There is, however, another and perhaps a more instructive view to be taken of Sir John as here represented.  I shall have occasion hereafter to note how, all through the period of King Henry the Fourth, he keeps growing worse and worse, while the Prince is daily growing better.  Out of their sport-seeking intercourse he picks whatever is bad, whereas the other gathers nothing but the good.  As represented in the Comedy he seems to be in the swiftest part of this worsening process.  At the close of the First Part of the History, the Prince freely yields up to him the honour of Hotspur’s fall; thus carrying home to him such an example of self-renouncing generosity as it would seem impossible for the most hardened sinner to resist.  And the Prince appears to have done this partly in the hope that it might prove a seed of truth and grace in Falstaff, and start him in a better course of life.  But the effect upon him is quite the reverse.  Honour is nothing to him but as it may help him in the matter of sensual and heart-steeling self-indulgence.  And the surreptitious fame thus acquired, instead of working in him for good, merely serves to procure him larger means and larger license for pampering his gross animal selfishness.  His thoughts dwell not at all on the Prince’s act of magnanimity, which would shame his egotism and soften his heart, but only on his own ingenuity and success in the stratagem that led to that act.  So that the effect is just to puff him up more than ever with vanity and conceit of wit, and thus to give a looser rein and a sharper stimulus to his greed and lust; for there is probably nothing that will send a man faster to the Devil than that sort of conceit.  The result is, that Falstaff soon proceeds to throw off whatever of restraint may have hitherto held his vices in check, and to wanton in the arrogance of utter impunity.  As he then unscrupulously appropriated the credit of another’s heroism; so he now makes no scruple of sacrificing the virtue, the honour, the happiness of others to his own mean and selfish pleasure.

But this total subjection of the mental to the animal nature cannot long proceed without betraying the succours of reason.  When the bands of morality are thus spurned, a man rapidly sins his understanding into lameness; as its better forces must needs be quickly rotted in such a vapour-bath of sensuality.  In this way an overweening pride of wit often results in causing a man to be deserted by his wits; this too in matters where he feels surest of them and has most need of them.  In refusing to see what is right, he loses the power of seeing what is prudent and safe.  He who persists in such a course will inevitably be drawn into signal lapses of judgment, however richly nature may have endowed him with that faculty:  he will stumble over his own self-love; his very assurance will be tripping him when he least expects it.  And so Falstaff’s conceit and egotism, working together, as they do, with his greed