Poins. Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us to-morrow. I

          have a jest to execute that I cannot manage alone. Falstaff,

          Bardolph, Peto, and Gadshill shall rob those men that we have

          already waylaid; yourself and I will not be there; and when

      they

          have the booty, if you and I do not rob them, cut this head

      off

          from my shoulders.

        Prince. How shall we part with them in setting forth?

        Poins. Why, we will set forth before or after them and appoint

      them

          a place of meeting, wherein it is at our pleasure to fail;

      and

          then will they adventure upon the exploit themselves; which

      they

          shall have no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.

        Prince. Yea, but 'tis like that they will know us by our

      horses, by

          our habits, and by every other appointment, to be ourselves.

        Poins. Tut! our horses they shall not see- I'll tie them in the

          wood; our wizards we will change after we leave them; and,

          sirrah, I have cases of buckram for the nonce, to immask our

          noted outward garments.

        Prince. Yea, but I doubt they will be too hard for us.

        Poins. Well, for two of them, I know them to be as true-bred

          cowards as ever turn'd back; and for the third, if he fight

          longer than he sees reason, I'll forswear arms. The virtue of

          this jest will lie the incomprehensible lies that this same

      fat

          rogue will tell us when we meet at supper: how thirty, at

      least,

          he fought with; what wards, what blows, what extremities he

          endured; and in the reproof of this lies the jest.

        Prince. Well, I'll go with thee. Provide us all things

      necessary

          and meet me to-night in Eastcheap. There I'll sup. Farewell.

        Poins. Farewell, my lord. Exit.

        Prince. I know you all, and will awhile uphold

          The unyok'd humour of your idleness.

          Yet herein will I imitate the sun,

          Who doth permit the base contagious clouds

          To smother up his beauty from the world,

          That, when he please again to lie himself,

          Being wanted, he may be more wond'red at

          By breaking through the foul and ugly mists

          Of vapours that did seem to strangle him.

          If all the year were playing holidays,

          To sport would be as tedious as to work;

          But when they seldom come, they wish'd-for come,

          And nothing pleaseth but rare accidents.

          So, when this loose behaviour I throw off

          And pay the debt I never promised,

          By how much better than my word I am,

          By so much shall I falsify men's hopes;

          And, like bright metal on a sullen ground,

          My reformation, glitt'ring o'er my fault,

          Shall show more goodly and attract more eyes

          Than that which hath no foil to set it off.

          I'll so offend to make offence a skill,

          Redeeming time when men think least I will. Exit.

        King. My blood hath been too cold and temperate,

          Unapt to stir at these indignities,

          And you have found me, for accordingly

          You tread upon my patience; but be sure

          I will from henceforth rather be myself,

          Mighty and to be fear'd, than my condition,

          Which hath been smooth as oil, soft as young down,

          And therefore lost that title of respect

          Which the proud soul ne'er pays but to the proud.

        Wor. Our house, my sovereign liege, little deserves

          The scourge of greatness to be us'd on it-

          And that same greatness too which our own hands

          Have holp to make so portly.

        North. My lord-

        King. Worcester, get thee gone; for I do see

          Danger and disobedience in thine eye.

          O, sir, your presence is too bold and peremptory,

          And majesty might never yet endure

          The moody frontier of a servant brow.

          Tou have good leave to leave us. When we need

          'Your