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Modern English
Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little.
Ned, please, come out of that stuffy room, and help me laugh for a bit.
Where hast been, Hal?
Where have you been, Hal?
With three or four loggerheads amongst three or four score hogsheads. I have sounded the very base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers; and can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and Francis. They take it already upon their salvation, that though I be but the prince of Wales, yet I am king of courtesy; and tell me flatly I am no proud Jack, like Falstaff, 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 Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dyeing 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 hast lost much honour, that thou wert not with me in this sweet action. But, sweet Ned,--to sweeten which name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapped even now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake other English in his life than ’Eight shillings and sixpence’ and ’You are welcome,’ 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 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.
With three or four fools among three or four dozen barrels. I’ve hit rock bottom in humility. Man, I’m sworn brother to a group of waiters; and I can call them all by their first names, like Tom, Dick, and Francis. They already swear on their lives that even though I’m just the Prince of Wales, I’m the king of politeness; and they tell me straight that I’m no arrogant jerk, like Falstaff, but a Corinthian, a spirited guy, a good lad, really, that’s what they call me, and when I become King of England, I’ll command all the good lads in Eastcheap. They call heavy drinking ’dying scarlet’; and when you’re out of breath from drinking, they shout ’hey!’ and tell you to go on. To sum it up, I am so good at this, in just one hour, that I can drink with any tinker in his own slang all my life. I tell you, Ned, you’ve missed a lot of honor by not being with me in this fun moment. But, sweet Ned,--to make that name of Ned sweeter, I give you this bit of sugar, just handed to me by a bartender, who’s never said anything in his life except ’Eight shillings and sixpence’ and ’You are welcome,’ with this loud addition, ’Soon, soon, sir! Get a pint of cheap wine in the Half-Moon,’ or something like that. But, Ned, to kill time until Falstaff arrives, I ask you, go stand in a side room while I ask my little waiter why he gave me the sugar; and you just keep calling ’Francis,’ so his answer will be nothing but ’Soon.’ Step aside, and I’ll show you how it’s done.
Francis!
Francis!
Thou art perfect.
You’ve got it perfect.
Francis!
Francis!
Anon, anon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
Soon, soon, sir. Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
Come hither, Francis.
Come here, Francis.
My lord?
My lord?
How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
How long have you worked here, Francis?
Forsooth, five years, and as much as to--
Truly, five years, and as much as to--
[Within] Francis!
[Within] Francis!
Anon, anon, sir.
Soon, soon, sir.
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?
Five years! By God, that’s a long time to be stuck with the sound of clinking pewter. But, Francis, are you brave enough to be a coward and break your contract, running away from it?
O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart.
Oh, sir, I swear on all the books in England, I could never bring myself to do it.
[Within] Francis!
[From inside] Francis!
Anon, sir.
Coming, sir.
How old art thou, Francis?
How old are you, Francis?
Let me see--about Michaelmas next I shall be--
Let me think... around Michaelmas next, I’ll be...
[Within] Francis!
[From inside] Francis!
Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.
Coming, sir. Please wait a moment, my lord.
Nay, but hark you, Francis: for the sugar thou gavest me,’twas a pennyworth, wast’t not?
No, but listen, Francis: the sugar you gave me, it was just a penny’s worth, wasn’t it?
O Lord, I would it had been two!
Oh, I wish it had been two pennies’ worth!
I will give thee for it a thousand pound: ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it.
I’ll give you a thousand pounds for it: ask me anytime, and you can have it.
[Within] Francis!
[From inside] Francis!
Anon, anon.
Coming, coming.
Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or, Francis, o’ Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis!
Coming, Francis? No, Francis; tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, on Thursday; or really, Francis, whenever you want. But, Francis!
My lord?
My lord?
Wilt thou rob this leathern jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch,--
Are you going to steal this leather jacket, crystal button, no-hair, stone ring, vomit-colored stockings, fancy garter, smooth-talking, Spanish purse,--
O Lord, sir, who do you mean?
Oh Lord, sir, who are you talking about?
