Outline
Characters
Dreamweaver
[Enter Prince Henry.]
Prince
Ned, prithee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh
a little.
[Enter Poins.]
Poins
Where hast been, Hal?
Prince
With three or four loggerheads amongst three or fourscore hogsheads. I
have sounded the very base-string of humility. Sirrah, I am sworn
brother to a leash of drawers, and can call them all by their Christian
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 in
Eastcheap. They call drinking deep, “dyeing 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, clapped even now into my hand by an
underskinker, 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.
[Exit Poins.]
Poins
[_Within_] Francis!
Prince
Thou art perfect.
Poins
[_Within_] Francis!
[Enter Francis.]
Francis
Anon, anon, sir.—Look down into the Pomegarnet, Ralph.
Prince
Come hither, Francis.
Francis
My lord?
Prince
How long hast thou to serve, Francis?
Francis
Forsooth, five years, and as much as to—
Poins
[_within._] Francis!
Francis
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?
Francis
O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find
in my heart—
Poins
[_within._] Francis!
Francis
Anon, sir.
Prince
How old art thou, Francis?
Francis
Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be—
Poins
[_within._] Francis!
Francis
Anon, sir.—Pray, stay a little, my lord.
Prince
Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gavest me, ’twas a
pennyworth, was’t not?
Francis
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!
Francis
Anon, anon.
Prince
Anon, Francis? No, Francis, but tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, a
Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,—
Francis
My lord?
Prince
Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated,
agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch—
Francis
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.
Francis
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.]
Vintner
What, stand’st thou still, and hear’st such a calling? Look to the
guests within.
[Exit Francis.]
Vintner
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.]
Prince
Poins!
[Enter Poins.]
Poins
Anon, anon, sir.
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 twelve
o’clock at midnight.
[Enter Francis.]
Prince
What’s o’clock, Francis?
Francis
Anon, anon, sir.
[Exit Francis.]
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 killed today?” “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 the drunkard. Call in Ribs,
call in Tallow.
[Enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph and Peto; followed by Francis with]
Prince
wine.
Poins
Welcome, Jack. Where hast thou been?
Falstaff
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?
[Drinks.]
Prince
Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter (pitiful-hearted
Titan!), that melted at the sweet tale of the sun’s? If thou didst,
then behold that compound.
Falstaff
You rogue, here’s lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery
to be found in villainous 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
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 anything. A plague of all cowards, I say still.
Prince
How now, wool-sack, what mutter you?
Falstaff
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?
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
I call thee coward? I’ll see thee damned 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
today.
Prince
O villain! Thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk’st last.
Falstaff
All is one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I.
[Drinks.]
Prince
What’s the matter?
Falstaff
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?
Falstaff
Where is it? Taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.
Prince
What, a hundred, man?
Falstaff
I am a rogue if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours
together. I have ’scaped 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!_ 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?
Gadshill
We four set upon some dozen.
Falstaff
Sixteen at least, my lord.
Gadshill
And bound them.
Peto
No, no, they were not bound.
Falstaff
You rogue, they were bound, every man of them, or I am a Jew else, an
Ebrew Jew.
Gadshill
As we were sharing, some six or seven fresh men set upon us.
Falstaff
And unbound the rest, and then come in the other.
Prince
What, fought you with them all?
Falstaff
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-legged creature.
Prince
Pray God you have not murdered some of them.
Falstaff
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. 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.
Falstaff
Four, Hal, I told thee four.
Poins
Ay, ay, he said four.
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
In buckram?
Poins
Ay, four, in buckram suits.
Falstaff
Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.
Prince
[_aside to Poins._] Prithee let him alone, we shall have more anon.
Falstaff
Dost thou hear me, Hal?
Prince
Ay, and mark thee too, Jack.
Falstaff
Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram that I
told thee of—
Prince
So, two more already.
Falstaff
Their points being broken—
Poins
Down fell their hose.
Falstaff
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!
Falstaff
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 the father that begets them, gross as a mountain,
open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained guts, thou knotty-pated fool,
thou whoreson, obscene greasy tallow-catch—
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
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 horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh—
Falstaff
’Sblood, you starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s-tongue, you
bull’s pizzle, you stock-fish—O, for breath to utter what is like thee!
You tailor’s-yard, you sheath, you bow-case, 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, outfaced 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
roared for mercy, and still ran and roared, as ever I heard 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?
Poins
Come, let’s hear, Jack, what trick hast thou now?
Falstaff
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 tonight, pray tomorrow.
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.
Falstaff
Ah, no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest me!
