FALSTAFF.
Hal, if thou see me down in the battle and bestride me, so; ’tis a point of friendship.
PRINCE.
Nothing but a colossus can do thee that friendship.
Say thy prayers, and farewell.
FALSTAFF.
I would ’twere bedtime, Hal, and all well.
PRINCE.
Why, thou owest God a death.
[Exit.]
FALSTAFF.
’Tis not due yet, I would be loth to pay Him before His day. What need I be so forward with Him that calls not on me? Well, ’tis no matter, honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? How then? Can honor 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 in that word, “honour”? What is that “honour”? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o’ Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth be hear it? No. ’Tis 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.
[Exit.]
SCENE II. The Rebel Camp.
Enter Worcester and Vernon.
WORCESTER.
O no, my nephew must not know, Sir Richard,
The liberal and kind offer of the King.