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.
Well, your ugly, useless servant is your only drink; because look here, Francis, your white cotton shirt will get dirty: in North Africa, sir, it wouldn’t get so bad.
What, sir?
What, sir?
[Within] Francis!
[Within] Francis!
Away, you rogue! dost thou not hear them call?
Go away, you fool! Don’t you hear them calling?
What, standest thou still, and hearest such a calling? Look to the guests within.
What, are you just standing there, and hearing them call? Go check on the guests inside.
My lord, old Sir John, with half-a-dozen more, are at the door: shall I let them in?
My lord, old Sir John, with a few others, is at the door: should I let them in?
Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.
Leave them for now, and then open the door.
Poins!
Poins!
Anon, anon, sir.
Coming, coming, sir.
Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door: shall we be merry?
Hey, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door: should we have some fun?
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?
As much fun as crickets, my friend. But wait, what clever trick have you pulled with the drawer’s joke? Come on, what’s going on?
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.
I’m feeling all kinds of moods today, any mood that’s been around since the time of Adam, right up to this very moment, midnight.
What’s o’clock, Francis?
What time is it, Francis?
Anon, anon, sir.
Coming right up, sir.
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.
How could this guy have fewer words than a parrot, and still be the son of a woman? His work is all over the house; his speaking skills are like a bill to be paid. I don’t yet agree with Hotspur, that mad warrior from the north; the one who kills a bunch of Scots for breakfast, washes up, and says to his wife, ’I hate this peaceful life, I need action.’ ’Oh, my dear Harry,’ she says, ’how many did you kill today?’ ’Give my horse some medicine,’ he says, and answers, ’About fourteen,' an hour later. 'Just a little, just a little.' Come on, call in Falstaff: I’ll be Hotspur, and that big idiot will play Lady Mortimer. 'Rivo!' says the drunk. Call in the ribs, call in the fat.
Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been?
Welcome, Jack: where have you been?
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?
Curse all cowards, I say, and may they be punished! Seriously! Give me a cup of wine, boy. If I live this life much longer, I’ll start mending stockings and shoes. Curse all cowards! Give me a cup of wine, rascal. Is there no good in the world anymore?
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.
Didn’t you ever see the sun melt a dish of butter? Poor-hearted sun, that fades at the thought of its own warmth! If you did, then you’ve seen this mixture.
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.
You rascal, there’s lime in this wine too: nothing but trickery in this world! But still, a coward is worse than a glass of wine with lime in it. A cowardly scoundrel! Go ahead, old Jack, die whenever you want, but if real bravery isn’t forgotten, then I’m a dried-up fish. There aren’t three good men left alive in England, and one of them is fat and getting old: God help us! It’s a terrible world. I wish I were a weaver; then I could sing psalms or anything. Curse all cowards, I say again.
How now, wool-sack! what mutter you?
What’s this, wool-sack? What are you mumbling about?
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!
A king’s son, eh? If I don’t beat you out of your kingdom with a wooden sword, and drive all your people ahead of you like a flock of wild geese, I’ll never grow a beard again. You Prince of Wales!
Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter?
Why, you good-for-nothing fat man, what’s going on?
Are not you a coward? answer me to that: and Poins there?
Aren’t you a coward? Answer me that: and where’s Poins?
’Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab thee.
Damn you, you fat stomach, if you call me a coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab you.
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.
I call you a coward! I’ll see you damned before I call you a coward: but I would give a thousand pounds if I could run as fast as you can. You’re broad enough in the shoulders, you don’t care who sees your back: is that what you call backing up your friends? A plague on that kind of support! Give me those who will stand up to me. Give me a cup of wine: I’m a scoundrel if I drink today.
O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunkest last.
Oh, you villain! Your lips are hardly clean since you last drank.
All’s one for that.
It doesn’t matter.
A plague of all cowards, still say I.
A curse on all cowards, I say again.
What’s the matter?
What’s going on?
What’s the matter! there be four of us here have ta’en a thousand pound this day morning.
What’s going on! Four of us here took a thousand pounds this morning.
Where is it, Jack? where is it?
Where is it, Jack? Where is it?
Where is it! taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.
Where is it! They took it from us: a hundred from the poor four of us.
What, a hundred, man?
What, a hundred, man?
I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have ’scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw--ecce signum! I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards! Let them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
I’m a rogue if I wasn’t fighting a dozen of them for two hours. I barely escaped by miracle. I’ve been stabbed eight times through my doublet, four times through my hose; my shield is cut all the way through; my sword’s been hacked like a hand-saw--look at the proof! I never fought better since I was a man: but it didn’t matter. A curse on all cowards! Let them speak: if they say anything other than the truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
Speak, sirs; how was it?
Speak, gentlemen; how was it?
We four set upon some dozen--
We four attacked about a dozen--
Sixteen at least, my lord.
At least sixteen, my lord.
And bound them.
And tied them up.
No, no, they were not bound.
No, no, they weren’t tied up.
You rogue, they were bound, every man of them; or I am a Jew else, an Ebrew Jew.
You scoundrel, they were tied up, every single one of them; or else I must be a Jew, an Ebrew Jew.
As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us--
While we were dividing the loot, six or seven new guys attacked us—
And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
And untied the others, and then the rest showed up.
What, fought you with them all?
What, did you fight all of them?
All! I know not what you call all; but if I fought not with fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish: if there were not two or three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legged creature.
All of them! I don’t know what you mean by all, but if I didn’t fight at least fifty of them, I’m a bunch of radishes; if there weren’t two or three dozen on poor old Jack, then I’m not a human being.
Pray God you have not murdered some of them.
I hope you didn’t kill any of them.
Nay, that’s past praying for: I have peppered two of them; two I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal, if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me horse. Thou knowest my old ward; here I lay and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me--
Well, that’s beyond hope now: I’ve shot two of them; two I’m sure I’ve got, two crooks in cheap clothes. Listen, Hal, if I lie to you, spit in my face, call me a horse. You know my old tactics; I laid down like this and held my ground. Four crooks in cheap clothes tried to attack me—
What, four? thou saidst but two even now.
What, four? You just said two a second ago.
Four, Hal; I told thee four.
Four, Hal; I told you, four.
Ay, ay, he said four.
Yes, yes, he said four.
These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made me no more ado but took all their seven points in my target, thus.
These four came straight at me, and all attacked me at once. I didn’t hesitate but took all their seven strikes on my shield, like this.
Seven? why, there were but four even now.
Seven? But you just said there were only four.
In buckram?
In cheap clothes?
Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Yeah, four, in cloth suits.
Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
Seven, by these sword handles, or I’m a villain otherwise.
Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon.
Please, leave him alone; we’ll get more later.
Dost thou hear me, Hal?
Do you hear me, Hal?
Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Yeah, and I’m paying attention to you too, Jack.
Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I told thee of--
Good, because it’s worth listening to. These nine in cloth suits I told you about--
So, two more already.
So, two more already.
Their points being broken,--
Their points broke,--
Down fell their hose.
And their stockings fell off.
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.
They started to back off, but I stayed right on them, got in close; and with a quick move, I took down seven of the eleven I mentioned.
O monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!
That’s crazy! Eleven men in cloth suits came out of two!
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.
But, as luck would have it, three dirty scoundrels in green came up behind me and attacked me; it was so dark, Hal, that you couldn’t even see your hand.
These lies are like their father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson, obscene, grease tallow-catch,--
These lies are like the father who made them; as big as a mountain, obvious, and plain. Why, you thick-headed fool, you stubborn idiot, you bastard, filthy, greasy pig--
What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth?
What, are you crazy? Are you crazy? Is the truth not the truth?
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?
How could you know those men in green, when it was so dark you couldn’t even see your hand? Come on, explain yourself: what’s your excuse?
Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
Come on, Jack, give us your explanation.
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.
