Falstaffe.
I would it were bed time Hal, and all well.
Prince Hal.
Why, thou ow'st heauen a death.
Falstaffe.
'Tis not due yet: I would bee loath to pay him
before his day.
Falstaffe.
What neede I bee so forward with him, that call's not on me?
Falstaffe.
Well, 'tis no matter, Honor prickes me on.
Falstaffe.
But how if Honour pricke me off when I come on? How then?
Falstaffe.
Can Honour set too a legge? No: or an arme? No: Or take away the greefe
of a wound? No.
Falstaffe.
Honour hath no skill in Surgerie, then? No.
Falstaffe.
What is Honour? A word. What is that word Honour? Ayre: A trim reckoning.
Falstaffe.
Who hath it? He that dy'de a Wednesday. Doth he feele it? No. Doth hee heare
it? No. Is it insensible then? yea, to the dead.
Falstaffe.
But wil it not liue with the liuing? No. Why? Detraction wil not suffer
it,
therfore Ile none of it.
Falstaffe.
Honour is a meere Scutcheon,
Falstaffe.
and so ends my Catechisme.