Acting upon these rapid convictions, Sir John Falstaff performed one
of the most renowned manouvres in his warlike career--the retreat from
Gadshill.
Ordinary prose is inadequate to the emergency of describing this great
event. A moment’s grace, reader, while the historian calls on the poetic
Muse--just to see if she be at home. Yes. It is all right.
Flashing sparks from clashing blows
Dimm’d the glare of Bardolph’s nose;
Gadshill, Peto, screaming ran,
(Warriors prompt to lead the van!)
Falstaff last withstands the pressure,
Strikes three blows to guard the treasure;
But the warrior braying death
Can but fight while he has breath:
Falstaffs stock is quickly done;
Foes are on him two to one.
What’s of martyrdom the fun,
Or of gold the value? None--
When compared to flesh and bone
To the weight of half a ton!
White as moon three-quarters done,
Hot and moist as autumn sun;
Bound and swift as shot from gun,
Down the valley see him run-
Thus was Gadshill lost and won!