What, because you forced me? Damn it, if I were being tortured, or put on the rack, I still wouldn’t tell you just because you forced me. Give you a reason because you’re forcing me?! If reasons grew like blackberries, I still wouldn’t give anyone a reason just because you made me, I wouldn’t.
I’ll be no longer guilty of this sin; this sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge hill of flesh,--
I won’t feel guilty about this anymore; this red-faced coward, this lazy good-for-nothing, this horse-destroyer, this giant of a man,--
’Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried neat’s tongue, you bull’s pizzle, you stock-fish! O for breath to utter what is like thee! you tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bowcase; you vile standing-tuck,--
Damn it, you scrawny little man, you twig, you dried-up cow’s tongue, you bull’s penis, you dried fish! Oh, I need air just to say something as bad as you! You measuring stick, you scabbard, you bowcase; you filthy little sword,--
Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again: and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.
Fine, take a breath, and then go on: but when you’re done wearing yourself out with these petty insults, listen to me for a moment.
Mark, Jack.
Listen, Jack.
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, out-faced 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 roared for mercy and still run and roared, as ever I heard bull-calf. 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?
We two saw you four attack four people, tie them up, and take their money. Now, listen to how a simple story will defeat your excuse. Then we two came after you four, and with just a word, we made you run off and took the prize for ourselves, and we have it right here in the house: and, Falstaff, you took off with your guts just as quickly, as nimbly, and screamed for mercy as you kept running, just like a bull-calf. What a coward you are, to hack at your sword like that, and then say it was a real fight! What trick, what excuse, what hole can you crawl into now to hide from this obvious and undeniable shame?
Come, let’s hear, Jack; what trick hast thou now?
Come on, let’s hear it, Jack; what’s your excuse now?
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?
By God, I knew you as well as the man who created you. Listen, my friends: was it my job to kill the heir to the throne? Should I have attacked the real prince? You know I’m as brave as Hercules, but beware of instinct; the lion won’t attack the real prince. Instinct is a powerful thing; I was acting like a coward because of instinct. I’ll think better of myself and you for the rest of my life; I’ll be the brave lion, and you’ll be the true prince. But, by God, I’m glad you got the money. Hostess, close the doors: watch tonight, pray tomorrow. Gentlemen, lads, boys, all the best qualities of good company are yours! What, shall we be merry? Shall we make up a play on the spot?
Content; and the argument shall be thy running away.
Fine; and the play will be about you running away.
Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!
Ah, no more of that, Hal, if you love me!
O Jesu, my lord the prince!
Oh Jesus, my lord the prince!
How now, my lady the hostess! what sayest thou to me?
What’s the matter, my lady the hostess? What do you have to say to me?
Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door would speak with you: he says he comes from your father.
Well, my lord, there’s a nobleman from the court at the door who wants to speak with you: he says he comes from your father.
Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send him back again to my mother.
Give him enough money to make him feel like a nobleman, and send him back to my mother.
What manner of man is he?
What kind of man is he?
An old man.
An old man.
What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his answer?
What’s an old man doing out of bed at midnight? Should I answer him?
Prithee, do, Jack.
Please do, Jack.
’Faith, and I’ll send him packing.
Honestly, I’ll send him away.
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!
Now, gentlemen: by my lady, you fought fairly; so did you, Peto; so did you, Bardolph: you’re brave too, you ran away because of instinct, you wouldn’t fight the real prince; no, shame on you!
’Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
Honestly, I ran when I saw others run.
’Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff’s sword so hacked?
Honestly, tell me now, how did Falstaff’s sword get so chopped up?
Why, he hacked 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.
Well, he hacked it with his dagger, and said he would swear on his life that he did it in a fight, and convinced us to do the same.
Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass 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 blushed to hear his monstrous devices.
Yeah, and we were supposed to tickle our noses with grass to make them bleed, then smear our clothes with it and swear it was the blood of real men. I did that, though I hadn’t done anything like it in seven years before. I was embarrassed just hearing his ridiculous plans.
O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou rannest away: what instinct hadst thou for it?
