| 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? | |