Prince. And how doth thy master, Bardolph?90
Bard. Well, my lord. He heard of your grace's coming[3594]
to town: there's a letter for you.
Poins. Delivered with good respect. And how doth[3595]
the martlemas, your master?
Bard. In bodily health, sir.95
Poins. Marry, the immortal part needs a physician; but
that moves not him: though that be sick, it dies not.
Prince. I do allow this wen to be as familiar with me
as my dog; and he holds his place; for look you how he[3596]
writes.100
Poins. [Reads] 'John Falstaff, knight,'—every man must[3597]
know that, as oft as he has occasion to name himself: even[3598]
like those that are kin to the king; for they never prick
their finger but they say, 'There's some of the king's blood[3599]
spilt.' 'How comes that?' says he, that takes upon him105
not to conceive. The answer is as ready as a borrower's[3600]
cap, 'I am the king's poor cousin, sir.'[3600]
Prince. Nay, they will be kin to us, or they will fetch[3601]
it from Japhet. But to the letter:[3602]
Poins. [Reads] 'Sir John Falstaff, knight, to the son of the[3603]110
king, nearest his father, Harry Prince of Wales, greeting.' Why,[3604]
this is a certificate.
Prince. Peace!