You’re a scoundrel, you stole a cup of wine eighteen years ago, and were caught in the act, and ever since you’ve blushed whenever someone mentions it. You had fire and sword on your side, and yet you ran away: what kind of instinct was that?
My lord, do you see these meteors? do you behold these exhalations?
My lord, do you see these strange lights in the sky? Do you notice these vapors?
I do.
Yes.
What think you they portend?
What do you think they mean?
Hot livers and cold purses.
People with hot tempers and empty wallets.
Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
Anger, my lord, if interpreted correctly.
No, if rightly taken, halter.
No, if you take it the right way, a noose.
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?
Here comes skinny Jack, here comes bare-bones. What’s up, my sweet puffed-up creature! How long’s it been, Jack, since you last saw your own knee?
My own knee! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle’s talon 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?
My own knee! When I was your age, Hal, I wasn’t even as thin as an eagle’s talon around the waist; I could have fit into any alderman’s thumb-ring: damn sighing and sadness! It blows a man up like a balloon. There’s bad news going around: Sir John Bracy came from your father; you’ve got to go to the court tomorrow morning. That crazy guy from the north, Percy, and the Welshman who gave Amamon the beating and made Lucifer a cuckold and swore the devil was his true servant on a Welsh hook-cross—what the hell do you call him?
O, Glendower.
Oh, Glendower.
Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o’ horseback up a hill perpendicular,--
Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that lively Scot of Scots, Douglas, who rides up a hill straight as an arrow,
He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a sparrow flying.
He’s the one who rides fast and with his pistol shoots a sparrow out of the sky.
You have hit it.
You’ve got it.
So did he never the sparrow.
But he never hit the sparrow.
Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he will not run.
Well, that rascal’s got some real spirit in him; he won’t back down.
Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running!
Then what a fool you are, Jack, to praise him for running!
O’ horseback, ye cuckoo; but afoot he will not budge a foot.
On horseback, you idiot; but on foot he won’t budge an inch.
Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Yes, Jack, on instinct.
I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and a thousand blue-caps more: Worcester is stolen away to-night; thy father’s beard is turned white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.
I’ll grant you that, on instinct. Well, he’s in it too, along with Mordake, and a thousand more blue-caps: Worcester’s gone off tonight; your father’s beard’s turned white from the news: you can buy land now as cheaply as rotten mackerel.
Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.
Well, then, if there’s a hot June and this civil fighting keeps up, we’ll be buying virginity like hob-nails, by the hundred.
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?
By God, lad, you’re right; looks like we’ll have good business that way. But tell me, Hal, aren’t you terrified? You being the heir, could the world find you three worse enemies than that devil Douglas, that demon Percy, and that cursed Glendower? Aren’t you absolutely terrified? Doesn’t your blood run cold at the thought?
Not a whit, i’ faith; I lack some of thy instinct.
Not at all, honestly; I lack some of your natural ability.
Well, thou wert be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.
Well, you’ll get a real scolding tomorrow when you see your father: if you care about me, come up with an answer.
Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life.
You be my father, and quiz me about the details of my life.
Shall I? content: this chair shall be my state, this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my crown.
Shall I? Fine: this chair will be my throne, this dagger my scepter, and this cushion my crown.
Thy state is taken for a joined-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown!
Your throne is just a low stool, your golden scepter is a leaden dagger, and your precious crown is just a sad, bald head!
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.
Well, if there’s still some spark of grace left in you, you’ll be moved. Give me a cup of wine to make my eyes look red, so it seems like I’ve cried; because I must speak with passion, and I’ll do it like King Cambyses did.
Well, here is my leg.
Well, here’s my leg.
And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.
And here’s my speech. Step aside, nobility.
O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i’ faith!
Oh Jesus, this is excellent fun, really!
Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears are vain.
Don’t cry, sweet queen; for tears are useless.
O, the father, how he holds his countenance!
Oh, look at the father, how he keeps his composure!
For God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful queen; For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes.
For God’s sake, lords, escort my sad queen away; For tears stop up the floodgates of her eyes.
