Scene: The Boars' Head Tavern in Eastcheap, London, where Pistol sits at a table with his head resting on his arm, snoring loudly. Mistress Quickly enters.

Mistress:

Well! Here we are again, noble Pistol. Noble in drunken slumber. Dreaming of sack and capons and cutting purses I'll wager. Lift your head. Awake there! Hi! Pick up your old corrupt bones before another customer comes and thinks we've opened a boarding house for thieves and scoundrels. Ah, it's useless. Sleep, your noble worthlessness. Such a mess.  Such a mess and all on credit no doubt. I'll credit that we'd be better free of you and your brood of felons. (As she cleans the table next to that at which Pistol sleeps, he reaches his hand up her skirt and pinches her buttocks.) Oh! You villain. (She hits him with the wet cloth she uses to clean the table.)

Pistol:

Ach! Would you bathe me with your filthy rag, woman?

Mistress:

It's as close to clean as you've been these two months, you sack filled drunkard. Even the fleas that reside on your person are about to depart for cleaner places.

Pistol:

Sack filled, is it? And whence comes the sack that fills me if not from you.

Mistress:

And whence comes the price of its purchase, not from you it's certain.

Pistol:

I'll see that you're be paid as soon as I finish my plans and carry them into effect.

Mistress:

I've been hearing such tales for far too long to be taken in by them at this late date. No money, no more vittles or drink from this house will you have.

Pistol:

Would you starve the man that loves you for a few pounds of money?

Mistress:

Take your love where it'll buy your provender; it'll purchase nothing here.

Pistol:

And I just about to go out to the rain barrel to bathe and make myself as clean as the day after a spring shower to please you between the sheets. I should've known better. I'll sleep some more rather than waste my time on useless endeavor.

Mistress:

The rain barrel is it now? And drown the vermin that calls you home? I think not.

Pistol:

If I am home to vermin it took up residence from your beds. That you charge for a nights sleep among the fleas and bed bugs should bring you to law.

Mistress:

I've had no complaint before. But I've never demanded payment from you before. You're not only a cut purse but a miserly villain as well.

Pistol:

Miserly! I'll not be insulted by a tradeswoman. I'll take my business elsewhere. Where they don't insult their customers.

Mistress:

Customer, is it? If I relied on you for my custom I'd be accustomed to the parish poor house. Be gone, you wretch.

Pistol:

I will. I'll be gone by God. And I'll find peace where I'm not kept awake all night by the fleas and bedbugs battling the mice, I'll warrant.

Mistress:

Mice! This place has no mice, you faithless varlet.

Pistol:

Only because there's a cat here day and night.

Mistress:

Cat! Are you referring to me, you miscreant?

Pistol:

I am indeed.

Mistress:

Cat is it? I'll crown you, you...you tomcat.

Pistol:

My pussy cat to be sure, good mistress.

Mistress:

Pussy indeed.

Pistol:

My pussy.

Mistress:

Be sure to wash behind your ears.

Pistol:

I will. And I'll be back as quick and as randy as a schoolboy.

Mistress:

And when are you not randy except when you're eating, sleeping or stealing?

Pistol:

Give me a kiss before I go now.

Mistress:

1 I will not. You're going but ten paces from the door.

Pistol:

And were I to drown, how would you feel for refusing then?

Mistress:

Get you gone now. (She kisses him and hits him again with the cloth.) Out with you.

Pistol:

I'll return before you can say Jack Robinson. (He exits.)

Mistress:

Randy as a schoolboy he'll be. Whether cutpurse or king men are the same. Driven by their stomachs and their loins.  Thank the Lord. (Enter Bardolph from upstairs.)

Bardolph:

Where is that rogue Pistol? Where has he got to?

Mistress:

Awakened from your slumbers, have you? And what would I know of Pistol if you please? Am I mistress of this inn and also watch maid to rogues?

Bardolph:

Aye. He's a rogue if ever there was one, an arrant knave and a thief too.

Mistress:

Then he must be good company for the likes of you.

Bardolph:

Don't trifle with me, woman.

Mistress:

And who would trifle with such as you if I may ask. I keep my distance as you see for fear I may be burned by your enflamed nose or frightened by your encrusted countenance.  No, Bardolph, I'd not trifle with you. If you seek Pistol, seek him elsewhere.

Bardolph:

Bring me sack, woman, and spare me your noise.

Mistress:

And whose to pay for it?

Bardolph:

Sir John. I am in the service of Sir John.

Mistress:

And where will Sir Rotund Knight find the price of sack?  He spent the entire night here drinking, eating and making eyes at my waitress. He has not a farthing to pay for your support.

Bardolph:

Speak kindly of Sir John. He's troubled by the king's conduct towards him.

Mistress:

Aye, I'll give him that. He has been ill used by the king. Once so close a friend but now turned too great to even recognize so good hearted a man. It's a sin. If that be greatness, I'll none of it.

Bardolph:

I suspect that you need have no fear of greatness visiting this place. (She places a bottle and a mug on one of the tables.  Bardolph approaches and sits. He pours himself a drink.)

Mistress:

Not while such as yourself frequent it at least. Patience there! (Pistol re-enters. He is wet from his ablutions.) You'll drown yourself in your haste to fill your veins with fire.

Pistol:

His veins require that fire to keep his nose alight.

Bardolph:

My veins may be filled with fire but I'll quickly empty the contents of yours. (He rises and pulls a sword.)

Mistress:

I'll not have bloodshed here.

Pistol:

Put up your sword before you prick yourself and claim that you received the wound in gallant battle.

Bardolph:

You're a wretch, Pistol, and a lying rogue. You'll defend yourself or be labeled a coward evermore.

Pistol:

Truly I cannot; I am unarmed. I have no weapon to resist. I'm just come from bathing, as you can see, and which is likely the reason you're so ready to fight. It's not difficult to put cowardice aside when armed before an unarmed man.

Bardolph:

An excuse to avoid a fight.

Pistol:

The truth as you can see. My weapons are put away.

Mistress:

Put that thing down. There'll be no pricking with swords in my dining room; save your pricking for the bawdy house.

Bardolph:

For your sake I'll put down my weapon. But not for his, for he's a rogue. An arrant knave and a thief.

Pistol:

I am all that you say, good Bardolph, and less. But I am no coward. Do not refer to me as a coward.

Bardoph:

I call thee coward.

Pistol:

Did I not just face down an armed man without weapons? How can you call me coward. It won't do.

Bardolph:

You may be right. I'll wait a while before I call thee coward. But thou art still a rogue. A thief of thieves. To rob in thy company is to risk being robbed. It won't do. A cutpurse without honor among his peers is no cutpurse.

Pistol:

Dearest Bardolph, friend, if I may call thee friend. You do me an injustice. I stole nothing from you. If I had, would I not be in a finer place than this bawd's hell.

Mistress:

Well, I'll...

Pistol:

Peace, good lady. Considering the source, it's not to be thought on.

Mistress:

Well, I...

Pistol:

Waste not a breath on the demon breath, be above it. (Mistress turns on her heel and stomps off.)

Bardolph:

There's logic in it for sure. Yet, I know you to be a thief of thieves.  There's no point my saying otherwise.

Pistol:

It's not true, not a word of it.

Bardolph:

As true as the morn. You stole from Ned Poins after he stole from an abbott. And I was with him.

Pistol:

To save a friend from hell fire is not to be labeled thief. It won't do.

Bardolph:

But you did not return the loot to the abbot.

Pistol:

The sin is on my soul, not Ned's. I've saved the rogue from perdition, though I could not save him from the gallows.

