Chapter: Scene II.
A public road near Coventry.

Enter Falstaff and Bardolph.

  Fal. Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a bottle of
    sack. Our soldiers shall march through. We'll to Sutton
Co'fil'
    to-night.
  Bard. Will you give me money, Captain?
  Fal. Lay out, lay out.
  Bard. This bottle makes an angel.
  Fal. An if it do, take it for thy labour; an if it make twenty,
    take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid my lieutenant
Peto
    meet me at town's end.
  Bard. I will, Captain. Farewell.                         Exit.
  Fal. If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a sous'd gurnet.
I
    have misused the King's press damnably. I have got in
exchange of
    a hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I
    press me none but good householders, yeomen's sons; inquire
me
    out contracted bachelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the
    banes- such a commodity of warm slaves as had as lieve hear
the
    devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver worse
than
    a struck fowl or a hurt wild duck. I press'd me none but such
    toasts-and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger
than
    pins' heads, and they have bought out their services; and now
my
    whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants,
    gentlemen of companies- slaves as ragged as Lazarus in the
    painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his sores; and
    such as indeed were never soldiers, but discarded unjust
    serving-men, younger sons to Younger brothers, revolted
tapsters,
    and ostlers trade-fall'n; the cankers of a calm world and a
long
    peace; ten times more dishonourable ragged than an old fac'd
    ancient; and such have I to fill up the rooms of them that
have
    bought out their services that you would think that I had a
    hundred and fifty tattered Prodigals lately come from
    swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met
me
    on the way, and told me I had unloaded all the gibbets and
    press'd the dead bodies. No eye hath seen such scarecrows.
I'll
    not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and
the
    villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves
on;
    for indeed I had the most of them out of prison. There's but
a
    shirt and a half in all my company; and the half-shirt is two


    napkins tack'd together and thrown over the shoulders like a
    herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the
truth,
    stol'n from my host at Saint Alban's, or the red-nose
innkeeper
    of Daventry. But that's all one; they'll find linen enough on
    every hedge.

              Enter the Prince and the Lord of Westmoreland.

  Prince. How now, blown Jack? How now, quilt?
  Fal. What, Hal? How now, mad wag? What a devil dost thou in
    Warwickshire? My good Lord of Westmoreland, I cry you mercy.
I
    thought your honour had already been at Shrewsbury.
  West. Faith, Sir John, 'tis more than time that I were there,
and
    you too; but my powers are there already. The King, I can
tell
    you, looks for us all. We must away all, to-night.
  Fal. Tut, never fear me. I am as vigilant as a cat to steal
cream.
  Prince. I think, to steal cream indeed, for thy theft hath
already
    made thee butter. But tell me, Jack, whose fellows are these
that
    come after?
  Fal. Mine, Hal, mine.
  Prince. I did never see such pitiful rascals.
  Fal. Tut, tut! good enough to toss; food for powder, food for
    powder. They'll fill a pit as well as better. Tush, man,
mortal
    men, mortal men.
  West. Ay, but, Sir John, methinks they are exceeding poor and
bare-
    too beggarly.
  Fal. Faith, for their poverty, I know, not where they had that;
and
    for their bareness, I am surd they never learn'd that of me.
  Prince. No, I'll be sworn, unless you call three fingers on the
    ribs bare. But, sirrah, make haste. Percy 's already in the
    field.
Exit.
  Fal. What, is the King encamp'd?
  West. He is, Sir John. I fear we shall stay too long.
                                                         [Exit.]
  Fal. Well,
    To the latter end of a fray and the beginning of a feast
    Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.                  Exit.

 Falstaff and Bardolph appear on a public road near Coventry, followed by a newly enlisted company of soldiers. Sir John orders Bardolph to replenish his supply of sack and to tell Peto to meet him at the town's end. He dislikes the idea of marching his men through the town in their rags and tatters. Abjectly impoverished, not one of them could pay him, as so many others had, for release from military service. In Falstaff's own words, "No eye hath seen such scarecrows" . Prince Hal and Westmoreland meet him on the road and comment on the poor creatures whom Falstaff leads. The knight remains undisturbed and is philosophical in the face of this criticism. And, for that matter, the prince seems amused rather than indignant. All are to make haste, says Hal, for Percy is already in the field.