O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see!
Oh Jesus, he does it just like one of those low-class actors I’ve ever seen!
Peace, good pint-pot; 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 asked. Shall the sun of England prove a thief and take purses? a question to be asked. 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.
Quiet, good jug; quiet, good silly-head. Harry, I don’t just wonder where you’re spending your time, but also who you’re hanging out with: because although chamomile, the more it’s stepped on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it’s wasted, the sooner it fades. That you’re my son, I have partly your mother’s word, partly my own opinion, but mostly a nasty trick of yours in your eye and a foolish hanging of your bottom lip, which convinces me. If you’re my son, then here’s the point: why, being my son, are you so looked down on? Should the blessed sun of heaven act like a petty thief and steal blackberries? That’s a question not to be asked. Should the sun of England turn out to be a thief and steal purses? That’s a question worth asking. There’s something, Harry, that you’ve heard of many times, and it’s known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as old writers say, stains; just like the company you keep: because, Harry, now I’m not speaking to you in drink but in tears, not in pleasure but in pain, not just in words but in sorrows too: and yet there is a virtuous man whom I’ve often seen with you, though I don’t know his name.
What manner of man, an it like your majesty?
What kind of man, if it pleases your majesty?
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 three score; 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?
A fine, well-built man, really, and quite fat; with a cheerful face, a pleasing look, and a very noble way of carrying himself; and, as I think, he’s about fifty, or, by God, nearing sixty; and now I remember, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be morally corrupt, he’s deceiving me; because, Harry, I see virtue in his appearance. If the tree can be known by its fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, without a doubt I say, there’s virtue in that Falstaff: stick with him, and banish the rest. And now, tell me, you naughty rascal, tell me, where have you been this past month?
Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I’ll play my father.
Do you speak like a king? You stand in for me, and I’ll play my father.
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.
Depose me? If you do it even half as seriously, so grandly, both in speech and action, hang me upside down as if I were a rabbit-catcher or a butcher’s hare.
Well, here I am set.
Well, here I am, ready.
And here I stand: judge, my masters.
And here I stand: judge, my masters.
Now, Harry, whence come you?
Now, Harry, where do you come from?
My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
The complaints I hear about you are terrible.
’Sblood, my lord, they are false: nay, I’ll tickle ye for a young prince, i’ faith.
By God, my lord, they are lies: no, I’ll make you laugh for a young prince, I swear.
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 swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag 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?
Do you swear, you ungrateful boy? Never look at me again. You’ve completely fallen from grace: there’s a devil following you in the shape of an old fat man; a walking barrel of flesh is your friend. Why do you hang around that pile of foolishness, that smelly sack of sins, that bloated stomach, that huge barrel of wine, that stuffed bag of guts, that roasted ox from Manningtree with the pudding still inside, that wise vice, that grey-haired wrongdoer, that criminal father, that foolishness in old age? What good is he, except for drinking wine and gulping it down? What’s clean about him, except for carving a chicken and eating it? What’s clever about him, except in trickery? What’s crafty about him, except in evil? What’s villainous about him, except in everything? What’s worthy about him, except in nothing?
I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace?
I wish your grace would take me with you: who do you mean, your grace?
That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan.
That wicked, terrible corrupter of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded devil.
My lord, the man I know.
My lord, the man I know.
I know thou dost.
I know you do.
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 damned: 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.
But to say I know more wrong in him than in myself, would be to say more than I know. That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs prove it; but that he is, with all due respect, a womanizer, that I completely deny. If drinking wine and sugar is a crime, God help the wicked! if being old and happy is a sin, then many an old innkeeper I know is damned: if being fat means being hated, then Pharaoh’s lean cattle should be loved. No, my good lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, brave Jack Falstaff, and therefore more brave, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him from your Harry’s company, banish not him from your Harry’s company: banish plump Jack, and banish the whole world.
I do, I will.
I do, I will.
O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the door.
Oh, my lord, my lord! The sheriff with a huge group of watchmen is at the door.