Bardolph:

You're a rascal sure to make up such lies. Ned has yet to meet the gallows.

Pistol:

Did I say he did? He's aimed in that direction as sure as a poacher's arrow.

Bardolph:

This is nonsense.

Pistol:

True it is. Let us have no more talk of gallows and swords and pricking and blood.

Bardolph:

When Nym returns you'll ask the same for he has sworn to recover a debt of thee and punishment for taking his woman.

Pistol:

What woman?

Bardolph:

The mistress as you know.

Pistol:

Oh. It is not for men to determine the affections of women. Nym has little ground for complaint. (Three gentlemen, Ivor, Grey and Drew enter. When Pistol and Bardoph see them, they retreat to a corner and watch them)

Grey:

What pestilential barrack have you brought me to?

Ivor:

(Motions toward Pistol and Bardoph) Inhabited by exotic creatures.

Grey:

And smells.

Ivor:

Smells? It truly stinks, like a privy.

Drew:

This is where I was told we'd find him.

Ivor:

Surely a king's favorite would not be found in a place like this.

Drew:

Innkeeper! Innkeeper! (Mistress re-enters.)

Mistress:

Welcome, gentlemen. Welcome to our humble inn.

Ivor:

Have you any wine?

Mistress:

Madeira, gentlemen. If you please. And port.

Grey:

I thought that sack would be her only drink.

Ivor:

She looks like sack is what keeps her standing.

Drew:

Port, three port. And hurry.

Mistress:

Yes, sir.

Grey:

Mistress.

Mistress:

Yes, sir.

Grey:

What is that foul odor; it's abominable.

Mistress:

Yes, sir. (She goes off.)

Grey:

Well, there you have it, gentlemen. The cause of this revolting stink is yes, sir.

Ivor:

I thought it would be some such cause. Shall we be seated?

Grey:

Dare we be seated? (They examine a table and bench carefully before seating themselves.)

Drew:

(To Bardoph and Pistol.) And what are you two staring at? Off with you. Off with you at once or I'll whip the both of you. (Bardolph and Pistol exit.) What brave fellows there are hereabouts.

Ivor:

Perhaps we've been misinformed.

Drew:

No, I was informed that I'd not believe the place where he'd be found.

Ivor:

You were aptly informed. Surely the king never was here.

Grey:

As Prince of Wales, his tumultuous conduct brought him to just such places. Since his accession he has avoided  these low taverns but there was a time when he would be found in this very room.

Ivor:

I'm dumbfounded to even suspect that a King of England could have permitted himself to sink to such depths.

Drew:

And he has lost none of his affection for his former comrades.

Grey:

Let us hope not. I'd despise myself for coming to such a place for no reason. (Re-enter Mistress Quickly.)

Mistress:

Here you are, gentlemen. Our finest port.

Ivor:

Are the vessels clean?

Mistress:

Oh, yes, sir. Clean as the rain. Why the king himself has been here more than once, though that was before he was king of course. (The three men look at each other and nod.)

Drew:

It must have been a different place then.

Mistress:

Not very, sir. Much the same, except we get little call for port these days.

Grey:

This is very good.

Mistress:

Thank you, sir.

Drew:

Do the king's friends continue to visit you, Mistress?

Mistress:

Oh, yes, sir. His many friends from younger days frequent this poor tavern.

Ivor:

Thank you, mistress.

Mistress:

At your service, gentlemen. (She curtsies and exits.)

Grey:

She's a piece of work.

Drew:

A cankered bawd, I'll wager.

Ivor:

Cankered for sure, bawd or not. We must find this knight if we're to get to the king.

Grey:

I have doubts whether the king in his present station would have anything to do with the inhabitants of such a place regardless of his wilder and less stately youth.

Ivor:

Henry is known for his loyalty and chivalry. Once a friend always a friend of good King Hal, so they say.

Grey:

But if they're wrong?

Drew:

What choice have we? If we're to sell the king on this project we must first approach him. If that requires the services of men of questionable virtue, so be it. Time is not our ally in this venture. We must do what we can and speedily. The scheme is fraught with dangers but we must push ahead or fail utterly.

Drew:

Then let us do so. Mistress!

Mistress:

( Re-enters) Yes, sir. More port?

Drew:

Not yet. We've come to seek a certain knight that we've been told frequents this place. Ah, Sir John I believe he is called.

Mistress:

Yes indeed, sir. So he is. Called Sir John that is.

Ivor:

Can you help us in our search for him?

Mistress:

Why certainly. Sir. He is within as we speak.

Grey:

Within? Where within?

Mistress:

Within the premises, sir. I'll fetch him directly. (She exits up the stairs.)

Scene: A room of the inn where Falstaff lies in bed snoring beneath a tattered blanket. Mistress Quickly enters.

Mistress:

Sir John. Sir John. Wake, Sir John. Wake. There are gentlemen here to see you. Sir John. ( She places her hand under the blanket. Sir John yells loudly and sits up in the bed. He is fully dressed.)

Sir John:

God's blood! What death cold hand has taken hold of my most personal warmth? Is it war again? I'm ready. Is it to see the king that I'm called? Is it....? Mistress! What means this touching of my precious? Are you mad? Or neglected?

Mistress:

Neither, Sir John. But three gentlemen are here drinking my port.

Sir John:

And may they have it in abundance. It's sack for me; I'll put on no airs. But what has that to do with me and my being so rudely awakened by so cold a hand?

Mistress:

They will speak with you, Sir John.

Sir John:

Will they?

Mistress:

They asked for you, the gallant knight that was of late our great king's most trusted friend.

Sir John:

They're from the king?

Mistress:

I know not but they are gentlemen.

Sir John:

They must be from the king. He's sent for me. I knew he could not rule this great realm without old Jack. I told him so before he banished me. As God is my judge I did so. Banished. On pain of death, banished. Me. Jack Falstaff. Now he needs me so he sends three gentlemen to fetch me. Well, I'll not go. I'll not venture from this inn were he to send the Archbishop of Canterbury to beg my attendance. Don't plead with me, Mistress. My mind is decided. I'll not run to his aid after the treatment I've received. And I his closest friend. Why we drank and ate and roistered into the wee hours more than a score of times. Yet, when greatness calls, I am banished. I'll not go. I'll not answer his summons whosoever may bring it thither. Tell the gentlemen that I am not available. Not that I'm not here but that I'm not available. Indeed, answer them that Sir John has instructed me to tell you that he is not available. Tell them so, good Mistress.

Mistress:

Yes, Sir John. I shall.

Sir John:

No! Wait! Let us think on this. Perhaps there's a way to turn it to our favor. Yes, perhaps we can bring the matter to a satisfactory conclusion for ourselves. Tell the gentlemen that I shall be with them anon, if you will. I'll play the mute with them; that's what I'll do. I'll learn their office and say not a word. Nor indicate by any action my leaning. One cannot in good conscience deny the king in time of need but after the manner of my dismissal I shall have the satisfaction of being asked for my attendance. Yes, that's what I'll do.

Mistress:

Shall I go, Sir John?

Sir John:

Yes. Yes, indeed, mistress. France. France threatens I'll warrant and the king requires a man of courage and sagacity to lead his armies. One can never have too many men of courage when the horn of war sounds, mistress. To France no doubt. Well, I'm willing to give my life and my reputation for my king, my beloved king. Yet my feelings must be soothed after so great a shock. I'd not withhold my service for a moment but I must have some measure of peace for my pride before I go to war. Therefore, I'll make not a sound but listen in peace to their entreaties.

Mistress:

Shall I go to the gentlemen, Sir John?

