Falstaff.  O, thou hast damnable iteration, and art indeed able to corrupt a saint.  Thou hast done much harm unto me, Hal; God forgive thee for it.  Before I knew thee, Hal, I knew nothing, and now I am, 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; an I do not, I am a villain.  I’ll be damn’d for never a king’s son in Christendom,

P. Henry.  Where shall we take a purse to-morrow.  Jack?

Falstaff.  Where thou wilt, lad, I’ll make one; an I do not, call me villain, and baffle me.

P. Henry.  I see good amendment of life in thee, from praying to purse-taking.

Falstaff.  Why, Hal, ’tis my vocation, Hal.  ’Tis no sin for a man to labour in his vocation.

Of the other prominent passages, his account of his pretended resistance to the robbers, ’who grew from four men in buckram into eleven’ as the imagination of his own valour increased with his relating it, his getting off when the truth is discovered by pretending he knew the Prince, the scene in which in the person of the old king he lectures the prince and gives himself a good character, the soliloquy on honour, and description of his new-raised recruits, his meeting with the chief justice, his abuse of the Prince and Poins, who overhear him, to Doll Tearsheet, his reconciliation with Mrs. Quickly who has arrested him for an old debt and whom he persuades to pawn her plate to lend him ten pounds more, and the scenes with Shallow and Silence, are all inimitable.  Of all of them, the scene in which Falstaff plays the part, first, of the King, and then of Prince Henry, is the one that has been the most often quoted.  We must quote it once more in illustration of our remarks.

Falstaff.  Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendeth 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 villainous 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?  Shaft the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher, and eat blackberries?  A question not to be ask’d.  Shall the son of England prove a thief, and take purses? a question not to be ask’d.  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.

P. Henry.  What manner of man, an it like your majesty?