Out, ye rogue! Play out the play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff.
Get out, you scoundrel! Finish the play: I have a lot to say to defend that Falstaff.
O Jesu, my lord, my lord!
Oh Jesus, my lord, my lord!
Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick: what’s the matter?
Hey, hey! The devil’s riding a fiddle stick: What’s going on?
The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house. Shall I let them in?
The sheriff and all the watchmen are at the door: they’ve come to search the house. Should I let them in?
Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without seeming so.
Do you hear, Hal? Never call a real piece of gold a fake: you’re basically mad, even if you don’t appear to be.
And thou a natural coward, without instinct.
And you’re a born coward, with no instinct.
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.
I disagree with your main point: if you want to refuse the sheriff, fine; if not, let him in: if I don’t become a cart just like anyone else, may a plague be on my upbringing! I hope I’ll be hanged with a rope just like anyone else.
Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest walk up above. Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.
Go, hide behind the curtain: the rest of you go upstairs. Now, my friends, let’s have a true face and clear conscience.
Both which I have had: but their date is out, and therefore I’ll hide me.
Both of which I’ve had: but they’ve expired, so I’ll hide myself.
Call in the sheriff.
Call in the sheriff.
Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me?
Now, sheriff, what do you want from me?
First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry Hath follow’d certain men unto this house.
First, forgive me, my lord. A cry for help Has led some men to this house.
What men?
What men?
One of them is well known, my gracious lord, A gross fat man.
One of them is well known, my lord, A big, fat man.
As fat as butter.
As fat as butter.
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 any thing he shall be charged withal: And so let me entreat you leave the house.
I assure you, he’s not here; Because I’ve hired him myself. And, sheriff, I’ll give you my word That by tomorrow’s dinner time, I’ll send him to answer for whatever you accuse him of: So, please, leave my house.
I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
I will, my lord. Two gentlemen Have lost three hundred marks in this robbery.
It may be so: if he have robb’d these men, He shall be answerable; and so farewell.
That may be true: if he robbed these men, He will answer for it; goodbye.
Good night, my noble lord.
Good night, my noble lord.
I think it is good morrow, is it not?
I think it’s already morning, isn’t it?
Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o’clock.
Yes, my lord, I think it’s around two o’clock.
This oily rascal is known as well as Paul’s. Go, call him forth.
This oily thief is as well-known as St. Paul’s. Go, Call him out.
Falstaff!--Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like a horse.
Falstaff!—He’s fast asleep behind the curtain, Snoring like a horse.
Hark, how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.
Listen, how heavily he’s breathing. Check his pockets.
What hast thou found?
What have you found?
Nothing but papers, my lord.
Nothing but some papers, my lord.
Let’s see what they be: read them.
Let’s see what they are: read them.
[Reads] Item, A capon,. . 2s. 2d. Item, Sauce,. . . 4d. Item, Sack, two gallons, 5s. 8d. Item, Anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d. Item, Bread, ob.
[Reads] Item, a capon, . . 2 shillings 2 pence. Item, sauce, . . . 4 pence. Item, sack, two gallons, 5 shillings 8 pence. Item, anchovies and sack after supper, 2 shillings 6 pence. Item, bread, 1 obol.
O monstrous! but one half-penny-worth of bread to this intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close; we’ll read it at more advantage: there let him sleep till day. I’ll to the court in the morning. We must all to the wars, and thy place shall be honourable. I’ll procure this fat rogue a charge of foot; and I know his death will be a march of twelve-score. The money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me betimes in the morning; and so, good morrow, Peto.
Oh, monstrous! Only half a penny’s worth of bread to this enormous amount of sack! What’s left, keep it hidden; we’ll look at it later: let him sleep until morning. I’ll go to the court in the morning. We all have to go to war, and your position will be an honorable one. I’ll get this fat rascal a position in the foot soldiers; and I know his death will be a march of 240 men. The money will be paid back with interest. Be with me early in the morning; and so, good morning, Peto.
Good morrow, good my lord.
Good morning, my lord.