Sir John:

Yes, Mistress. Go at once. To France. Wine not thought upon over the terrestrial globe, fruits of the sweetest taste, succulent dishes to assuage the hunger of the body and the soul. To France for my good King Harry. But I must first be given my moment for my banishment, mistress. You'll agree that a grievous wrong has been done.

Mistress:

The gentlemen are waiting, Sir John.

Sir John:

Yes. I must prepare. I must attend to my toilet. I'll be there anon. Go, go, woman. ( Mistress exits. Falstaff rises fully clothed. He looks about and finds a horse brush. He brushes his clothes. He then takes a corner of the bed sheet and rubs his teeth. He then uses it to clean his ears. A boy enters carrying a bucket of water.)

Boy:

Mistress told me to bring this water to your room, Sir John.

Sir John:

Water? What purpose can she have had in sending water to my room?

Boy:

Knowing you, it ain't for drinking.

Sir John:

Be gone, you whoreson wretch. (Sir John motions as though preparing to strike. The boy hurries from the room. Sir John eyes the bucket of water suspiciously. He then walks around it looks into it, ponders it. He then places the horse brush in the water and uses it to brush his hair. The scene fades.)

Scene: The main room of the inn where Ivor, Grey and Drew await Sir John.

Drew:

This wine is truly superb. It's a miracle that such a low place produces such drink.

Ivor:

Yes. But let us not enjoy it overmuch before we attend to our business.

Grey:

It makes one believe that the king did truly stop here.

Ivor:

And drink. We must keep this secret to ourselves or all of London will be finding its way here and drinking up the fruits of our labor.

Grey:

Truly. A secret. It will be kept if it depends on me.

Ivor:

Or me. Where is this knight that we came to seek? I'd like to transact this business and get on with my drinking.

Grey:

He seems to be taking pains over his toilet.

Ivor:

He needn't take care on my account. I can bribe a poorly turned out knight as well as any other. Indeed, the former is the cheaper. Buttons and bows are costly ornaments.

Grey:

Take care lest our purpose be known and the price of the service increased.

Ivor:

Aye.

Drew:

We may already have drunk too much for the business at hand.

Grey:

Let us not discuss the business at hand until Sir Knight shall honor us with his presence, if ever we be so honored. Mistress! Mistress! (Mistress Quickly enters hurriedly)

Mistress:

Yes, sir. What's amiss, Sirs?

Grey:

We continue to await this knight whom we came to this place to speak with but he does not come.

Mistress:

He'll be down anon. But let me go and see to his progress. Sir John has not been well and is become slower of movement these days. I'll return. (She Exits up the stairs.)

Ivor:

Well, we have her return to look forward to. Pray return before the food is brought so that we may eat without eruption.

Drew:

You're unkind. She has been as helpful as any that I have seen these past months. You should not use her so.

Ivor:

Do I detect a warmth toward this vile creature in skirts?

Drew:

No warmth. Merely the hope that you will be honest to a fellow creature who has not been so fortunate as yourself.

Ivor:

Not so fortunate! Why, has not she the fee of this magnificent inn from which to earn her fortune? And a substantial fortune it must be. Why I'm sorely tempted to ask for her dirty hand so that I may share in it. Yes. That's what I'll do. I'll marry the wench and share in her good fortune. Why, just on our acquaintances in London we could make this place a profit. Add a few whores and I'll live my life as a gentlemen born to the manor.

Grey:

Would you keep whores?

Ivor:

Not until I've cleaned the place.

Drew:

You would become a bawd?

Ivor:

Aye. And why not? Is it so much different from our purpose?

Grey:

We're gentlemen.

Ivor:

Yes, but what kind of gentlemen?

Drew:

I'll not contest with sophistry.

Ivor:

Unless it were to put gold in your purse.

Grey:

Even a gentleman has his price, particularly a gentlemen of ambiguous morality.

Drew:

Putting it thus has its charms, I'll concede.

Ivor:

And its weight I'll warrant.

Drew:

That also, though the more weight the more allure.

Ivor:

And what weight would make thee a bawd?

Drew:

That's to be determined.

Grey:

Let us not pursue bawds when we've a gentleman to entice.

Drew:

If ever he appears. (The scene fades.)

Scene: Falstaff's room where he continues his toilet. Bardolph and Pistol peek around the door. Falstaff sees them and speaks.

Falstaff:

Good Bardolph! Reverent Pistol! Do come in, please. Enter. (They enter.)

Bardolph:

You look like a maid off to her wedding.

Falstaff:

Speak not of maids. Have you ne'er seen a gentleman gartered and perfumed? I'm off to see the king this day.

Pistol:

The king!

Falstaff

None other.

Bardolph:

But you've been banished. He'll hang you sure.

Falstaff:

Fear not for me. He's sent three gentlemen to me.

Pistol:

Them three downstairs, is it?

Falstaff:

The same.

Pistol:

I don't know about them three. Gentlemen they may be but I don't know about them.

Falstaff:

I'm not surprised. What know you of gentlemen?

Bardolph:

We know you.

Falstaff:

Do you not approve of my finery?

Pistol:

No. It's too much silk and lace. It resembles the finery of a high priced whore.

Falstaff:

You are an ignorant swine, Pistol. An ignorant swine who knows no more about a gentleman's attire than about a gentleman.

Bardoph:

So I've said these many years. Will the king recognize an old friend in the trappings of a lady?

Falstaff:

You are an ignoramus, a fiery countenanced ignoramus. Of course the king will know me. Are we not brothers of the blood? Are we not this close? Are we not both fellows of the moonlit night?

Bardolph:

No. But you're correct that he will recognize you. Few courtiers come in such ponderous girth for him to mistake you for another.

Pistol:

Welcome, Sir John, quoth he. Hast thou gained a pound or ten and an inch since last we met?

Bardoph:

It's more likely he'll remember him as he did formerly address him: Old bag of guts, approach.

Falstaff:

You are jealous of my advancement. I'll no more of you now that I'm in the service of the king. And he did address me as Jack, not as you allege. Good Jack, he would say to me. Kind Jack. Old Jack, for it's true that my head is grey with years.

Pistol:

And your trunk round with sack.

Bardolph:

Why has the king sent for you whom he has banished?

Falstaff:

Are you unaware of the war with France? Have you been in a drunken stupor for so long that you know nothing of the tenor of the times? The king requires my expertise in the art of war, my courage and ability to lead men in battle. My wit and counsel.

Pistol:

The king might just as surely require an anvil to fly. There is no war with France.

Falstaff:

There is not. However, there soon shall be war with France. The king seeks to vindicate his claim to the French throne.

Pistol:

Where comes this intelligence?

Falstaff:

Would you have me reveal the source? I might just as well inform the French as to reveal the source to such as you.

Pistol:

Do you call me French?

Falstaff:

I call you indiscrete.

Pistol:

I'm no such thing. I'm a freeborn Englishman just as you are and just as good. If not as pretty.

Bardolph:

When will the king and you to France?

Falstaff:

That is for the king. For me, I must not keep his Majesty waiting longer. Make way.

Pistol:

A moment, Sir John, I beseech you.

Falstaff:

A moment? Very well. State your business.

Pistol:

Sir John. Good Sir John. Fair Sir John. Gentle Sir John. Brave Sir John. When you go to France with good King Harry, will you not take your faithful retainers Pistol and Poins?

Bardolph:

And Bardolph.

Pistol:

And Bardolph.

Falstaff:

Is that all? Would you impede me with such trivia? I go to parley with the messengers of the king and you stop me over such minutiae.

