheon, like a fife. Fal. How now, lad? is the wind in that door, i'faith? must we all march? Bard. Yea, two and two, Newgate-fashion? P. Hen. What sayest thou, mistress Quickly? How does thy husband? I love him well, he is an honest man. Host. Good my lord, hear me. Fal. Pr'ythee, let her alone, and list to me. P. Hen. What sayest thou, Jack? Fal. The other night I fell asleep here behind the arras, and had my pocket picked: this house is turned bawdy-house, they pick pockets. P. Hen. What didst thou lose, Jack? Fal. Wilt thou believe me, Hal? three or four bonds of forty pound a-piece, and a seal-ring of my grandfather's. P. Hen. A trifle, some eight-penny matter. Host. So I told him, my lord; and I said, I heard your grace say so: And, my lord, he speaks most vilely of you, like a foul-mouthed man as he is; and said, he would cudgel you. P. Hen. What! he did not? Host. There's neither faith, truth, nor womanhood in me else. Fal. There's no more faith in thee than in a stewed prune; nor no more truth in thee, than in a drawn fox; and for womanhood, maid Marian may be the deputy's wife of the ward to thee. Go, you thing, go. 9 maid Marian may be, &c.] Maid Marian is a man dressed like a woman, who attends the dancers of the morris. * |