PRINCE. Five year! By’r Lady, a long lease for the clinking of pewter! But, Francis, darest thou be so valiant as to play the coward with thy indenture, and show it a fair pair of heels, and run from it? FRANCIS. O Lord, sir, I’ll be sworn upon all the books in England, I could find in my heart— POINS. [_within._] Francis! FRANCIS. Anon, sir. PRINCE. How old art thou, Francis? FRANCIS. Let me see, about Michaelmas next I shall be— POINS. [_within._] Francis! FRANCIS. Anon, sir.—Pray, stay a little, my lord. PRINCE. Nay, but hark you, Francis, for the sugar thou gavest me, ’twas a pennyworth, was’t not? FRANCIS. O Lord, I would it had been two! PRINCE. I will give thee for it a thousand pound. Ask me when thou wilt, and thou shalt have it. POINS. [_within._] Francis! FRANCIS. Anon, anon. PRINCE. Anon, Francis? No, Francis, but tomorrow, Francis; or, Francis, a Thursday; or indeed, Francis, when thou wilt. But, Francis,— FRANCIS. My lord? PRINCE. Wilt thou rob this leathern-jerkin, crystal-button, not-pated, agate-ring, puke-stocking, caddis-garter, smooth-tongue, Spanish-pouch— FRANCIS. O Lord, sir, who do you mean? PRINCE. Why, then, your brown bastard is your only drink, for look you, Francis, your white canvas doublet will sully. In Barbary, sir, it cannot come to so much. FRANCIS. What, sir? POINS. [_within._] Francis! PRINCE. Away, you rogue! Dost thou not hear them call? [_Here they both call him; the Drawer stands amazed, not knowing which way to go._] Enter Vintner. VINTNER. What, stand’st thou still, and hear’st such a calling? Look to the guests within. [_Exit Francis._] My lord, old Sir John with half-a-dozen more are at the door. Shall I let them in? PRINCE. Let them alone awhile, and then open the door. [_Exit Vintner._] Poins! Enter Poins. POINS. Anon, anon, sir. PRINCE. Sirrah, Falstaff and the rest of the thieves are at the door; shall we be merry? POINS. As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye, what cunning match have you made with this jest of the drawer? Come, what’s the issue? PRINCE. I am now of all humours that have showed themselves humours since the old days of goodman Adam to the pupil age of this present twelve o’clock at midnight. Enter Francis. What’s o’clock, Francis? FRANCIS. Anon, anon, sir. [_Exit Francis._]