Chapter: Scene IV.
Eastcheap. The Boar's Head Tavern.

Enter Prince and Poins.

  Prince. Ned, prithee come out of that fat-room and lend me thy
hand
    to laugh a little.
  Poins. Where hast been, Hal?
    Prince. With three or four loggerheads amongst three or
    fourscore hogsheads. I have sounded the very bass-string of
    humility. Sirrah, I am sworn brother to a leash of drawers
and
    can call them all by their christen names, as Tom, Dick, and
    Francis. They take it already upon their salvation that,
though
    I be but Prince of Wales, yet I am the king of courtesy; and
tell
    me flatly I am no proud Jack like Falstaff, but a Corinthian,
a
    lad of mettle, a good boy (by the Lord, so they call me!),
and
    when I am King of England I shall command all the good lads
    Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, dying scarlet; and when
    you breathe in your watering, they cry 'hem!' and bid you
play it
    off. To conclude, I am so good a proficient in one quarter of
an
    hour that I can drink with any tinker in his own language
during
    my life. I tell thee, Ned, thou hast lost much honour that
thou
    wert not with me in this action. But, sweet Ned- to sweeten
which
    name of Ned, I give thee this pennyworth of sugar, clapp'd
even
    now into my hand by an under-skinker, one that never spake
other
    English in his life than 'Eight shillings and sixpence,' and
'You
    are welcome,' with this shrill addition, 'Anon, anon, sir!
Score
    a pint of bastard in the Half-moon,' or so- but, Ned, to
drive
    away the time till Falstaff come, I prithee do thou stand in
some
    by-room while I question my puny drawer to what end he gave
me
    the sugar; and do thou never leave calling 'Francis!' that
his
    tale to me may be nothing but 'Anon!' Step aside, and I'll
show
    thee a precedent.
  Poins. Francis!
  Prince. Thou art perfect.
  Poins. Francis!                                  [Exit Poins.]

                    Enter [Francis, a] Drawer.

  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.- Look down into the Pomgarnet, Ralph.
  Prince. Come hither, Francis.
  Fran. My lord?
  Prince. How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
  Fran. Forsooth, five years, and as much as to-
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.
  Prince. Five year! by'r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of
    pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play
the
    coward with thy indenture and show it a fair pair of heels
and
    run from it?
  Fran. O Lord, sir, I'll be sworn upon all the books in England
I
    could find in my heart-
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Fran. Anon, sir.
  Prince. How old art thou, Francis?
  Fran. Let me see. About Michaelmas next I shall be-
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Fran. Anon, sir. Pray stay a little, my lord.
  Prince. Nay, but hark you, Francis. For the sugar thou gavest
me-
    'twas a pennyworth, wast not?
  Fran. O Lord! I would it had been two!
  Prince. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when
thou
    wilt, and, thou shalt have it.
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Fran. Anon, anon.
  Prince. Anon, Francis? No, Francis; but to-morrow, Francis; or,
    Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But
    Francis-
  Fran. My lord?
  Prince. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button,
    not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter,
    smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch-
  Fran. O Lord, sir, who do you mean?
  Prince. Why then, your brown bastard is your only drink; for
look
    you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In
Barbary,
    sir, it cannot come to so much.
  Fran. What, sir?
  Poins. [within] Francis!
  Prince. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call?
              Here they both call him. The Drawer stands amazed,
                                    not knowing which way to go.

                         Enter Vintner.

  Vint. What, stand'st thou still, and hear'st such a calling?
Look
    to the guests within. [Exit Francis.] My lord, old Sir John,
with
    half-a-dozen more, are at the door. Shall I let them in?
  Prince. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door.
                                                  [Exit Vintner.]
    Poins!
  Poins. [within] Anon, anon, sir.

                          Enter Poins.

  Prince. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the
    door. Shall we be merry?
  Poins. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what cunning
    match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come,
what's
    the issue?
  Prince. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves
humours
    since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this
    present this twelve o'clock at midnight.

                         [Enter Francis.]

    What's o'clock, Francis?
  Fran. Anon, anon, sir.                                 [Exit.]
  Prince. That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a
    parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry is upstairs
and
    downstairs, 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 to his wife, 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O
my
    sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou  kill'd 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 damn'd brawn shall play
Dame
    Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says the drunkard. Call in ribs,
call
    in tallow.

           Enter Falstaff, [Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto;
                   Francis follows with wine].

