Act 2. Scene II

SCENE II. The highway, near Gadshill.

Enter PRINCE HENRY and POINS
POINS
Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's
horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.

PRINCE HENRY
Stand close.

Enter FALSTAFF

FALSTAFF
Poins! Poins, and be hanged! Poins!

PRINCE HENRY
Peace, ye fat-kidneyed rascal! what a brawling dost
thou keep!

FALSTAFF
Where's Poins, Hal?

PRINCE HENRY
He is walked up to the top of the hill: I'll go seek him.

FALSTAFF
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 squier
further afoot, 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 years, and yet I am bewitched with the
rogue's company. If the rascal hath not given me
medicines to make me love him, I'll be hanged; it
could not be else: I have drunk medicines. Poins!
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 afoot with me;
and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough:
a plague upon it 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 hanged!

PRINCE HENRY
Peace, ye fat-guts! lie down; lay thine ear close
to the ground and list if thou canst hear the tread
of travellers.

FALSTAFF
Have you any levers to lift me up again, being down?
'Sblood, I'll not bear mine own flesh so far afoot
again for all the coin in thy father's exchequer.
What a plague mean ye to colt me thus?

PRINCE HENRY
Thou liest; thou art not colted, thou art uncolted.

FALSTAFF
I prithee, good Prince Hal, help me to my horse,
good king's son.

PRINCE HENRY
Out, ye rogue! shall I be your ostler?

FALSTAFF
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 afoot too! I hate it.

Enter GADSHILL, BARDOLPH and PETO

GADSHILL
Stand.

FALSTAFF
So I do, against my will.

POINS
O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph,
what news?

BARDOLPH
Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: there