Pistol:

It is grave to we who have faithfully served you these many years.

Bardolph:

And gotten little in that service sure.

Falstaff:

You will be provided for in our company. Fear not. Jack Falstaff shall ne'er be known as an ingrate. Your loyalty shall bring you reward. When I accompany the king, you too will accompany the king. Though not in his suite of course.

Pistol:

Thank you, Sir John.

Bardolph:

Our gratitude is yours, Sir John.

Falstaff:

I must go now. Open the door. (He exits grandly.)

Pistol:

To France.

Bardolph:

To cut purses and steal in the company of the king. I've died and gone to heaven. (Enter Mistress Quickly carrying clean sheets.)

Mistress:

What are you two doing in Sir John's room. Mischief I'll warrant.

Pistol:

Not at all, good Mistress Quickly. We've been discussing our journey to the wars with Sir John and the king.

Mistress:

Journey to the wars indeed. The only journey you or Sir John make is to the privy and back. And what makes you so sure that those gentlemen are from the king?

Bardolph:

Surely they're from the king. Sir John said as much. They're from the king all right. Ain't they?

Pistol:

f course they're from the king. Did not Sir John say so? Is not Sir John a gentleman? And would a gentleman utter a falsehood?

Mistress:

That Sir John's a gentleman by title's surely true. That Sir John's a gentleman by act is not so surely true. You two rogues should take yourselves off elsewhere. I've work to perform here. Off with you. (The two exit as the scene fades.)

Scene: The dining room where Falstaff makes a grand entrance down the stairs. However, the three gentlemen are so involved in conversation that they do not notice him, even when he comes down the stairs and poses at the bottom.

Ivor:

It's gospel I tell you.

Grey:

The devil's gospel no doubt.

Drew:

You wish us to believe that you were with a woman so beautiful that a servant was struck deaf upon seeing her.

Ivor:

As I'm a gentleman.

Drew:

And what would such a beauty be doing in your company?

Ivor:

I am not without my attractions to such as she.

Grey:

Such attractions are less than apparent to men no doubt.

Ivor:

No doubt.

Grey:

No woman who could strike a servant deaf with her beauty has ever looked upon you, except in loathing perhaps.

Ivor:

That's a lie and I tell you so.

Grey:

Saying does not make truth.

Drew:

Hark! A visitation! (The three turn to see Falstaff posing at the bottom of the stairs. They are silent for a long moment.) I am struck deaf from this apparition.

Grey:

Deaf and dumb.

Ivor:

How marvelous it dresses and how sweetly it poses. It's enough to strike a gentleman of fashion blind with fright.

Grey:

What possible purpose could this vision of flesh and poor taste serve?

Ivor:

This is a most singular tavern.

Drew:

I fear that it is he whom we seek.

Grey:

No! It cannot be. Speak, sir. Who are you?

Falstaff:

I? Who am I? I am Sir John Falstaff, knight. And who are you?

Grey:

(Rises and bows) I am Sir Harold Grey. It's a pleasure to meet so distinguished a knight. Please allow me to introduce Sir William Ivor and Sir Maurice Drew. Won't you have a seat?

Ivor:

(To Drew) Not by me though. I'll none of his perfumed and pomaded obesity. Nor, I fear, will the bench.

Drew:

Pity the beast that must needs bear such a prodigious parcel of flesh.

Ivor:

Tis a beast of burden to be sure.

Falstaff:

Thank you, gentlemen. I will have a seat. It's a grand accomplishment for these legs to carry such a load as this trunk for any extended period. Yet, when young I had a waist that could fit through the eye of a needle. Young women did comment on the grace of my form, not without some envy. Alas! My younger self could easily fit five times within the circumference of his greying descendant. Be warned, young gentlemen, this is the fate that awaits you who enjoy the pleasures of the flesh overmuch. You will spend your silver years surveying the extent of yourself overmuch. Let this body of overwhelming flesh serve to teach moderation in all things or at least those that lead to the purchase of large hose.

Grey:

A wise lesson, Sir John.

Falstaff:

Please, gentlemen, call me Jack. Did not the king do the same when he was heir to the throne?

Ivor:

But what did he call him for?

Drew:

To taste his food I'll wager. For what other purpose could so large a gasbag serve?

Grey:

What is sufficient for the king is sufficient for such as we.

Falstaff:

Many a long night did I spend in his company in this very room. Many a happy hour did we pass right here. Contented with life and love, as I am at this very moment, did we pass the time in song and dance and merriment. Throughout all did the prince, now king, call me friend and swear that he did love me above all men. "Why, Jack," quoth he. "There is not a better man in all my father's realm than yourself. Nor a more valiant." He said those very words in this very room, gentlemen.

Ivor:

Doubtless in his cups.

Falstaff:

A most excellent prince was good Prince Hal.

Grey:

And a most excellent king.

Falstaff:

And a most excellent king.

Ivor:

Mistress! Mistress! Bring us more port and a vessel for our guest.

Falstaff:

You are indeed gentlemen. Gentlemen to make the king proud.

Drew:

We have our hopes.

Grey:

Indeed we have. (Mistress enters with tray full of drinks which she distributes.)

Falstaff:

And here have we the loveliest flower in the English garden

Mistress:

Oh, Sir John.

Falstaff:

Be not shy Mistress. I only speak the truth. False flattery is as distasteful to Jack Falstaff as is the wastage of such excellent port.

Ivor:

I think not.

Drew:

Thank the good Lord that his taste in brewage surpasses his taste in women.

Ivor:

His appreciation of that which touches our lips is commendable, though I marvel at the panache with which he manages such a monstrous lie.

Drew:

An attribute of greatness.

Ivor:

If it is greatness to stare the truth in the face and lie, I'll have none of it.

Drew:

Since when have you been adverse to guile?

Ivor:

Never, but never have I seen it on so brazen a scale. To refer to that hag as the loveliest in England surpasses all guile unto the realm of fantasy. To say so while she stands before us doth out brazen brazen itself.

Falstaff:

Have you gentlemen made arrangements for the night?

Grey:

We had hoped to return to London this evening.(Mistress exits)

Falstaff:

Just so. You are correct of course. To London this evening. Haste is the word.(Bardolph and Pistol enter, one carrying a platter of cold meats, the other a basket of bread.)

Ivor:

The servants of this house are ugly enough to frighten children.

Drew:

It's an economic measure. Once one sees their repulsive countenance, one loses all appetite. Thus, while the food is laid for us and paid for by us, it may again be sold after we've departed.

Ivor:

A shrewd wench, this Mistress Quickly. I shall marry her sure.

Drew:

And take these as thy sons?

Ivor:

Aye. That takes thinking upon.

Pistol:

(To Sir John) Are we to France, Sir John?

Falstaff:

Hush now, servant. See to your mistress' guests and we will speak anon.

Grey:

To France? So, the king is to France.

Falstaff:

So we understand.

Drew:

War! By God, the profits will light the sky. There's no end to provision that we can make for the king in his adventure. France. To France. Can it be? Has fortune become our advocate?

Ivor:

War with France. The very sound of the words is filled with gold and silver.

Falstaff:

The king has recognized my abilities in war and the governance of men on campaign?

Grey:

I doubt it not, Sir John. More port?

Falstaff:

Indeed.

Grey:

You there, servant. Have the mistress bring more port.

Pistol:

Is he addressing me? What servant?

Falstaff:

Worry not; our fortunes are made. Bring more port.

Pistol:

For you, Sir John. (Pistol and Bardolph go off.)

Ivor:

A most disagreeable pair in word and appearance, Sir John. It's a wonder that you permit them within your compass.