  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 them and foot them too. A plague
of
    all cowards! Give me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue
    extant?
                                                    He drinketh.
  Prince. Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter?
    Pitiful-hearted butter, that melted at the sweet tale of the
sun!
    If thou didst, then behold that compound.
  Fal. You rogue, here's lime in this sack too! There is nothing
but
    roguery to be found in villanous man. Yet a coward is worse
than
    a cup of sack with lime in it- a villanous coward! Go thy
ways,
    old Jack, die when thou wilt; if manhood, good manhood, be
not
    forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten
herring.
    There lives not three good men unhang'd 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
anything. A
    plague of all cowards I say still!
  Prince. How now, woolsack? 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?
  Prince. Why, you whoreson round man, what's the matter?
  Fal. Are not you a coward? Answer me to that- and Poins there?
  Poins. Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
    Lord, I'll stab thee.
  Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee damn'd ere I call thee
    coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast
as
    thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders; you
care
    not who sees Your back. Call you that backing of your
friends? A
    plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me.
Give me
    a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk to-day.
  Prince. O villain! thy lips are scarce wip'd since thou
drunk'st
    last.
  Fal. All is one for that. (He drinketh.) A plague of all
cowards
    still say I.
  Prince. What's the matter?
  Fal. What's the matter? There be four of us here have ta'en a
    thousand pound this day morning.
  Prince. Where is it, Jack? Where is it?
  Fal. Where is it, Taken from us it is. A hundred upon poor four
of
    us!
  Prince. What, a hundred, man?
  Fal. I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of
them
    two hours together. I have scap'd by miracle. I am eight
times
    thrust through the doublet, four through the hose; my buckler
cut
    through and through; my sword hack'd like a handsaw- ecce
signum!
    I never dealt better since I was a man. All would not do. A
    plague of all cowards! Let them speak, If they speak more or
less
    than truth, they are villains and the sons of darkness.
  Prince. Speak, sirs. How was it?
  Gads. We four set upon some dozen-
  Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord.
  Gads. And bound them.
  Peto. No, no, they were not bound.
  Fal. You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a
Jew
    else- an Ebrew Jew.
  Gads. As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men sea upon
us-
  Fal. And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
  Prince. What, fought you with them all?
  Fal. All? I know not what you call all, but if I fought not
with
    fifty of them, I am a bunch of radish! If there were not two
or
    three and fifty upon poor old Jack, then am I no two-legg'd
    creature.
  Prince. Pray God you have not murd'red some of them.
  Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have pepper'd two of them.
Two
    I am sure I have paid, two rogues in buckram suits. I tell
thee
    what, Hal- if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, call me
horse.
    Thou knowest my old ward. Here I lay, and thus I bore my
point.
    Four rogues in buckram let drive at me.
  Prince. What, four? Thou saidst but two even now.
  Fal. Four, Hal. I told thee four.
  Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.
  Fal. These four came all afront and mainly thrust at me. I made
me
    no more ado but took all their seven points in my target,
thus.
  Prince. Seven? Why, there were but four even now.
  Fal. In buckram?
  Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.
  Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
  Prince. [aside to Poins] Prithee let him alone. We shall have
more
    anon.
  Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?
  Prince. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
  Fal. Do so, for it is worth the list'ning to. These nine in
buckram
    that I told thee of-
  Prince. So, two more already.
  Fal. Their points being broken-
  Poins. Down fell their hose.
  Fal. Began to give me ground; but I followed me close, came in,
    foot and hand, and with a thought seven of the eleven I paid.
  Prince. O monstrous! Eleven buckram men grown out of two!
  Fal. But, as the devil would have it, three misbegotten knaves
in
    Kendal green came at my back and let drive at me; for it was
so
    dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.
  Prince. These lies are like their father that begets them-
gross as
    a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brain'd guts, thou
    knotty-pated fool, thou whoreson obscene greasy tallow-catch-
  Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? Is not the truth the
truth?
  Prince. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green
when
    it was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us
your
    reason. What sayest thou to this?
  Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.
  Fal. What, upon compulsion? Zounds, an I were at the strappado
or
    all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on
compulsion.
    Give you a reason on compulsion? If reasons were as plentiful
as
    blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion,
I.
  Prince. I'll be no longer guilty, of this sin; this sanguine
    coward, this bed-presser, this horseback-breaker, this huge
hill
    of flesh-
  Fal. 'Sblood, you starveling, you elf-skin, you dried
    neat's-tongue, you bull's sizzle, you stockfish- O for breath
to
    utter what is like thee!- you tailor's yard, you sheath, you
    bowcase, you vile standing tuck!
  Prince. Well, breathe awhile, and then to it again; and when
thou
    hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but
this.
  Poins. Mark, Jack.
  Prince. We two saw you four set on four, and bound them and
were
    masters of their wealth. Mark now how a plain tale shall put
you
    down. Then did we two set on you four and, with a word,
outfac'd
    you from your prize, and have it; yea, and can show it you
here
    in the house. And, Falstaff, you carried your guts away as
    nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roar'd for mercy, and
still
    run and roar'd, as ever I heard bullcalf. What a slave art
thou
    to hack thy sword as thou hast done, and then say it was in
    fight! What trick, what device, what starting hole canst thou
now
    find out to hide thee from this open and apparent shame?
  Poins. Come, let's hear, Jack. What trick hast thou now?
  Fal. By the Lord, I knew ye as well as he that made ye. Why,
hear
    you, my masters. Was it for me to kill the heir apparent?
Should
    I turn upon the true prince? Why, thou knowest I am as
valiant as
    Hercules; but beware instinct. The lion will not touch the
true
    prince. Instinct is a great matter. I was now a coward on
    instinct. I shall think the better of myself, and thee,
during my
    life- I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But,
by
    the Lord, lads, I am glad you have the money. Hostess, clap
to
    the doors. Watch to-night, pray to-morrow. Gallants, lads,
boys,
    hearts of gold, all the titles of good fellowship come to
you!
    What, shall we be merry? Shall we have a play extempore?
  Prince. Content- and the argument shall be thy running away.
  Fal. Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!

