What's o'clock, Francis?
Fran. Anon, anon, sir. [Exit.[2425]
Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer
words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry95
is up-stairs and down-stairs; his eloquence the
parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the
Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or seven
dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says[2426]
to his wife 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O100
my sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou killed to-day?'
'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he; and answers
'Some fourteen,' an hour after; 'a trifle, a trifle.' I
prithee, call in Falstaff: I'll play Percy, and that damned
brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says[2427]105
the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow.
Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto; Francis following with wine.[2428]
Poins. Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been?
Fal. A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance
too! marry, and amen! Give me a cup of sack, boy.
Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nether stocks and mend[2429]110
them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give[2430]
me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks.[2431]
Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of[2432]
butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale[2432][2433][2434]
of the sun's! if thou didst, then behold that compound.[2434][2435]115
Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there is
nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man: yet[2436]
a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A[2437]
villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou
wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the120
face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live
not three good men unhanged in England; and one of
them is fat, and grows old: God help the while! a bad
world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing
psalms or any thing. A plague of all cowards, I say still.[2438]125
Prince. How now, wool-sack! what mutter you?
Fal. A king's son! If I do not beat thee out of thy
kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects
afore thee like a flock of wild-geese, I'll never wear hair on
my face more. You Prince of Wales!130