Prince Henry. 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 wouldst truly know. What a devil hast thou to do with the time of the day? Unless hours were cups of sack, and minutes capons, and clocks the tongues of bawds, and dials the signs of leaping-houses, and the blessed sun himself a fair hot wench in flame-colored taffata, I see no reason why thou should’st be so superfluous to demand the time of the day.
Falstaff. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that take purses, go by the moon and seven stars; and not by Phœbus—he, “that wand’ring knight so fair.” And, I pray thee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as God save thy grace (majesty I should say; for grace thou wilt have none)—
Prince Henry. What! none?
Falstaff. No, by my troth; not so much as will serve to be prologue to an egg and butter.
Prince Henry. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.
Falstaff. Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night’s body, be called thieves of the day’s beauty; let us be—Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon: and let men say, we be men of good government; being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we—steal.
Prince Henry. Thou say’st well, and it holds well, too; for the fortune of us, that are the moon’s men, doth ebb and flow like the sea; being governed as the sea is, by the moon. As, for proof, now, a purse of gold most resolutely snatched on Monday night, and most dissolutely spent on Tuesday morning; got with swearing—lay by; and spent with crying—bring in; now, in as low an ebb as the foot of the ladder; and, by and by, in as high a flow as the ridge of the gallows.
Falstaff. By the Lord, thou say’st true, lad. And is not my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?
Prince Henry. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of durance?
Falstaff. How now, how now, mad wag? what, in thy quips and thy quiddities? what a plague have I to do with a buff jerkin?