Fal. Now, Hal, what time of day is it, lad?
Prince. Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old[2022]
sack and unbuttoning thee after supper and sleeping upon
benches after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand[2023]
that truly which thou wouldst truly know. What a devil5
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-coloured
taffeta, I see no reason why thou shouldst be so[2024]10
superfluous to demand the time of the day.
Fal. Indeed, you come near me now, Hal; for we that[2025]
take purses go by the moon and the seven stars, and not[2026]
by Phœbus, he, 'that wandering knight so fair.' And, I
prithee, sweet wag, when thou art king, as, God save[2027]15
thy grace,—majesty I should say, for grace thou wilt have
none,—
Prince. What, none?
Fal. No, by my troth, not so much as will serve to[2028]
be prologue to an egg and butter.20
Prince. Well, how then? come, roundly, roundly.
Fal. 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[2029]
of the shade, minions of the moon; and let men say we25
be men of good government, being governed, as the sea
is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose
countenance we steal.[2030]
Prince. Thou sayest well, and it holds well too; for
the fortune of us that are the moon's men doth ebb and30
flow like the sea, being governed, as the sea is, by the
moon. As, for proof, now: a purse of gold most resolutely[2031]
snatched on Monday night and most dissolutely spent on
Tuesday morning; got with swearing 'Lay by' and spent[2032]
with crying 'Bring in;' now in as low an ebb as the foot of35
the ladder and by and by in as high a flow as the ridge of[2033]
the gallows.
Fal. By the Lord, thou sayest true, lad. And is not[2034]
my hostess of the tavern a most sweet wench?[2035]
Prince. As the honey of Hybla, my old lad of the[2036]40
castle. And is not a buff jerkin a most sweet robe of
durance?