The Earl of Douglas, as we have seen, was punished by being sent back to Scotland. Sir John Falstaff, contrary to his reasonable expectations, was not made either Duke or Earl, in recompense of an achievement for which, whether really performed by him or no, he at least obtained credit in the opinion of many impartial persons. Herein we find not merely an illustration of the proverbial ingratitude of monarchs, but also one, by implication, of the personal jealousy of Prince Henry towards Sir John Falstaff, whom, as the sequel will show, the Prince of Wales treated with the most pointed malignity from the date of the Shrewsbury action to that of the knight’s death.
I will merely remark that Henry Plantagenet—fifth English king of that name—was not a man to do anything without a motive.
What Sir John Falstaff really gained by his glorious victory of Shrewsbury shall be seen in future chapters. It will be found that he was not a loser by the transaction. I will conclude the present chapter by a quotation from our knight’s expressed opinions before entering the field of battle:—
“Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour pricks me off when I
“come on? How then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No.
“Or take away the grief of a wound? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery
“then? No. What is honour? A word. What is that word honour?
“Air; a trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o’ Wednesday?
“Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible, then?
“Yea, to the dead. But will it not live with the living? No. Why?
“Detraction will not suffer it;—therefore, I’ll none of it. Honour is a
“mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.”
I think the above observations prove that Sir John Falstaff knew rather more about honour than most people of his time, and therefore deserves a prominent position amongst the honourable men of the age he lived in.