[Enter the Hostess.]
Mrs. Quickly
O Jesu, my lord the Prince—
Prince
How now, my lady the hostess! What say’st thou to me?
Mrs. Quickly
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.
Falstaff
What manner of man is he?
Mrs. Quickly
An old man.
Falstaff
What doth gravity out of his bed at midnight? Shall I give him his
answer?
Prince
Prithee do, Jack.
Falstaff
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!
Bardolph
Faith, I ran when I saw others run.
Prince
Faith, tell me now in earnest, how came Falstaff’s sword so hacked?
Peto
Why, he hacked 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.
Bardolph
Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass 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 blushed 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 blushed extempore. Thou
hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran’st away. What
instinct hadst thou for it?
Bardolph
My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations?
Prince
I do.
Bardolph
What think you they portend?
Prince
Hot livers and cold purses.
Bardolph
Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
Prince
No, if rightly taken, halter.
[Enter Falstaff.]
Prince
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?
Falstaff
My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle’s
talon 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.
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
You have hit it.
Prince
So did he never the sparrow.
Falstaff
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!
Falstaff
A-horseback, ye cuckoo, but afoot he will not budge a foot.
Prince
Yes, Jack, upon instinct.
Falstaff
I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there too, and one Mordake, and
a thousand blue-caps more. Worcester is stolen away tonight; thy
father’s beard is turned white with the news. You may buy land now as
cheap as stinking mackerel.
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.
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
Well, thou wilt be horribly chid tomorrow when thou comest to thy
father. If thou love me practise an answer.
Prince
Do thou stand for my father and examine me upon the particulars of my
life.
Falstaff
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 joint-stool, thy golden sceptre for a leaden
dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown.
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility.
Mrs. Quickly
O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i faith!
Falstaff
Weep not, sweet Queen, for trickling tears are vain.
Mrs. Quickly
O, the Father, how he holds his countenance!
Falstaff
For God’s sake, lords, convey my tristful Queen,
For tears do stop the floodgates of her eyes.
Mrs. Quickly
O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see!
Falstaff
Peace, good pint-pot; 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 villainous 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 asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take
purses? A question to be asked. 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?
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
And here I stand. Judge, my masters.
Prince
Now, Harry, whence come you?
Falstaff
My noble lord, from Eastcheap.
Prince
The complaints I hear of thee are grievous.
Falstaff
’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 swollen parcel of dropsies, that huge bombard of
sack, that stuffed cloak-bag 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 villainous, but in all things? Wherein worthy, but in nothing?
Falstaff
I would your Grace would take me with you. Whom means your Grace?
Prince
That villainous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old
white-bearded Satan.
Falstaff
My lord, the man I know.
Prince
I know thou dost.
Falstaff
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 damned.
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.]
Bardolph
O, my lord, my lord, the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the
door.
Falstaff
Out, ye rogue! Play out the play. I have much to say in the behalf of
that Falstaff.
[Enter the Hostess, hastily.]
Mrs. Quickly
O Jesu, my lord, my lord—
Prince
Heigh, heigh, the devil rides upon a fiddlestick. What’s the matter?
Mrs. Quickly
The sheriff and all the watch are at the door. They are come to search
the house. Shall I let them in?
Falstaff
Dost thou hear, Hal? Never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit:
thou art essentially made without seeming so.
Prince
And thou a natural coward without instinct.
Falstaff
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]
Falstaff
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.
Falstaff
Both which I have had, but their date is out, and therefore I’ll hide
me.
Prince
Call in the sheriff.
[Exeunt all but the Prince and Peto.]
[Enter Sheriff and the Carrier.]
Prince
Now, master sheriff, what is your will with me?
Sheriff
First, pardon me, my lord. A hue and cry
Hath followed certain men unto this house.
Prince
What men?
Sheriff
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 tomorrow dinner-time,
Send him to answer thee, or any man,
For anything he shall be charged withal.
And so let me entreat you leave the house.
Sheriff
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.
Sheriff
Good night, my noble lord.
Prince
I think it is good morrow, is it not?
Sheriff
Indeed, my lord, I think it be two o’clock.
[Exit Sheriff with the 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 pocket, and findeth certain papers.]
Prince
What hast thou found?
Peto
Nothing but papers, my lord.
Prince
Let’s see what they be. Read them.
[reads]
Peto
Item, a capon, . . . . . . . . . . . 2s. 2d.
Item, sauce, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 4d.
Item, sack, two gallons, . . . 5s. 8d.
Item, anchovies and sack after supper, 2s. 6d.
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.]