Kris took it, drinking deep. “My deepest thanks, sweet prince! What more here? All the folk seem right merry!”
Hal laughed heartily, seeing that Kris had changed his place of dialect only so slightly. “What more here? Come, to the center as the old and mad wag, Falstaff tells his tale of triumph, where Poins and I have watched him fall beneath the bushes of the forest..” He said in a quick but quiet tone, again to lean over to the man, drinking well enough.
Drawing his stool close by the Prince, Kris turned his ear to Falstaff’s tale, starting to smirk. “His count of men does keep growing by leaps and bounds,” he whispered to Harry, gesturing for his cup to be refilled. “Does he ever tell truth?”