                             Enter Hostess.

  Host. O Jesu, my lord the Prince!
  Prince. How now, my lady the hostess? What say'st thou to me?
  Host. Marry, my lord, there is a nobleman of the court at door
    would speak with you. He says he comes from your father.
  Prince. Give him as much as will make him a royal man, and send
him
    back again to my mother.
  Fal. What manner of man is he?
  Host. An old man.
  Fal. What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give
him
    his answer?
  Prince. Prithee do, Jack.
  Fal. Faith, and I'll send him packing.
Exit.
  Prince. Now, sirs. By'r Lady, you fought fair; so did you,
Peto; so
    did you, Bardolph. You are lions too, you ran away upon
instinct,
    you will not touch the true prince; no- fie!
  Bard. Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
  Prince. Tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff's sword so
    hack'd?
  Peto. Why, he hack'd it with his dagger, and said he would
swear
    truth out of England but he would make you believe it was
done in
    fight, and persuaded us to do the like.
  Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with speargrass to make them
    bleed, and then to beslubber our garments with it and swear
it
    was the blood of true men. I did that I did not this seven
year
    before- I blush'd to hear his monstrous devices.
  Prince. O villain! thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years
ago
    and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast
blush'd
    extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet
thou
    ran'st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?
  Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these
    exhalations?
  Prince. I do.
  Bard. What think you they portend?
  Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.
  Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
  Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter.

                         Enter Falstaff.

