The crimson cap he wore that morn was still upon the head."
That dreary spot is pointed out to travellers passing by,
Who often stand, and, musing, gaze, nor go without a sigh.
And as I journeyed, the next morn, along my sunny way,
The precipice was shown to me, whereon the infant lay.
FALSTAFF'S BOASTING
SHAKESPEARE.
This scene will give a good chance to practise variety of expression, both in words and action. Falstaff throws himself into all the attitudes, and elevates and depresses his voice, as if he was actually engaged in the combat he describes—preserving the utmost gravity of face, until he finds that the Prince has really detected him. Then the "fat rogue" bursts into a jolly, unctuous laugh, and carries off the honors, after all: