heir apparent--But, I prithee, sweet
wag, shall there be gallows standing in England when
thou art king? and resolution thus fobbed as it is
with the rusty curb of old father antic the law? Do
not thou, when thou art king, hang a thief.
No; thou shalt.
Shall I? O rare! By the Lord, I'll be a brave judge.
Thou judgest false already: I mean, thou shalt have
the hanging of the thieves and so become a rare hangman.
Well, Hal, well; and in some sort it jumps with my
humour as well as waiting in the court, I can tell
you.
For obtaining of suits?
Yea, for obtaining of suits, whereof the hangman
hath no lean wardrobe. 'Sblood, I am as melancholy
as a gib cat or a lugged bear.
Or an old lion, or a lover's lute.
Yea, or the drone of a Lincolnshire bagpipe.
What sayest thou to a hare, or the melancholy of
Moor-ditch?
Thou hast the most unsavoury similes and art indeed
the most comparative, rascalliest, sweet young
prince. But, Hal, I prithee, trouble me no more
with vanity. I would to God thou and I knew where a
commodity of good names were to be bought. An old
lord of the council rated me the other day in the
street about you, sir, but I marked him not; and yet
he talked very wisely, but I regarded him not; and
yet he talked wisely, and in the street too.
Thou didst well; for wisdom cries out in the
streets, and no man regards it.
O, thou hast damnable iteration and art indeed able
to corrupt a saint. Thou hast done much harm upon
me, Hal; God forgive thee for it! Before I knew
thee, Hal, I knew nothing; and now am I, if a man
should speak truly, little better than one of the
wicked. I must give over this life, and I will give
it over: by the Lord, and I do not, I am a villain:
I'll be damned for never a king's son in
Christendom.
Where shall we take a purse tomorrow, Jack?
'Zounds, where thou wilt, lad; I'll make one; an I
do not, call me villain and baffle me.
I see a good amendment of life in thee; from praying
to purse-taking.
Why, Hal, 'tis my vocation, Hal; 'tis no sin for a
man to labour in his vocation.
Poins! Now shall we know if Gadshill have set a
match. O, if men were to be saved by merit, what
hole in