Falstaff:

They are old and loyal retainers to myself and known to the king. I would no more part with them than with my leg.

Drew:

Doubtless his girth makes their appearance more familiar than that of his legs.

Falstaff:

I am old and fat, tis true. Howsoever, I am a loyal servant who is loyal to his own servants. Tis a matter of honor that defines the man.

Grey:

Just so.

Drew:

Just so that we hear no more of his blather I would jump from London Bridge.

Ivor:

With a horse collar about my neck. Surely this fat clown is not our road to the king.

Drew:

That he is. If we wish to improve our prospects we must needs be patient with this bulging blowhard. It's a lesson in business.

Ivor:

What lesson, pray?

Drew:

Two: that one must needs be patient and that in business one must needs have intercourse with many that one would scorn under other circumstances.

Ivor:

For business, I shall keep mine own counsel, but for intercourse I prefer even the cankered wench to this gross, perfumed mountain of corrupted flesh.

Drew:

I meant not that intercourse!

Ivor:

I am aware of your meaning. (Mistress Quickly enters with a tray of drinks. Pistol and Bardolph follow and loiter about the room.)

Grey:

I thank you, good Mistress.

Mistress:

You're most welcome, sir.

Bardolph:

I don't like that, Pistol. I don't like that.

Pistol:

Peace. We'll observe this smooth talking gentleman and his retainers. And we'll hear how he addresses Mistress Quickly. I agree, he's too smooth by half with the ladies but let us be patient for Sir John requires his aid to reach the king and I would not harm his prospects.

Bardolph:

Not for all the wenches in Eastcheap.

Pistol:

(Aping the gentlemen) Just so.

Grey:

Sir John. When may you expect to see the king again?

Falstaff:

As soon as I may take me to Whitehall. I'd not stay from him a moment longer than he requires. It is his royal prerogative that shall be the final judge of that however.

Grey:

Of course. But you expect him to send for you.

Falstaff:

Indeed. However, when he does shall be his decision, not that of a subject.

Grey:

You answer well.

Bardolph:

Sir John has pleased the king's man.

Pistol:

He answers as a knight and gentleman should answer. Sir John knows the way of this court palaver.

Bardolph:

Ain't that a food?

Pistol:

What?

Bardolph:

Palaver.

Pistol:

Listen.

Grey:

When the king does send for you, you'll be prepared to join him?

Falstaff:

On the instant. And you and your gentlemen friends shall accompany me, I've no doubt.

Grey:

Most readily.

Drew:

Most greedily.

Ivor:

Hush! We must needs keep our true intent silent lest the old fool take his ham hocks off and deny us introduction to the king.

Drew:

He hath not heard me; I'm no fool to speak unto the fat windbag of our purpose. My fear is that if the king confides in such a man, what manner of king shall we deal with. A king so careless of his image is no king at all, and a leader who takes advice from such is no general, surely.

Ivor:

Worse men have proven their worth in time of need. I've no doubt that even such as he has his uses though I confess that I can scarce pretend what they can be.

Drew:

Or how ancient their lineage. They must have been in the service of the old king.

Ivor:

The old king would have no dealings with such a man.

Drew:

Then it is our good fortune that the old king is no more and the new king is not so particular in his familiars.

Ivor:

Truly said.

Grey:

We should be preparing for our journey, should we not?

Falstaff:

Surely. But first a drink to the king, God bless him. Mistress, would you be so kind?

Mistress:

Certainly, Sir John. (Mistress goes off.)

Grey:

For how many years have you and the king been friends?

Falstaff:

Since before he was the heir apparent. I found him roaming about the forest, a dirty and disheveled lad. He'd been thrown from his horse and hurt his head.

Ivor:

The old thief probably took his purse.

Bardolph:

I never heard that. I thought that Sir John met him while sleeping in the road and getting kicked by the prince's horse.

Pistol:

I thought that they met when Sir John tried to cozen the prince, not knowing he was heir to the throne. (Mistress re-enters.)

Mistress:

(Whispering to Pistol) Sir John met the king when he was prince. Sir John attempted to cut the purse of one of the prince's retainers and was soundly thrashed with a stick by him. The prince took pity on such an old, fat man being whipped and cutting purses and gave him money if he would show him the low haunts of London and thereabouts.

Pistol:

I'm not surprised. If Sir John was in a wood it would have been to rob an injured noble, not to nurse him.

Grey:

Ah, thank you, Mistress. (Raises a toast) To the king.

All:

To the king.

Grey:

Now we must....

Falstaff:

Not yet, my friend. There is still one or two matters to be settled.

Grey:

Of course.

Ivor:

Here's where the old thief holds us up.

Drew:

Did you think we would be brought to the king without cost?

Ivor:

I thought no such thing. However, I fear that we are about to be robbed before we have the opportunity to rob.

Falstaff:

I have done much in the king's service. Not always happily perhaps but always willingly withal. I have spent much time in the king's presence which time has been spent willingly and happily. For no man loves the king more than does Jack Falstaff.

Drew:

Who's Jack Falstaff?

Ivor:

The fleshly old reprobate speaks of himself.

Falstaff:

As you can see, I have grown grey and thick in his service. This ponderous fleshly shell was got in that service I tell you.

Pistol:

What a delightful liar is Sir John.

Mistress:

None better.

Bardolph:

Why he was fat and smelly err he met the prince. If he grew fat in service it was the service of the night, cutting purses and eating capons.

Falstaff:

Many's the child that mocks me for my girth, many's the woman who rejects me for my age and size. Were it not for my sword, I don't doubt that many a man would comment on my affliction even within my hearing.

Pistol:

Why, the lying miscreant. A whoop from a twelve year old would set him to flight even with all of his size.

Falstaff:

Yet, I love the king. Indeed, I love no man more. Amid all of the slights and hardships, all of the battles and wounds, I love no man more. Never let it be said that I do. He is my king and my friend I like to think. He is my master and my sovereign lord. When he commands I must obey.

Ivor:

Pray God we may be spared this endless talk. We'll pay the money however much, but don't torment us also.

Falstaff:

I flatter myself that I am his most loyal subject. Yet I must confess...

Bardolph:

Sir John would not confess to anything, not him.

Falstaff:

I must admit...

Pistol:

Nor admit to anything either.

Falstaff:

I must say...

Drew:

Jesus Christmas, out with it, man.

Bardolph:

Better still.

Falstaff:

I must explain that I have had little in the king's service. Little payment, food, drink or lodging. Little preferment for all of my labors including the risk of my very life.

Mistress:

Oh! The audacity of the man. When did he ever risk life or limb except in overindulgence?

Falstaff:

My service to his Majesty has been motivated by the love I bear him though it has not always been compensated by his love for me. Old fat Jack has not been loved as he ought by the king.

Grey:

Surely the king loves thee well.

Falstaff:

Aye! He loves me well, but not so well as I would like is what I meant. After all, no man could love another so much as I seek the love of the king. Do not misconstrue, I pray thee. I do not accuse the king; I merely state that he has not loved me as I would have it. But what man could? Even a king.

Ivor:

What man would? Even a beggar.

Grey:

I shall acquaint the king with your thirst for his love when I speak with him. Doubtless one so gallant as yourself could not so speak on his own behalf.

Falstaff:

Pray, speak not on my behalf. I would not burden the king at such times as these with my piddling complaints. However, the offer to do so speaks well of you, sir. So well that I am moved to offer you and your companions refreshment. Mistress! A round of port here, a round of port on my bill if you please.

Mistress:

A bill that grows as large as its owner. Yes, Sir John.

