ACT II.
4. SCENE IV. London. The Boar's-head Tavern in Eastcheap.
(continued)
FALSTAFF.
His grace says that which his flesh rebels against.
[Knocking within.]
HOSTESS.
Who knocks so loud at door? Look to the door there, Francis.
[Enter Peto.]
PRINCE.
Peto, how now! what news?
PETO.
The king your father is at Westminster;
And there are twenty weak and wearied posts
Come from the north: and, as I came along,
I met and overtook a dozen captains,
Bare-headed, sweating, knocking at the taverns,
And asking every one for Sir John Falstaff.
PRINCE.
By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame,
So idly to profane the precious time,
When tempest of commotion, like the south
Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt
And drop upon our bare unarmed heads.
Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night.
[Exeunt Prince, Poins, Peto, and Bardolph.]
FALSTAFF.
Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must
hence, and leave it unpicked.
[Knocking within.] More knocking at the door!
[Re-enter Bardolph.]
How now! what's the matter?
BARDOLPH.
You must away to court, sir, presently;
A dozen captains stay at door for you.
FALSTAFF.
[To the Page].
Pay the musicians, sirrah. Farewell, hostess; farewell, Doll.
You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after:
the undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on.
Farewell, good wenches: if I be not sent away post, I will see
you again ere I go.
DOLL.
I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to burst,--well, sweet
Jack, have a care of thyself.
FALSTAFF.
Farewell, farewell.
[Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph.]
HOSTESS.
Well, fare thee well: I have known thee these twenty-nine years,
come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man,----
well, fare thee well.
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