of Falstaff which attracted him? Or did he break bounds merely out of
high spirits, when bored by the foolish formalities of the palace?
Shakespeare, one would have thought, would have given us the key to the
mystery in the very first scene. But this scene, which paints Falstaff
to the soul, tells us nothing of the Prince; but rather blurs a figure
which everyone imagines he knows at least in outline. Prince Henry's
first speech is excellent as description; Falstaff asks him the time
of day; he replies:
"Thou art so fat-witted, with drinking of old sack, and
unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches
after noon, that thou hast forgotten to demand that truly
which thou wouldst truly know...."
This helps to depict Falstaff, but does not show us the Prince, for
good-humoured contempt of Falstaff is universal; it has nothing
individual and peculiar in it.
Then comes the speech in which the Prince talks of himself in Falstaff's
strain as one of "the moon's men" who "resolutely snatch a purse of gold
on Monday night," and "most dissolutely spend it on Tuesday morning." A
little later he plays with Falstaff by asking: "Where shall we take a
purse to-morrow, Jack?" It looks as if the Prince were ripe for worse
than mischief. But when Falstaff wants to know if he will make one of
the band to rob on Gadshill, he cries out, as if indignant and
surprised:
P. Hen. Who, I rob? la thief? Not I, by my faith.
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship
in thee, nor thou earnest not of the blood royal,
if thou darest not stand for ten shillings.
P. Hen. Well then, once in my days I'll be a madcap.
Fal. Why, that's well said.
P. Hen. Well, come what will, I'll tarry at home.
He is only persuaded at length by Poins's proposal to rob the robbers.
It may be said that these changes of the Prince are natural in the
situation: but they are too sudden and unmotived; they are like the
nodding of the mandarin's head--they have no meaning; and surely, after
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