Act II - Act II, Scene 2
Scene II. The Road by Gads-hill.
[Enter Prince Henry and Pointz; Bardolph and Peto at
Come, shelter, shelter: I have remov'd Falstaff's horse,
and he frets like a gumm'd velvet.
Pointz! Pointz, and be hang'd! Pointz!
Peace, ye fat-kidney'd rascal! what a brawling dost thou keep!
Where's Pointz, Hal?
He is walk'd up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him.
I am accursed to rob in that thief's company: the rascal hath
removed my horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but
four foot by the squire further a-foot, I shall break my wind.
Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I 'scape
hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly
any time this two-and-twenty year, and yet I am bewitch'd with the
rogue's company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make
me love him, I'll be hang'd; it could not be else: I have drunk
Pointz!--Hal!--a plague upon you both!--Bardolph!--Peto!--I'll
starve, ere I'll rob a foot further. An 'twere not as good a deed as
drink, to turn true man, and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest
varlet that ever chewed with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground
is threescore and ten miles a-foot with me; and the stony-hearted
villains know it well enough: a plague upon't, when thieves cannot
be true one to another!
[They whistle.] Whew!--A plague upon you all! Give me
my horse, you rogues; give me my horse, and be hang'd!
[Coming forward.] Peace! lie down; lay thine ear close to the
ground, and list if thou canst hear the tread of travellers.
Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down? 'Sblood, I'll
not bear mine own flesh so far a-foot again for all the coin in thy
father's exchequer. What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?
Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.
I pr'ythee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse, good king's
Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler?
Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters! If I be
ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made on you
all, and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my poison.
When a jest is so forward, and a-foot too, I hate it.
So I do, against my will.
O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice.
[Comes forward with Bardolph and Peto.]
Case ye, case ye; on with your visards: there's money of
the King's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the King's
You lie, ye rogue; 'tis going to the King's tavern.
There's enough to make us all.
To be hang'd.
Sirs, you four shall front them in the narrow lane; Ned
Pointz and I will walk lower; if they 'scape from your
encounter, then they light on us.
How many be there of them?
Some eight or ten.
Zwounds, will they not rob us?
What, a coward, Sir John Paunch?
Indeed, I am not John of Gaunt, your grandfather; but yet
no coward, Hal.
Well, we leave that to the proof.
Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge: when thou
need'st him, there thou shalt find him. Farewell, and stand fast.
Now cannot I strike him, if I should be hang'd.
[aside to POINTZ.] Ned, where are our disguises?
[aside to PRINCE HENRY.] Here, hard by: stand close.
[Exeunt Prince and Pointz.]
Now, my masters, happy man be his dole, say I: every man
to his business.
The boy shall lead our horses down the hill;
We'll walk a-foot awhile and ease our legs.
FALS, GADS., &C.
Jesu bless us!
Strike; down with them; cut the villains' throats. Ah,
whoreson caterpillars! bacon-fed knaves! they hate us youth:
down with them; fleece them.
O, we're undone, both we and ours for ever!
Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are ye undone? No, ye fat chuffs;
I would your store were here! On, bacons on! What, ye knaves!
young men must live. You are grand-jurors, are ye? we'll jure
[Exeunt Fals., Gads., &c., driving the Travellers out.]
[Re-enter Prince Henry and Pointz, in buckram suits.]
The thieves have bound the true men. Now, could thou and I rob
the thieves, and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a
week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.
Stand close: I hear them coming.
[Re-enter Falstaff, Gadshill, Bardolph, and Peto.]
Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day.
An the Prince and Pointz be not two arrant cowards, there's no
equity stirring: there's no more valour in that Pointz than in a
[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them.]
[Falstaff, after a blow or two, and the others run away, leaving
the booty behind them.]
Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse:
The thieves are scatter'd, and possess'd with fear
So strongly that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.
Away, good Ned. Fat Falstaff sweats to death,
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.
How the rogue roar'd!