AND MR. EDWARD POINS, IN COUNCIL ASSEMBLED, PLANNED THE FAMOUS GADS HILL EXPEDITION.
THE reader is invited to assist at a council of war.
The scene is a private room in the palace of Westminster. The members present are, 1. His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales. 2. Sir John Falstaff, Knight. The latter gentleman in the chair (which he finds rather a tight fit).
Sir John Falstaff opened the proceedings by asking His Royal Highness what time of the day it was.
The Prince of Wales.—
“Thou art so fat-witted with drinking of old
“sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after
“noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly which thou wouldest
“truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of day? unless
“hours were cups of sack and minutes capons?”
For the remainder of His Royal Highness’s speech (the language of which is not strictly parliamentary) see Mr. William Shakspeare’s verbatim report; where, indeed, all particulars of the meeting are minutely chronicled. It is the present writer’s business merely to offer a brief summary.
After some general discussion (in the course of which Sir John moved for the Abolition of the Punishment of Death for larcenious offences, in the ensuing reign, but was induced to withdraw his motion by a promise of office under the crown, as public executioner), the meeting proceeded to the order of the day.
His Royal Highness.—“Where shall we take a purse to-night, Jack?”
Sir John Falstaff.—“Where thou wilt, lad; I’ll make one: an I do not, call me villain and baffle me.”
Carried nem. con.
At this juncture, a new member entered the council chamber in the person of Master Edward Poins. This was a young gentleman of good family, but bad morals; that is to say, for the present. He was one of those loyal natures who, in all ages, are to be found attaching themselves instinctively to some great man, taking their tone and colour in all things from the illustrious model. Mr. Poins cut his hair and his conscience in exact imitation of the Prince of Wales. The existing court fashions, as established by the Prince, were long hanging sleeves, pointed shoes, late hours, intoxication, and roystering. Mr. Poins followed them all with scrupulous fidelity; but was quite ready to change them for sad-coloured doublets, square toes, early rising, temperance, and respectability, at a moment’s notice.
The following debate ensued upon the order of the day:
Poins.—
“But my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning by four o’clock, early at Gadshill!
“There are pilgrims going to Canterbury with rich offerings,
“and traders riding to London with fat purses.” (Hear, from the chair).
“I have visors for you all, you have horses for yourselves: Gadshill lies to-night
“in Rochester: I have bespoke supper to-morrow night in Eastcheap; we may
“do it as secure as sleep. If you will go, I will stuff your purses full of
“crowns: if you will not, tarry at home, and be hanged.”
Sir John Falstaff.—
“Hear me, Edward; if I tarry at home, and go not, I’ll hang you for going.”
Me. Poins.—
“You will, chaps?”
Sir John Falstaff.—
“Hal, wilt thou make one?”
The Prince of Wales.—
“Who, I rob? I a thief? not I, by my faith.”
“Sir John Falstaff.—
“There’s neither honesty, manhood, nor good fel
“lowship in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood royal, if thou darest not
“stand for ten shillings.”
The Prince of Wales.—
“Well, then, once in my days I’ll be a madcap.”
Sir John Falstaff.—
“Why, that’s well said.”
The Prince of Wales.—
“Well, come what will, I’ll tarry at home.”
Sir John Falstaff.—
“I’ll be a traitor then, when thou art king.”
The Prince of Wales.—
“I care not.”
Poins—
“Sir John, I pr’ythee, leave the prince and me alone; I will
“lay him down such reasons for this adventure, that he shall go.”
Sir John Falstaff.—
“Well, mayst thou have the spirit of persuasion,
“and be the ears of profiting, that what thou speakest may move, and what he
“hears may be believed, that the true prince may (for recreation sake) prove a
“false thief; for the poor abuses of the time want countenance. Farewell;
“you shall find me in Eastcheap.”
The Prince of Wales.—
“Farewell, thou latter spring! Farewell All-hallown summer!”
The meeting then, as far as concerns Sir John Falstaff, broke up. The Prince of Wales and his friend Poins, may be left to their own devices.
Thus do we see how a great man works silently to his own ends by encouraging his inferiors to think for him. Here was the campaign of Gadshill ready planned and arranged down to the very moment of attack, and the equipment of the forces, without a personal effort on the part of our hero.
Forestalling the policy of a more modern general, Louis the Fourteenth—who never showed himself on a field of battle till he was assured that his subordinate officers had made victory certain, and who then, in the most considerate manner, always came up in time to take the credit of it out of their hands—the task of Falstaff was simply to gather the ripened fruit, which, but for the blackest and most unparalleled act of treachery that ever disgraced the annals of warfare——But let us not anticipate.
Had I the pen of Homer (who, by the way, supposing that fabulous person to have existed, could not possibly have known the use of such an article) I might write out a list of the warlike preparations made by Sir John Falstaff and his followers, in the course of the day, that might equal, in vivid dramatic interest, the famous catalogue of ships. Mine would it be to enumerate the scores of Kentish oysters, the hundreds of Gloucestershire lampreys, the skins of Canterbury brawn, the breasts of capons, the green-goose pies, the veal toasts, the powdered mutton, the marchpanes, the hartshorn jellies, the stewed prunes, the pippins and the cheese, stowed away in the vast resources of our hero’s commissariat department, as provisions for the approaching campaign. Then would ye have, in succession, the vast and irresistible phalanx of sturdy oaths and light-winged cajoleries arrayed against the hostess of the tavern (a married woman, it must be admitted, but whose husband was already ailing) to induce her to yield further credit for the victualling and liquoring of the troops, resulting in the entire rout of her scruples, and the unconditional surrender of her cellar keys. Nor would be forgotten the hundreds, nay thousands, of matchless libs, by which Patroclus Bardolph obtained a new saddle for his master from a dealer in Watling Street, and released the knight’s steed from the spells of enchantment, which a cruel magician (in what we should now call the livery stable interest) had cast about the animal for some weeks.
All these details, and many more—down to a list of the snores of the thunder-vying Falstaff as he took his after-dinner nap to fortify himself for the coming fatigues, and of the glasses of strong waters tossed off by the lightning-shaming Bardolph while his master wasn’t looking—would I enumerate had I the pen of Homer.
But as it has been already satisfactorily proved that neither I nor any other writer, ancient or modern (especially Homer), could ever have enjoyed the possession of that article, I will not attempt anything so ambitious.