Grey:

We can not accept such generosity as much as we are wont to do so. Permit me to pay the wench.

Falstaff:

Sir, you do me dishonor by refusing to drink with me.

Drew:

Let the old windbag pay.

Grey:

I would no more insult you than cut off my right arm, Sir. We shall drink with you.

Bardolph:

The king may view a drunken riot when those arrive before him.

Pistol:

Aye. Sir John sees only port; the king will see red eyes and slurred speech. We should counsel him to forego further wine.

Bardolph:

I'll to Mistress Quickly to ask her aid.

Pistol:

And expect her to reject the coin that comes from such indulgence? You might just as well ask the night to give up its darkness. (Mistress re-enters with a tray filled with drinks.)

Mistress:

Sir John, it's not for me to say but less wine would recommend you to the king.

Falstaff:

Yes, woman. A wise piece of advice. I will follow it. (Mistress returns to Pistol and Bardolph.)

Mistress:

Should he fail to please the king, his bill will never be paid.

Pistol:

I knew that there was method to it.

Mistress:

I'm a business woman. My love for Sir John must await its opportunity.

Bardolph:

All seem intent on opportunity.

Grey:

Let us settle our matters now and then to the king.

Falstaff:

(Raises his cup.) To the king.

Drew:

The fat fool believes that Grey proposes a toast,

Ivor:

When in truth he proposes that we see the king.

Grey:

Yes. To the king. (All drink.) We must await the king's pleasure.

Falstaff:

True enough. He's a busy king no doubt. He's a good king. Good prince Hal he was, good King Harry he is. I love him as no other.

Ivor:

He's taken wings again. Wake me when he returns to the nest.

Drew:

Doubtless you'll know from the sound of crashing branches. (Ivor and Drew put their heads down and sleep.)

Grey:

My companions are quite worn by the day's exertions. Perhaps we should send message to the palace of our coming.

Falstaff:

As you will.

Grey :

I will. (He puts his head down and sleeps.)

Mistress:

I am out the price of a bed.

Bardolph:

They are out the comfort of a sleep, reclining thus in drunkeness. Would I were with them.

Pistol:

Quickly, we must have their purses.

Mistress:

And ruin Sir John? Never. What loyalty have you that you would so endanger that good man. (Falstaff begins snoring loudly.)

Pistol:

Forgive me. I thought not of the good and noble knight but only of the strangers' gold.

Bardolph:

Methinks yon knight thought upon gold for all.

Mistress:

Indeed, he is a generous man.

Pistol:

True. Perhaps now we'll have our wages of him when the king calls him forth. (End of scene)

Scene: The tavern next morning. Ivor, Grey and Drew awake at the table.

Ivor:

I'm as stiff and sore as a dead man.

Drew:

How stiff and sore is that? Oh! I shall never again move freely. How came we to sleep in this pest hole and at a table? Are we not worthy of beds?

Grey:

Are the beds in this place worthy of us? Where has the fat knight got off to?

Ivor:

The night has got off to the other end of the world to make room for morning.

Drew:

Not that night.

Ivor:

Oh! The old reprobate! Has he left?

Drew:

I know not.

Grey:

We must find him. He is our fortune. Without him we are undone.

Ivor:

He should not be hard to find. Indeed, such a one is difficult to miss. I thought that I remember him asleep in that very place.

Drew:

Perhaps he died and his friends bore him off.

Grey:

Perhaps someone should bore a hole in your head.

Ivor:

It would take more than those we saw here to bear him off, or to lift him. What's to eat?

Grey:

Nothing until we locate Sir John.

Drew:

If he's eating while we look, little will be left for us.

Grey:

Mistress! Mistress! Where has she got off to now?

Ivor:

I know not.

Drew:

Not twelve hours ago you were to take her to wife and share her fortune.

Ivor:

Love is fickle.

Drew:

But greed is not.

Ivor:

True. I'll find her. (Mistress Quickly enters.)

Mistress:

Good morning, gentlemen. May I bring you breakfast?

Grey:

Where has Sir John got to, Mistress? He was with us into the night.

Mistress:

He's sleeping but will doubtless rise shortly. May I serve you?

Ivor:

I'm for the privy.

Grey:

Just so. (They go off.)

Drew:

Where may I wash the night from me, Mistress?

Mistress:

Just outside the door, sir. Clean water has been poured for you.

Drew:

Thank you. (He goes off.)

Mistress:

No food? No breakfast? The night's drink has stolen the morning's hunger no doubt. I'll prepare a capon for them nevertheless. Sir John will eat it if they will not; particularly if the gentlemen pay for it. Sir John's a great one for feasting at another's expense. What is this? A letter? A note. It must be the property of the gentlemen. I mustn't read it, even if I could. (Pistol enters.)

Pistol:

Ah, there you are, Moll. I was missing you when I woke. The morning dawned without a morning's romp.

Mistress:

I've an inn to run and little time to stay abed with you, sir.

Pistol:

You were not so resistant last evening. What have you there? What paper is this?

Mistress:

I found it on the bench, left by one of the gentlemen no doubt.

Pistol:

Hand it here.

Mistress:

I will not. It's not mine to hand anywhere. Nor is it yours to pore over.

Pistol:

What does it say?

Mistress:

I know not. Nor do I care to know.

Pistol:

Surely you care to know. A woman without curiosity is not a woman. And I can swear in a law court that you are a woman, indeed.

Mistress:

It is neither my property nor my business.

Pistol:

Nor mine. But I'll read it nonetheless. I have not your honest scruples.

Mistress:

You will not.

Pistol:

Very well. It's probably just a bill, or a bank draft perhaps. Yes, a bank draft that will tell the gentlemen how much they may spend to bring Sir John to the king.

Mistress:

Think you?

Pistol:

I know not. Nor do I care. When will we eat?

Mistress:

Anon. A bank draft?

Pistol:

Replace it where it came from before curiosity eats you whole.

Mistress:

Yes, I will.

Pistol:

It could be the king's order.

Mistress:

Not a bank draft?

Pistol:

I know not. Let us eat, woman.

Mistress:

Anon. What order of the king? What needs an order of the king on paper?

Pistol:

I know not. Perhaps it is directions to the gentlemen in their talks with Sir John. Perhaps it is a laundry list.

Mistress:

But you said a bank draft.

Pistol:

Without seeing the writing I cannot judge of it. Let us eat.

Mistress:

I will show you.

Pistol:

No. I'll not read another's paper. Not Pistol. ‘Twould be a villainous thing to read another's business. Put it back and bring food.

Mistress:

I must know. There it is. I must know the contents before the gentlemen return. They won't be long.

Pistol:

Very well. But only because of the affection I bear you, woman. Give it here. It is indeed direction to this place. Nothing more. Here, it says that you will find an old fat knight beloved of the king.

Mistress:

No bank draft?

Pistol:

None. Replace it. Now to table.

Mistress:

Is that all it said?

Pistol:

That's all. Directions and that Sir John is beloved of the king. Nothing more.

Mistress:

But Sir John is not beloved of the king. He has been banished by him. Whoever wrote the paper knows not that he has been banished.

Pistol:

What significance?

Mistress:

If these gentlemen come from the king, surely they are aware of Sir John's banishment. Thus, what purpose such a writing?

Pistol:

I cannot parse such mysteries on an empty belly.

Mistress:

Indeed, Sir John was beloved of the prince but never the king.

Pistol:

They are one and the same.

Mistress:

Yes, they are. (She goes off.)

Pistol:

I fail to fathom your meaning and the significance. Where have you gone to? To breakfast most like. I too. (He goes off. Sir John enters wearily from upstairs and comes carefully down the stairs in a manner far removed from his stately entrance of last night.)

