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PRINCE HENRY

O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen years ago, and wert taken with the manner, and ever since thou hast blushed extempore. Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and yet thou ran’st away. What instinct hadst thou for it?

PRINCE HENRY

Liar! You stole a cup of wine eighteen years ago, got caught in the act, and you’ve been blushing ever since. You had your fiery-red face and your weapons going for you, but still you ran away. What instinct made you do that?

BARDOLPH

280My lord, do you see these meteors? Do you behold these exhalations?

BARDOLPH

Sir, do you see these red welts on my face? Do you see these swellings?

PRINCE HENRY

I do.

PRINCE HENRY

I do.

BARDOLPH

What think you they portend?

BARDOLPH

What do you think they mean?

PRINCE HENRY

Hot livers and cold purses.

PRINCE HENRY

That your temper is hot and your wallet is empty.

BARDOLPH

285Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.

BARDOLPH

It means anger, sir, you interpret it correctly.

PRINCE HENRY

No, if rightly taken, halter.

PRINCE HENRY

It means you’ll be hanged if the authorities catch you.
Enter FALSTAFF
FALSTAFF enters.
Here comes lean Jack. Here comes bare-bone.—How now, my sweet creature of bombast? How long is ’t ago, Jack, since thou sawest thine own knee?
Here comes skinny Jack; here comes the bag of bones. What’s going on, now, my sweet windbag? How long has it been, Jack, since you saw your own knees?

FALSTAFF

290My own knee? When I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle’s talon in the waist. I could have crept into any alderman’s thumb-ring. A plague of sighing and grief! It blows a man up like a bladder. There’s villanous news abroad. Here was Sir John Bracy from your father. You must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales that gave Amamon the bastinado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook—what a plague call you him?

FALSTAFF

My own knees? When I was your age, Hal, my waist was as skinny as an eagle’s talon; I could have crawled through a councilman’s thumb ring. But damn all that sighing and sadness! It blows a man up like a balloon. There’s bad news out there. That was Sir John Bracy, sent by your father. You have to go to court in the morning. Percy, that mad man from up north, and that Welshman who gave

Amamon

Amamon = the name of a devil

Amamon
a beating, and stole Lucifer’s wife, and made a pact to be the devil’s master—what’s his name again?