Adam reminded me that the bard was born today, 438 years ago. A toast to the greatest playwright this world has ever seen. Cheers!This is my favorite part of Henry IV part I, where Falstaff, a fat, bawdy carouser is playing roles with England's Prince Hal in a tavern in Cheapside, London. Hal has been neglecting his princely duties to run with ruffians for a while, but he and everyone else knows that one day he must forsake his rapscallion friends and assume his princely duties. In this fake interview, Falstaff is pretending to be the king asking his son, Prince Hal, why he is wasting his time with these degenerates (except for Falstaff, of course). Hal, playing himself, puts up with Falstaff's trumpeting of his own virtues for a while, but ends the silly dialogue with a sobering coda. FALSTAFF And here is my speech. Stand aside, nobility. Hostess O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith! FALSTAFF Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears are vain. Hostess O, the father, how he holds his countenance! FALSTAFF For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen; For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. Hostess O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these harlotry players as ever I see! FALSTAFF Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain. Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of thine eye and a foolish-hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point; why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? a question not to be asked. Shall the sun of England prove a thief and take purses? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in pleasure but in passion, not in words only, but in woes also: and yet there is a virtuous man whom I have often noted in thy company, but I know not his name. PRINCE HENRY What manner of man, an it like your majesty? FALSTAFF A goodly portly man, i' faith, and a corpulent; of a cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most noble carriage; and, as I think, his age some fifty, or, by'r lady, inclining to three score; and now I remember me, his name is Falstaff: if that man should be lewdly given, he deceiveth me; for, Harry, I see virtue in his looks. If then the tree may be known by the fruit, as the fruit by the tree, then, peremptorily I speak it, there is virtue in that Falstaff: him keep with, the rest banish. And tell me now, thou naughty varlet, tell me, where hast thou been this month? PRINCE HENRY Dost thou speak like a king? Do thou stand for me, and I'll play my father. FALSTAFF Depose me? if thou dost it half so gravely, so majestically, both in word and matter, hang me up by the heels for a rabbit-sucker or a poulter's hare. PRINCE HENRY Well, here I am set. FALSTAFF And here I stand: judge, my masters. PRINCE HENRY Now, Harry, whence come you? FALSTAFF My noble lord, from Eastcheap. PRINCE HENRY The complaints I hear of thee are grievous. FALSTAFF 'Sblood, my lord, they are false: nay, I'll tickle ye for a young prince, i' faith. PRINCE HENRY Swearest thou, ungracious boy? henceforth ne'er look on me. Thou art violently carried away from grace: there is a devil haunts thee in the likeness of an old fat man; a tun of man is thy companion. Why dost thou converse with that trunk of humours, that bolting-hutch of beastliness, that swollen parcel of dropsies, that 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? FALSTAFF I would your grace would take me with you: whom means your grace? PRINCE HENRY That villanous abominable misleader of youth, Falstaff, that old white-bearded Satan. FALSTAFF My lord, the man I know. PRINCE HENRY I know thou dost. FALSTAFF 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. PRINCE HENRY I do, I will.
