Poin. Very hardly, vpon such a subiect
Prin. Thou think'st me as farre in the Diuels Booke, as thou, and Falstaffe, for obduracie and persistencie. Let the end try the man. But I tell thee, my hart bleeds inwardly, that my Father is so sicke: and keeping such vild company as thou art, hath in reason taken from me, all ostentation of sorrow
Poin. The reason? Prin. What would'st thou think of me, if I shold weep? Poin. I would thinke thee a most Princely hypocrite
Prin. It would be euery mans thought: and thou art a blessed Fellow, to thinke as euery man thinkes: neuer a mans thought in the world, keepes the Rode-way better then thine: euery man would thinke me an Hypocrite indeede. And what accites your most worshipful thought to thinke so? Poin. Why, because you haue beene so lewde, and so much ingraffed to Falstaffe
Prin. And to thee
Pointz. Nay, I am well spoken of, I can heare it with mine owne eares: the worst that they can say of me is, that I am a second Brother, and that I am a proper Fellowe of my hands: and those two things I confesse I canot helpe. Looke, looke, here comes Bardolfe
Prince. And the Boy that I gaue Falstaffe, he had him from me Christian, and see if the fat villain haue not transform'd him Ape. Enter Bardolfe.
Bar. Saue your Grace
Prin. And yours, most Noble Bardolfe
Poin. Come you pernitious Asse, you bashfull Foole, must you be blushing? Wherefore blush you now? what a Maidenly man at Armes are you become? Is it such a matter to get a Pottle-pots Maiden-head? Page. He call'd me euen now (my Lord) through a red Lattice, and I could discerne no part of his face from the window: at last I spy'd his eyes, and me thought he had made two holes in the Ale-wiues new Petticoat, & peeped through
Prin. Hath not the boy profited? Bar. Away, you horson vpright Rabbet, away
Page. Away, you rascally Altheas dreame, away
Prin. Instruct vs Boy: what dreame, Boy? Page. Marry (my Lord) Althea dream'd, she was deliuer'd of a Firebrand, and therefore I call him hir dream
Prince. A Crownes-worth of good Interpretation: There it is, Boy
Poin. O that this good Blossome could bee kept from Cankers: Well, there is six pence to preserue thee
Bard. If you do not make him be hang'd among you, the gallowes shall be wrong'd
Prince. And how doth thy Master, Bardolph? Bar. Well, my good Lord: he heard of your Graces comming to Towne. There's a Letter for you
Poin. Deliuer'd with good respect: And how doth the Martlemas, your Master? Bard. In bodily health Sir
Poin. Marry, the immortall part needes a Physitian: but that moues not him: though that bee sicke, it dyes not
Prince. I do allow this Wen to bee as familiar with me, as my dogge: and he holds his place, for looke you he writes
Poin.
Letter.
Iohn Falstaffe Knight: (Euery man must know that, as oft as hee hath occasion to name himselfe:) Euen like those that are kinne to the King, for they neuer pricke their finger, but they say, there is som of the kings blood spilt. How comes that (sayes he) that takes vpon him not to conceiue? the answer is as ready as a borrowed cap: I am the Kings poore Cosin, Sir
Prince. Nay, they will be kin to vs, but they wil fetch it from Iaphet. But to the Letter: - Sir Iohn Falstaffe, Knight, to the Sonne of the King, neerest his Father, Harrie Prince of Wales, greeting
Poin. Why this is a Certificate