Falstaff:

These old bones do not respond to the crow of the cock as once they did. Time was when they would be as good after a night's debauch as a child's. Age is the enemy of indulgence. Age and the weariness of long life are incompatible with the requirements of a gentleman summoned to his king's service. A night's joust with a bottle of port ill prepares a knight to joust on behalf of his sovereign. Indeed, I must return and repeat this effort after a visit with my chamber pot. (He turns and goes back up the stairs. Grey and Ivor enter.)

Ivor:

I tell you the servant was struck dumb by her beauty. Disbelieve it if you wish but it is nevertheless history rather than fiction.

Grey:

I doubt not. It is merely that I've never seen a servant struck deaf, dumb or blind by any woman no matter her beauty, wealth or standing. Howsoever, if you say that it's true, I accept it as true and will not quibble with such nonsense.

Ivor:

Nonsense! You call me liar, sir?

Grey:

Come now, Ivor, this is not a stage play where one can remake himself with each scene. Truth is an enemy of our profession, lies our tools. To take offense at the fact is foolish.

Ivor:

Struck deaf he was as I live.

Grey:

And how long will you live making such professions in public. (Drew enters.) We had thought you lost forever, Drew.

Drew:

Truly, my insides feel as though forever beckons.

Grey:

Sup with us. I'm sure that Mistress's cooking will make you whole.

Drew:

I'm suffering the tortures of hell and you talk to me of food. Leave me to my death, slow though it may be.

Ivor:

Think you not upon chops cooked in grease and loins fired in fat. It's not to be thought upon. Washed down with sack and followed by capon. No, not to be thought upon. Tempt him not, Grey; the man is ill. (Drew exits hurriedly.)

Grey:

He'll not be pleased when he returns.

Ivor:

Not pleased perhaps but better for it. When that which gives him the illness departs, leaving only hunger behind, he'll thank me.

Grey:

I doubt not that he will thank you. I only pray that it not be with his sword.

Ivor:

Where is that wench. Is it not past time for the morning meal?

Grey:

Aye. Breakfast will be shortly lunch. Mistress!

Mistress:

Yes, sirs. I have a brace of chops for you and port. I'll serve it shortly. Is there anything else that I can do for you? (Ivor finds the paper on the bench and opens it to read. Mistress Quickly watches as he does so.)

Grey:

Yes, we'd like some clean water to wash in. What you have is like mud unfit for a horse much less a gentleman. Mistress!

Mistress:

Yes, sir?

Grey:

Did you hear what I said?

Mistress:

Yes, sir. A brace of chops, sir.

Grey:

No, about the water.

Mistress:

Water? I have already opened the port, sir.

Grey:

Not to drink, you stupid woman. Water to wash in. What's available is dirty and brackish.

Mistress:

Yes, sir. Right away, sir. If you'll go upstairs, you'll find an abundance of clean water for your needs.

Grey:

Thank you. (To Ivor) Come. Let us cleanse this place from our bodies. (They go upstairs as Mistress Quickly watches. When they've gone she hurries to Pistol who's in the kitchen eating with Bardolph.)

Mistress:

They're scoundrels. That's what they are. They're not at all from the king. They're cads, varlets. The king! They're no more from the king than I'm from Venus.

Pistol:

Patience, sweet madam. What's this storm that blows through.

Mistress:

As soon as I saw him read the paper, I knew. They're not from the king at all. They're highwaymen, not gentlemen.

Bardolph:

They're gentlemen all right.

Mistress:

They're rogues. They mean Sir John harm; I'm sure of it.

Pistol:

Harm Sir John? What is the cause of this madness, lady? What is your purpose?

Mistress:

They, those gentlemen, are not here on the king's business.

Bardolph:

Of course they are on the king's business. Why else?

Mistress:

I know not.

Pistol:

What is the cause of this outburst? Are you ill?

Mistress:

I tell you true. Those gentlemen are not from the king.

Pistol:

What proof?

Mistress:

None.

Pistol:

There.

Bardolph:

Where?

Pistol:

Here?

Bardolph:

There?

Mistress:

Fools. Mark me, those gentlemen mean Sir John no good. I know not what it is that they purpose but it is ill for Sir John.

Pistol:

Guesswork.

Mistress:

We must learn it.

Bardolph:

Learn it? What must we learn?

Pistol:

That the gentlemen do not seek to bring Sir John to the king. That Sir John does not propose to take us to France and that we do not intend to pay our bills to Mistress Quickly.

Bardolph;

A ponderous amount of learning.

Mistress:

You dolts will see the truth of what I say. You will. Mark.

Pistol:

Upon what evidence are we to assume the worst, my dear?

Mistress:

I'll find evidence if evidence is what's required. I promise you that you will repent your mock when I have exposed them for what they are and do.

Bardolph:

But what do they do?

Mistress:

I know not.

Bardolph:

I'm confused. I need sack.

Pistol:

Confusion is your natural state. Madam, pray tell me what you fear and what causes such fear. I am at a loss.

Mistress:

The paper that you read and the manner of the men alarms me though I know not why. Yet, I am convinced that they intend no good to Sir John and thus come not from the king.

Pistol:

Men must not be swayed by the humors of women. Proof is required.

Mistress:

So spoke Caesar to Calpurnia.

Pistol:

You mock me, madam.

Bardolph:

And me too. What has Caesar to do with this?

Mistress:

Nay. I warn you, sir. Those men are about mischief. You must warn Sir John.

Pistol:

Without more, I will not.

Bardolph:

Nor I.

Mistress:

Then I shall.

Pistol:

You'll not utter a word. Slander is a heinous crime. Though not a hanging offense perhaps, a serious offense against a gentleman. Yet, you propose to slander three gentlemen. Take care, lady. They could have the law on you. It could mean prison.

Mistress:

No.

Pistol:

Yes. Take not my word. Consult Bardolph. He knows.

Mistress:

No.

Bardolph:

Which?

Pistol:

Yes. (Mistress goes off.)

Bardolph:

I don't understand.

Pistol:

It's a woman's fear, nothing more. We're to France with Sir John and she would have us slander the very messengers who bring us passage thither. Women are mad.

Bardolph:

No doubt. But what of Sir John? Is he to go to France? Are these men from the king?

Pistol:

Worry not, good friend. Your sword will find its purpose in other lands.

Bardolph:

We are not friends. You are a rogue. We go to France together only for profit. But what of Sir John? What if the woman is right? Perhaps we should learn more.

Pistol:

Quiet. They return.

Scene: Ivor, Grey and Drew return to the dining room. Mistress serves them.

Drew:

I cannot.

Grey:

You must. Mistress, where is Sir John? Will he not join us?

Mistress:

I'll ask him, sir. (She goes off upstairs. Sir John enters from his room.)

Falstaff:

Seek me not, Mistress. I come.

Mistress:

A word, Sir John.

Falstaff:

Yes, of course. But first let me greet our guests.

Mistress:

First a word.

Falstaff:

What troubles thee, Mistress. Would you leave our distinguished company alone? We must join them at once. How is this to treat couriers of the king? No, it won't do. We must be gracious hosts as we must be gracious in all things. Guests before all, Mistress. I'll attend you anon.

Mistress:

A word, Sir John.

Falstaff:

Anon, Mistress. (He descends the stairs in his grand manner.)

Ivor:

The blowhard comes.

Grey:

Sir John. Welcome. I trust your rest was comforting.

Falstaff:

Indeed. (The three wait for him to continue but he does not.)

Grey:

Well, please join us.

