huge bombard of sack, that stuffed cloak-bag of guts, that roasted Manningtree ox with the pudding in his belly, that reverend vice, that grey iniquity, that father ruffian, that vanity in years? Wherein is he good, but to taste sack and drink it? wherein neat and cleanly, but to carve a capon and eat it? wherein cunning, but in craft? wherein crafty, but in villany? wherein villanous, but in all things? wherein worthy, but in nothing? I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. My lord, the man I know. I know thou dost. But to say I know more harm in him than in myself, were to say more than I know. That he is old, the more the pity, his white hairs do witness it; but that he is, saving your reverence, a whoremaster, that I utterly deny. If sack and sugar be a fault, God help the wicked! if to be old and merry be a sin, then many an old host that I know is damned: if to be fat be to be hated, then Pharaoh's lean kine are to be loved. No, my good lord; banish Peto, banish Bardolph, banish Poins: but for sweet Jack Falstaff, kind Jack Falstaff, true Jack Falstaff, valiant Jack Falstaff, and therefore more valiant, being, as he is, old Jack Falstaff, banish not him thy Harry's company, banish not him thy Harry's company: banish plump Jack, and banish all the world. I do, I will. O, my lord, my lord! the sheriff with a most monstrous watch is at the door. Out, ye rogue! Play out the play: I have much to say in the behalf of that Falstaff. O Jesu, my lord, my lord! Heigh, heigh! the devil rides upon a fiddlestick: what's the matter? The sheriff and all the watch are at the door: they are come to search the house. Shall I let them in? Dost thou hear, Hal? never call a true piece of gold a counterfeit: thou art essentially mad, without seeming so. And thou a natural coward, without instinct. I deny your major: if you will deny the sheriff, so; if not, let him enter: if I become not a cart as well as another man, a plague on my bringing up! I hope I shall as soon be strangled with a halter as another. Go, hide thee behind the arras: the rest walk up above. Now, my masters,