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Dr. W. Eh! what the deuce does he mean? (Aside.) (Enter Robert, who stares at them both.)

Rob. Eh!-Did-did you call, sir? (To Dr. Wisepate.) T. O'K. Yes, sirrah. Take that poor fellow down to the kitchen; he's come upon a foolish errand this cold wet dayso, do you see, give him something to eat and drink—as much as he likes and bid my steward give him a guinea for his trouble.



T. O'K. Tunder and ouns, fellow! must I put my words into my mouth, and take them out again, for you? Thady, (To the Doctor.) my jewel, just give that blockhead of mine a rap on his sconce with your little bit of a switch, and I'll do as much for you another time.

Dr. W. So, instead of my instructing the fellow he has absolutely instructed me. (Aside.) Well, sir, you have convinced me what Dr. Wisepate should be, and now suppose we are ourselves again.

T. O'K. (Rises.) With all my heart, sir. Here's your honor's wig and spectacles, and now give me my comfortable hat and switch.

Dr. W. And, Robert, obey the orders that my representative gave you.

Rob. What! carry him down to the kitchen!

T. O'K. No, young man, I shan't trouble you to carry me down-I'll carry myself down, and you shall see what a beautiful hand master O'Keen is at a knife and fork. (Exit with Robert.)

Dr. W. (Solus.) Well, this fellow has some humor; indeed he has fairly turned the tables upon me. I wish I could get him to give a dose of my prescribing to her ladyship's cats and dogs, for the foolish woman has absolutely bequeathed in her will an annual sum for the care of each, after her death. Oh, dear! dear! how much more to her credit it would be to consider the present exigencies of her country, and add to the number of voluntary contributions !



P. Henry. Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been? Falstaff. A plague on all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and amen!-(To an attendant.) Give me a cup of sack, boy.-Ere I lead this life long, I'll sew nethersocks,

and mend them, and foot them too. A plague on all cowards: -Give me a cup of sack, rogue.-Is there no virtue extant? (Drains the cup.) 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 live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat, and grown old, a bad world, I say! A plague on all cowards, I say still!

P. Henry. 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!

P. Henry. Why, what's the matter?


Are you not a coward? answer me that.

P. Henry. Ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I'll stab thee.

Fal. I call thee coward? I'll see thee hanged 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 have drunk to-day.

P. Henry. Oh villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drankst last.

Fal. All's one for that. (He drinks.) A plague on all cowards, still say I!

P. Henry. What's the matter?

Fal. What's the matter? here be four of us have taken a thousand pound this morning.

P. Henry. Where is it, Jack? where is it?

Fal. Where is it? taken from us, it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.

P. Henry. 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 escaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet: four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a handsaw, ecce signum. (Shows his sword.) I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague on all cowards '

P. Henry. What, fought you with them all?

Fal. All? I know not what ye 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 twolegged creature.

P Henry. Pray heaven, you have not murdered some of them. Fal. Nay, that's past praying for. I have peppered 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. (Taking a position for fighting.)-Here I lay, and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me

P. Henry. What, four? thou saidst but two, even now. Fal. Four, Hal! I told thee four.-These four came all a-front, and mainly thrust at me. I made no more ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus.

P. Henry. Seven! why, there were but four, even now. Fal. In buckram.

P. Henry. Ay, four in buckram suits.

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else. Dost thou hear me, Hal?

P. Henry. Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.

Fal. Do so, for it is worth listening to.-These nine in buckram that I told thee of

P. Henry. So, two more already.

Fal. Their points being broken,-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.

P. Henry. Oh monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

Fal. But, as ill-luck 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.

P. Henry. These lies are like the father that begets them; gross as a mountain, open, palpable. Why, thou knotty-pated fool; thou greasy tallow-tub.

Fal. What, art thou mad? art thou mad? is not the truth the truth?

P. Henry. 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? Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

Fal. What, upon compulsion ?-No. Were I at the strappado, or all the racks in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason upon compulsion! If reasons

were as plenty as blackberries, I would give no man a reason upon compulsion.

P. Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin. This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back breaker, this huge hill of flesh

Ful. Away, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat's tongue, you stock-fish! Oh for breath to utter what is like thee! you taylor's yard, you sheath, you bow-case, you vile standing tuck,

P. Henry. Well, breathe awhile and then to it again; and when thou hast tired thyself in base comparisons, hear me speak but this.-Poins and I saw you four set on four; you 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, outfaced you from your prize, and have it, yea can show it you here in the house. And Falstaff, you carried your paunch away as nimbly, with as quick dexterity, and roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard a bull-calf. 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 ?

Fal. Ha ha ha!-D'ye think I did not know you, Hal? Why, hear ye, my master, was it for me to kill the heir ap parent? 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 a coward on instinct, I grant you; and I shall think the better of myself and thee during my life; I for a valiant lion, and thou for a true prince. But I am glad you have the money. Let us clap to the doors; watch to-night, pray to-morrow. What! shall we be merry? shall we have a play extempore? P. Henry. Content!-and the argument shall be, thy run ning away.

Fal. Ah!-no more of that, Hal, if thou lovest me.



Sir Philip. Come hither. I believe you hold a farm of mine. Ashfield. Ees, zur, I do, at your zarvice.

Sir P. I hope a profitable one.

Ash. Zometimes it be, zur. But thiç year it be all t'other way, as 'twur; but I do hope, as our landlords have a tightish

big lump of the good, they'll be zo kind-hearted as to take a little bit of the bad.

Sir P. It is but reasonable. I conclude, then, you are in my debt.

Ash. Ees, zur, I be; at your zarvice.

Sir P. How much?

Ash. I do owe ye a hundred and fifty pounds; at your zarvice. Sir P. Which you can't pay.

Ash. Not a varthing, zur, at your zarvice.

Sir P. Well, I am willing to allow you every indulgence. Ash. Be you, zur? that be deadly kind. Dear heart! it will make my auld dame quite young again, and I don't think helping a poor man will do your honor's health any harm; I don't indeed, zur. I had a thought of speaking to your worship aboat it; but then, thinks I, the gentleman mayhap be one of those that do like to do a good turn, and not have a word zaid about it: zo, zur, if you had not mentioned what I owed you, I am zure I never should; should not, indeed, zur.

Sir. P.



Nay, I will wholly acquit you of the debt, on con

Ees, zưr.

Sir. P. On condition, I say, that you instantly turn out that boy; that Henry.

Ash. Turn out Henry! Ha, ha, ha! Excuse my tittering, zur; but you bees making your vun of I, zure.

Sir P. I am not apt to trifle; send him instantly from you, or take the consequences.

Ash. Turn out Henry! I do vow I should'nt know how to set about it; I should not, indeed, zur.

Sir P. You hear my determination. If you disobey, you know what will follow. I'll leave you to reflect on it. (Exit.) Ash. Well, zur, I'll argify the topic, and then you may wait upon me, and I'll tell ye. (Makes the motion of turning out.) I should be deadly awkard at it, vor zartain. However, I'll put the case. Well! I goes whiztling whoam; noa, drabbit it! I shouldn't be able to whiztle a bit, I'm zure. Well! I goes whoam, and I zees Henry sitting by my wife, mixing up someit to comfort the wold zoul, and take away the pain of her rheumatics. Very well! Then Henry places a chair vor I by the vire-side, and zays-" Varmer, the horses be fed, the sheep be folded, and you have nothing to do but to zit down, smoke your pipe, and be happy!" Very well! (Becomes affected.) Then I zays, "Henry, you be poor and friendless, 80 you must turn out of my house directly." Very well! then my wife stares at I; reaches her hand towards the vire-place

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