Falstaff:

Thank you. (He sits with much trouble and groaning but no more words.)

Ivor:

His tongue must be left in his chamber.

Drew:

Thank the Lord God.

Mistress:

A word, Sir John.

Falstaff:

Sack, Mistress. No more port for me. I'll have sack, the poor man's drink.

Ivor:

Poor indeed.

Grey:

With all respect, we'll have port if Sir John objects not.

Falstaff:

Surely.

Grey:

You bring few words today, Sir Knight.

Drew:

Do not wake the sleeping tiger.

Falstaff:

My tongue is captive to my heart with the knowledge that I will see my beloved Hal today. Though large I may be, there is room in my heart for the king and no other. Thus, the joy that I feel at our impending meeting takes away my voice and silences my very thoughts. You gentlemen cannot know the depth and strength of the love that I do bear our gracious king, my friend and father to this realm of England. Would that my hair was more full and colored other than grey. Would that the years of toil and hardship did not lie so heavily on these old bones. Would that my stride was once again filled with the energy that it once was. For then I could serve that dear sovereign in every capacity. However, even though a fat and broken old man, I shall serve him in what manner God has graciously left to me whether here at home or in foreign fields. I place my life, my fortune and my reputation at his service.

Drew:

Are these the few words of which you spoke, Grey? If these be few, give me gold for each.

Ivor:

Tis a most peculiar speech, is it not?

Drew:

What have you heard from this bag of noise that is not peculiar?

Ivor:

Nay. Among the excess of verbiage there's a message. Something, I know not what, seems strange though I cannot tell at present what it is.

Falstaff:

What a glorious reign he has begun, gentlemen. And now to France to claim his ancient right, his ancient friend at his side. What glories do lay before us. It makes me weep to be subject to so great a king and so kind a sovereign. Even I, though my deeds not be few or without glory am humble before so kind and terrible a leader as our king. I drink to him. King Henry.

All:

King Henry.

Mistress:

Sir John, a word.

Falstaff:

Shortly, Mistress. Now, gentles, when do we depart for Whitehall?

Grey:

When convenient to yourself, Sir John. We are thy servants. (Bardolph and Pistol enter and stand about on the edge of the conversation.)

Falstaff:

I thank you but I know the king; ‘tis best to follow his instructions in the matter. As in all matters. Indeed, Hal was strong in that as in all things. Follow instruction and fail not, he would say. Though he did not always follow what he was instructed, particularly as relates to the late king, his father.

Grey:

Then should we not obtain instruction before proceeding?

Falstaff:

Just so.

Mistress:

Sir John, a word.

Falstaff:

Yes, Mistress. Speak.

Mistress:

Well, Sir John, I ---

Drew:

Had we known this, we might have sent for instructions while awaiting them here. Now we've to use twice the time.

Falstaff:

I do not understand your meaning, sir. Did not the king give guidance?

Ivor:

What!

Grey:

With what cunning have we been foxed here?

Falstaff:

I do not apprehend your meaning.

Mistress:

Sir John, I---

Falstaff:

I am at a loss to comprehend this turn of events. Has the king sent you without orders or instructions? How can that be?

Grey:

The king has not sent us at all.

Bardolph:

Imposters!

Pistol:

Rogues!

Mistress:

Sir John--

Falstaff:

Not at all? Then why did you seek to bring me to his presence? What manner of conduct is this?

Ivor:

What manner indeed. We've been taken in by the old fraud.

Drew:

There's a certain symmetry to that, you know. A certain poetic justice if you will.

Ivor:

Oh shut up.

Grey:

I might ask the same.

Falstaff:

You might ask what you will after you've explained yourself.

Ivor:

Are you friend to our king or are you not?

Falstaff:

The king has no better subject or friend than Jack Falstaff.

Pistol:

Hear, hear.

Grey:

Then, will you escort us to the presence and present us or will you not?

Falstaff:

Present you! Present you where? Present to what purpose? Present to whom?

Mistress:

Sir John, a word, please.

Falstaff:

Yes, Mistress.

Ivor:

To the king, you drunken fool.

Bardolph:

I'll run him through his lying guts for that.

Pistol:

Peace, good friend. We shall have our day.

Falstaff:

I am confused and astonished. You seek an introduction to the king from me while the king sent you to bring me to him.

Mistress:

Sir John.

Falstaff:

Yes, good Mistress.

Mistress:

Sir John, I fear that you mistake the gentlemens' intent. I do not believe that they are from the king at all.

Falstaff:

Not from the king! Of course they're from the king. What else would bring them hither? Not from the king, indeed. What would be there purpose if they were not from good King Harry? Answer me that, Mistress.

Mistress:

To be brought to the king by you, Sir John.

Falstaff:

You jest, Mistress.

Grey:

No jest that.

Falstaff:

I beg your pardon, sir.

Ivor:

Why would we bring him to the king? He is the king's friend.

Mistress:

Indeed.

Pistol:

Are you saying that you've not come from the king?

Drew:

We know not the king, or any king.

Bardolph:

Let me cut their heads off, Sir John.

Falstaff:

Not from the king? I don't understand. If not from Harry, from whom?

Grey:

From no person. We seek entry to the king and have come to entreat you to the office.

Falstaff:

I?

Ivor:

You.

Pistol:

We've been deceived, sure enough. Sure enough, we've been deceived.

Bardolph:

Let me chop them into pieces and feed them to the dogs.

Falstaff:

Does not the king sail for France?

Grey:

We know nothing of the king's intent.

Ivor:

We'd best be going on our way.

Drew:

I agree.

Pistol:

Not so fast, my good gentlemen. Mr. Bardolph may have some word to share with you.

Grey:

Sir John. Are you or are you not friend to the king.

Falstaff:

I was. (Falstaff, obviously deflated and troubled, slowly climbs the stairs. He stops at the top and sits on the landing. His disappointment is in his face.) I was the closest of friends to a man whom I love more than any other. In those happy, laugh filled days before he was taken from us by the cares of state, we were as close as two men can be without one being a woman or like that. Oh yes, I was his friend. After all the years spent on this globe, I should have known that one cannot return, that time is like the flowing river that never sees the same water pass a place twice. But like a child, I hoped though I know that hope is a deceiver. I was willing to be deceived and deceived I was. Never again shall I see good Prince Hal. I knew that, Mistress. In my heart of hearts I knew that I will never again look upon the face of greatness. But I hoped. I hoped. (He rises slowly, painfully and goes off.)

Grey:

He was? What does that mean?

Mistress:

It means that he cannot bring you to the king.

Grey:

May I ask why he cannot?

Bardolph:

Because you will be carrion for the vultures before the sun goes down.

Ivor:

What now?

Drew:

Escape.

Grey:

Agreed. (The three men run off with Bardolph and Pistol in pursuit. Mistress Quickly cleans the table slowly, sadly. She sobs as she does so.)

Mistress:

I wish I had been wrong for Sir John's sake. (She goes about cleaning the tables.) I wish I had been wrong. This will be the death of him. This and the churlish king will do him. And I will be left behind with the likes of Bardolph and good Pistol whom, though I love him, is a rogue and a thief. Were I a man I'd thrash those gentlemen soundly. And the king too. Sir John has done no wrong to any person; (She comes to the table where the gentlemen left their unfinished drinks. She finds a funnel and pours the port from their mugs back into the bottle.) well, leastways none to the king or those gentlemen. Yet, he is ill treated by them. It hurts me to my soul. To my very soul. (She corks the bottle, wipes tears from her eyes with her apron and goes about cleaning as the curtain falls.)

 

THE END