    Here comes lean Jack; here comes bare-bone. How now, my sweet
    creature of bombast? How long is't ago, Jack, since thou
sawest
    thine own knee?
  Fal. My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an
    eagle's talent in the waist; I could have crept into any
    alderman's thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It
blows a
    man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad. Here
was
    Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the
    morning. That same mad fellow of the North, Percy, and he of
    Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer
cuckold,
    and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a
Welsh
    hook- what a plague call you him?
  Poins. O, Glendower.
  Fal. Owen, Owen- the same; and his son-in-law Mortimer, and old
    Northumberland, and that sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas,
that
    runs a-horseback up a hill perpendicular-
  Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his pistol kills a
    sparrow flying.
  Fal. You have hit it.
  Prince. So did he never the sparrow.
  Fal. Well, that rascal hath good metal in him; he will not run.
  Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for
    running!
  Fal. A-horseback, ye cuckoo! but afoot he will not budge a
foot.
  Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
  Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one
    Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more. Worcester is stol'n
away
    to-night; thy father's beard is turn'd white with the news;
you
    may buy land now as cheap as stinking mack'rel.
  Prince. Why then, it is like, if there come a hot June, and
this
    civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy
    hobnails, by the hundreds.
  Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like we shall
have
    good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou
horrible
    afeard? Thou being heir apparent, could the world pick thee
out
    three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit
    Percy, and that devil Glendower? Art thou not horribly
afraid?
    Doth not thy blood thrill at it?
  Prince. Not a whit, i' faith. I lack some of thy instinct.
  Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow when thou
comest to
    thy father. If thou love file, practise an answer.
  Prince. Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the
    particulars of my life.
  Fal. Shall I? Content. This chair shall be my state, this
dagger my
    sceptre, and this cushion my, crown.
  Prince. Thy state is taken for a join'd-stool, thy golden
sceptre
    for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a
pitiful
    bald crown.
  Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now
shalt
    thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look
red,
    that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in
passion,
    and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.
  Prince. Well, here is my leg.
  Fal. And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.
  Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!
  Fal. Weep not, sweet queen, for trickling tears are vain.
  Host. O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!
  Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen!
    For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
  Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players
as
    ever I see!
  Fal. Peace, good pintpot. Peace, good tickle-brain.- Harry, I
do
    not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how
thou
    art accompanied. For though the camomile, the more it is
trodden
    on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted,
the
    sooner it wears. That thou art my son I have partly thy
mother's
    word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of
    thine eye and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip that doth
    warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point:
why,
    being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed
sun of
    heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? A question not to
be
    ask'd. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take
purses? A
    question to be ask'd. There is a thing, Harry, which thou
hast
    often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the
name
    of pitch. This pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth
defile;
    so doth the company thou keepest. For, Harry, now I do not
speak
    to thee in drink, but in tears; not in pleasure, but in
passion;
    not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a
virtuous
    man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not
his
    name.
  Prince. What manner of man, an it like your Majesty?
  Fal. A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a
cheerful
    look, a pleasing eye, and a most noble carriage; and, as I
think,
    his age some fifty, or, by'r Lady, inclining to threescore;
and
    now I remember me, his name is Falstaff. If that man should
be
    lewdly, given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in
his
    looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the
fruit
    by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue
in
    that Falstaff. Him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me
now,
    thou naughty varlet, tell me where hast thou been this month?
  Prince. Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and
I'll
    play my father.
  Fal. Depose me? If thou dost it half so gravely, so
majestically,
    both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a
    rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare.
  Prince. Well, here I am set.
  Fal. And here I stand. Judge, my masters.
  Prince. Now, Harry, whence come you?
  Fal. My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
  Prince. The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
  Fal. 'Sblood, my lord, they are false! Nay, I'll tickle ye for
a
    young prince, i' faith.
  Prince. Swearest thou, ungracious boy? Henceforth ne'er look on
me.
    Thou art violently carried away from grace. There is a devil
    haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man
is
    thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of
humours,
    that bolting hutch of beastliness, that swoll'n parcel of
    dropsies, that huge bombard of sack, that stuff'd cloakbag of
    guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his
belly,
    that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian,
that
    vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and
drink
    it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat
it?
    wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in
villany?
    wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in
    nothing?
  Fal. I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your
    Grace?
  Prince. That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff,
    that old white-bearded Satan.
  Fal. My lord, the man I know.
  Prince. I know thou dost.
  Fal. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself were to
say
    more than I know. That he is old (the more the pity) his
white
    hairs do witness it; but that he is (saving your reverence) a
    whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a
fault,
    God help the wicked! If to be old and merry be a sin, then
many
    an old host that I know is damn'd. If to be fat be to be
hated,
    then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord.
    Banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins; but for sweet
Jack
    Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant
Jack
    Falstaff, and therefore more valiant being, as he is, old
Jack
    Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him
thy
    Harry's company. Banish plump Jack, and banish all the world!
  Prince. I do, I will.                      [A knocking heard.]
                        [Exeunt Hostess, Francis, and Bardolph.]


                     Enter Bardolph, running.

  Bard. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous
watch
    is at the door.
  Fal. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in
the
    behalf of that Falstaff.

                       Enter the Hostess.

  Host. O Jesu, my lord, my lord!
  Prince. Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick!
    What's the matter?
  Host. The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are
come
    to search the house. Shall I let them in?
  Fal. Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a
    counterfeit. Thou art essentially mad without seeming so.
  Prince. And thou a natural coward without instinct.
  Fal. I deny your major. If you will deny the sheriff, so; if
not,
    let him enter. If I become not a cart as well as another man,
a
    plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled
    with a halter as another.
  Prince. Go hide thee behind the arras. The rest walk, up above.
    Now, my masters, for a true face and good conscience.
  Fal. Both which I have had; but their date is out, and
therefore
    I'll hide me.                                          Exit.
  Prince. Call in the sheriff.
                            [Exeunt Manent the Prince and Peto.]

                    Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.

