A banish'd woman from my Harry's bed? Tell me, sweet lord, what is't, that takes from thee Of basilisks, of cannon, culverin; Of prisoners' ransome, and of soldiers slain, And I must know it, else he loves me not. Hot. What, ho! is Gilliams with the packet gone? Enter Servant. Serv. He is, my lord, an hour ago. Hot. Hath Butler brought those horses from the she riff? Serv. One horse, my lord, he brought even now. Hot. That roan shall be my throne. Well, I will back him straight: O esperance! Bid Butler lead him forth into the park. [Exit Servant. Lady. But hear you, my lord. Hot. What say'st, my lady? Lady. What is it carries you away? My love, my horse. Lady. Out, you mad-headed ape! I'll know your business, Harry, that I will. Hot. So far afoot, I shall be weary, love. In faith, I'll break thy little finger, Harry, Away, you trifler!-Love?-I love thee not, me? Lady. Do you not love me? do you not, indeed? Well, do not then; for, since you love me not, Hot. Come, wilt thou see me ride? No lady closer; for I well believe, Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know; And so far will I trust thee, gentle Kate! Lady. How! so far? Hot. Not an inch further. But hark you, Kate? Whither I go, thither shall you go too; To-day will I set forth, to-morrow you.- Lady. It must, of force, [Exeunt. SCENE IV.-Eastcheap. A Room in the Boar's-Head Tavern. Enter Prince HENRY and POINS. P. Hen. Ned, pr'ythee, come out of that fat room, and lend me thy hand to laugh a little. Poins. Where hast been, Hal? P. Hen. With three or four loggerheads, amongst three or four score 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 Eastchcap. 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, clapped even now in 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 pr'ythee, do thou stand in some byroom, while I question my puny drawer, to what end he gave me the sugar; and do thou never leave callingFrancis, that his tale to me may be nothing but-anon. Step aside, and I'll show thee a precedent. Poins. Francis! P. Hen. Thou art perfect. Poins. Francis! [Exit POINS. Enter FRANCIS. Fran. Anon, anon, sir.-Look down into the Pomegranate, Ralph, P. Hen. Come hither, Francis. Fran. My lord. P. Hen. How long hast thou to serve, Francis? Fran. Anon, anon, sir. P. Hen. Five years! by'rlady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter. But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as to play the coward with thy indenture, and to shew 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, anon, sir. P. Hen. How old art thou, Francis? Fran. Let me see,-About Michaelmas next I shall be Poins. [Within.] Francis! Fran. Anon, sir.-Pray you, stay a little, my lord. P. Hen. Nay, but hark you, Francis: For the sugar thou gavest me, 'twas a pennyworth, was't not? Fran. O lord, sir! I would, it had been two. P. Hen. 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. P. Hen. Anon, Francis? No, Francis: but to-morrow, |