The Sermon in the Tavern (2 Henry IV, 1.2)

I'm not sure where it comes from, but I heard that Shaw said that at the heart of every joke is a great truth.  I may not be quoting this exactly, either.  I would say the same for truth, though.  That at the heart of every truth is a great joke.  This can certainly be said for the parables of Christ.  I think it was John Dominic Crossan, the former priest and writer of some of the best biblical criticism, who used to imagine Jesus winking at the end of every parable--as though he were delivering a punchline!

Of course, we call this, in both cases, irony.  The king of irony in the works of Shakespeare is, of course, Falstaff.  Today's moment of reflection takes us to the tavern in Eastcheap.  The Chief Justice wants to interrogate Sir John about the robbery at Gadshill.  The scene is pure Vaudeville.  The poor servant is the monkey in the middle of Sir John's deft defiance and the Chief Justice's determination.  When Falstaff, the man who can never have enough, pretends to have had enough (of the pestering), he throws up his arms, slaps his thighs and says (in another hilarious moment, just like when he asks, "Is there no virtue extant?"):

                   What! a young knave, and begging! Is there not
                   wars? is there not employment? doth not the king
                   lack subjects? do not the rebels need soldiers?
                   Though it be a shame to be on any side but one, it
                   is worse shame to beg than to be on the worst side,
                   were it worse than the name of rebellion can tell
                   how to make it.

At the risk of sounding perhaps too Bloomian, I'll let Falstaff do most of the talking here.  But here, we have another "honor speech."  Worse shame to beg than be on the worst side, the losing side.  Better to have fought and lost than to have begged.  Begging, then, is even below suicide in the agony of defeat.

My dad used to have a very funny line about unreliable people: "....always there when you need him, instead of right here where you can really use his help."  This description fits Falstaff certainly better than his armor.  And yet, of course, everything that Falstaff says, every question that he asks here, is true.  It is funny, but it is so true.  Is there not anything better or more important to do?  And yet, Falstaff is our guide down the primrose path, our captain in fleeting the time carelessly....