    Now, Master Sheriff, what is your will with me?
  Sher. First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
    Hath followed certain men unto this house.
  Prince. What men?
  Sher. One of them is well known, my gracious lord-
    A gross fat man.
  Carrier. As fat as butter.
  Prince. The man, I do assure you, is not here,
    For I myself at this time have employ'd him.
    And, sheriff, I will engage my word to thee
    That I will by to-morrow dinner time
    Send him to answer thee, or any man,
    For anything he shall be charg'd withal;
    And so let me entreat you leave the house.
  Sher. I will, my lord. There are two gentlemen
    Have in this robbery lost three hundred marks.
  Prince. It may be so. If he have robb'd these men,
    He shall be answerable; and so farewell.
  Sher. Good night, my noble lord.
  Prince. I think it is good morrow, is it not?
  Sher. Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o'clock.
                                            Exit [with Carrier].
  Prince. This oily rascal is known as well as Paul's. Go call
him
    forth.
  Peto. Falstaff! Fast asleep behind the arras, and snorting like
a
    horse.
  Prince. Hark how hard he fetches breath. Search his pockets.
            He searcheth his pockets and findeth certain papers.
    What hast thou found?
  Peto. Nothing but papers, my lord.
  Prince. Let's see whit they be. Read them.

  Peto. [reads] 'Item. A capon. . . . . . . . . . . . .  ii s. ii
d.
                 Item, Sauce. . . . . . . . . . . . . .      iiii
d.
                 Item, Sack two gallons . . . . . . . . v s. viii
d.
                 Item, Anchovies and sack after supper.  ii s. vi
d.
                 Item, Bread. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
ob.'

  Prince. O monstrous! but one halfpennyworth of bread to this
    intolerable deal of sack! What there is else, keep close;
we'll
    read it at more advantage. There let him sleep till day. I'll
to
    the court in the morning. We must all to the wars. and thy
place
    shall be honourable. I'll procure this fat rogue a charge of
    foot; and I know, his death will be a march of twelve score.
The
    money shall be paid back again with advantage. Be with me
betimes
    in the morning, and so good morrow, Peto.
  Peto. Good morrow, good my lord.
                                                         Exeunt.

 At the Boar's-Head Tavern, Prince Hal and Poins are entertaining themselves. Hal tells his companion that he has won much honor by being accepted as "sworn brother" to the lowly tavern servants. He engages Francis, one of them, in a bewildering game with Poins' help. First the prince, then Poins, calls for poor Francis, who, striving to please both, runs up and down stairs in a ridiculous manner, answering each call with "Anon , sir." Hal makes the newly-arrived Falstaff and the rest of the thieves wait at the door while he comments on the significance of Francis' behavior, curiously shifting to a comparison of himself with "the Hotspur of the North." Falstaff and his companions enter, the fat knight complaining bitterly about the prevalence of cowardice and calling for sack. He then tells how courageously he fought at Gadshill against enemies who, first said to number one hundred, are successively reduced to six or seven; and, as he testifies, two particular ones in buckram suits become successively four, seven, nine, and finally eleven. Hal and Falstaff exchange derogatory epithets. At last the prince gives the true account of what happened and challenges Falstaff to explain away the fact that he has proved himself to be a coward and liar. Falstaff, in his special way, does exactly that. Valiant though he is, never would he be one to kill the heir-apparent, whom he recognized immediately by instinct. His spirits are uplifted, for he now knows that Hal has the money taken from the travelers. Let all be merry, he exclaims and suggests a "play extempore" -- a bit of amateur play acting -- as a source of amusement. A messenger from the king is announced. At Hal's request, Falstaff leaves to "send him packing." During Sir John's absence, Bardolph and Peto tell how the old knight coached them to back up his preposterous story. When Falstaff returns with news of the revolt of the Percies, the prince seems almost totally unconcerned. The names of renowned Hotspur , Mortimer, Douglas, and "that devil Glendower" leave him unperturbed; unlike Sir John, he cannot be a coward. But Hal must appear before his royal father, and this provides the subject for the play extempore, a kind of rehearsal, in which the prince and Falstaff play alternate roles. The arrival of the sheriff and "all the watch" at the tavern door interrupts this merriment. At Hal's request, Falstaff hides behind the arras and the others go upstairs, leaving the prince with Peto to face the law. The carrier who accompanies the sheriff into the tavern identifies one of the thieves as a gross fat man -- "as fat as butter." Hal assures them that the man is not present and that he will answer personally for any charges made. After the sheriff and the carrier have left, Falstaff is discovered fast asleep and snoring behind the arras. "Search his pockets," says Hal to Peto, who finds only a tavern bill for a bit of food and vast quantities of sack. On inspiration, Hal decides to pester Falstaff by giving him a command of foot troops which he will have to lead against the rebels. Hal himself will report to his father in the morning and will see that the stolen money is returned.

