DOLL.
What says your Grace?
FALSTAFF.
His grace says that which his flesh rebels against.
[Peto knocks at door.]
HOSTESS.
Who knocks so loud at door? Look to th’ door there, Francis.
Enter Peto.
PRINCE.
Peto, how now, what news?
PETO.
The King your father is at Westminster,
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north: and as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bareheaded, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking everyone for Sir John Falstaff.
PRINCE.
By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
So idly to profane the precious time,
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.
[Exeunt Prince, Poins, Peto and Bardolph.]
FALSTAFF.
Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence and leave it unpicked.
[Knocking within.] More knocking at the door?