resistance), “_if he fights longer than he sees reason, I will forswear arms._” This is the old trick of cautious and artful malice: The turn of expression, or the tone of voice does all; for as to the words themselves, simply considered, they might be now truly spoken of almost any man who ever lived, except the iron-headed hero of _Sweden_.—But _Poins_ however adds something, which may appear more decisive; “_The virtue of this jest will be the incomprehensible lyes which this fat rogue will tell when we meet at supper; how thirty at least he fought with; and what wards, what blows, what extremities, he endured: And in the reproof of this lies the jest_”:—Yes, and the _malice_ too.—This prediction was unfortunately fulfilled, even beyond the letter of it; a completion more incident, perhaps, to the predictions of malice than of affection. But we shall presently see how far either the prediction, or the event, will go to the impeachment of _Falstaff_’s Courage.—The Prince, who is never duped, comprehends the whole of _Poins_’s views. But let that pass. In the next scene we behold all the parties at _Gads-Hill_ in preparation for the robbery. Let us carefully examine if it contains any intimation of Cowardice in _Falstaff_. He is shewn under a very ridiculous vexation about his horse, which is hid from him; but this is nothing to the purpose, or only proves that _Falstaff_ knew no terror equal to that of walking _eight yards of uneven ground_. But on occasion of _Gadshill_’s being asked concerning the number of the travellers, and having reported that they were eight or ten, _Falstaff_ exclaims, “_Zounds! will they not rob us!_” If he had said more seriously, “_I doubt they will be too hard for us_,”—he would then have only used the Prince’s own words upon a less alarming occasion. This cannot need defence. But the Prince, in his usual stile of mirth, replies, “_What a Coward, Sir John Paunch!_” To this one would naturally expect from _Falstaff_ some light answer; but we are surprized with a very serious one;—“_I am not indeed __JOHN OF GAUNT__ your grandfather, but yet no __COWARD__, __HAL__._” This is singular: It contains, I think, the true character of _Falstaff_; and it seems to be thrown out _here_, at a very critical conjuncture, as a caution to the audience not to take too sadly what was intended only (to use the Prince’s words) “_as argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever after_.” The whole of _Falstaff_’s past life could not, it should seem, furnish the Prince with a reply, and he is, therefore, obliged to draw upon the coming hope. “_Well_,” says he, _mysteriously_, “_let the event try_”; meaning the event of the concerted attack on _Falstaff_; an event so probable, that he might indeed venture to rely on it.—But the travellers approach: The Prince hastily proposes a division of strength; that he with _Poins_ should take a station separate from the rest, so that