Fal. She is Piftol proof, Sir, you fhall hardly offend her. Hoft. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets: I will drink no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I. Pift. Then to you, Mrs. Dorothy, I will charge you. Dol. Charge me! I fcorn you, fcurvy companion! what? your poor, bafe, rafcally, cheating, lack-linen mate; away, you mouldy rogue, away, I'm meat for your master. Pift. I know you, Miftrefs Dorothy. Dol. Away, you cut-purse rascal, you filthy bung, away: by this wine, I'll thruft my knife in your mouldy chaps, if you play the faucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rafcal, you basket-hilt ftale jugler, you. Since when, I pray you, Sir? * what, with two points on your fhoulder? much! Pift. I will murder your ruff for this. Fal. No more, Piflol; I wou'd not have you go off here discharge yourself of your company, Piftot. Hoft. No, good captain Pitel: not here, fweet captain. Dol. Captain! thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not afham'd to be call'd captain? if Captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out of taking their names upon you, before you have earn'd them. You a captain! you flave! for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-houfe? he a captain! hang him, rogue, he lives upon mouldy ftew'd prunes and dry'd cakes. A captain thefe villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy; which was an excellent good word, before it was ill forted; therefore captains had need look to it. Bard. Pray thee, go down, good Ancient. what, with two points on your shoulder? much!] Much was a common Expression of Disdain at that Time, of the fame Senfe with that more modern one, Marry come up. Fal. Fal. Hark thee hither, miftrefs Dol. Pist. Not I: I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could tear.her: I'll be reveng'd on her. Page. Pray thee, go down, Pift. I'll fee her damn'd firft: to Pluto's damned lake, to the infernal deep, where Erebus and tortures vile alfo. Hold hook and line, fay I, down! down, dogs; down, fates: have we not Hiren here? . Hoft. Good captain Peefel, be quiet, it is very late: I beseech you now, aggravate your choler. Pift. These be good humours, indeed. Shall packhorfes And hollow-pamper'd jades of Afia, Which cannot go but thirty miles a day, And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with Shall we fall foul for toys? Hoft. By my troth, captain, thefe are very bitter words. Bard. Begone, good Ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon. Pist. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins : have we not * Hiren here? Hoft. O' my word, captain, there's none fuch here. What the good-jer? do you think, I would deny her? I pray, be quiet. Pit. Then, feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis; come, give me fome fack. Si fortuna me tormenta, il fperare me contenta. Fear we broad fides? no, let the fiend give fire: Give me fome fack: and, sweet-heart, lie thou there: Come we to full points here; and are & cætera's nothing? Fal. Piftol, I would be quiet. Pift. Sweet knight, I kifs thy neif: what! we have feen the feven stars. * Hiren] The name of Piftol's and Amadiș du Gaul's Sword. N Dol. Dol. Thruft him down ftairs, I cannot endure fuch a fuftian rafcal. Pist. Thrust him down ftairs? know we not galloway nags? Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a fhove-groat fhilling; nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he fhall be nothing here. Bard. Come, get you down stairs. Pift. What, fhall we have incifion! fhall we embrew? then Death rock me afleep, abridge my doleful days; why, then let grievous, ghaftly, gaping wounds untwine the fifters three: come, Atropos, I fay.. Hoft. Here's goodly fluff toward. Fal. Give me my rapier, boy. [Drawing his fword. Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee, do not draw. [Drawing, and driving Pistol out. Hoft. Here's a goodly tumult; I'll forfwear keeping house, before I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas, put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons. Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, be quiet, the rafcal is gone: ah, you whoreson, little valiant villian, you! Hoft. Are you not hurt i' th' groin? methought, he made a fhrewd thruft at your belly. Fal. Have you turn'd him out of doors? Bard. Yes, Sir, the rafcal's drunk: you have hurt him, Sir, in the shoulder. Fal. A rafcal, to brave me! Dol, Ah, you fweet little rogue, you: alas, poor ape, how thou sweat'ft? come, let me wipe thy facecome on, you whorefon chops-ah, rogue! I love thee, thou art as valourous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon; and ten times better than the nine Worthies: a villain! Fal. A rafcally flave! I will tofs the rogue in a blanket. Dol. Dol. Do, if thou dar'ft for thy heart: if thou doft, I'll canvass thec between a pair of sheets. Enter Mufic. Page. The mufic is come, Sir. Fal. Let them play; play, Sirs. Sit on my knee, Dol. A rafcal, bragging flave! the rogue fled from me like quick-filver. Dol. I'faith, and thou follow'd'ft him like a church: thou whorefon little tydy Bartholomew Boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting on days, and foining on nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven? Fal. PEA Enter Prince Henry and Poins. EACE, good Dol, do not speak like a death'shead: do not bid me remember mine end. Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of? : Fal. A good fhallow young fellow he would have made a good Pantler, he would have chipp'd bread well. Dol. They fay Poins, has a good wit. his Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon! wit is as thick as Tewksbury muftard: there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet. Dol. Why doth the Prince love him fo then? Fal. Because their legs are both of a bignefs: and he plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles' ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and jumps upon joint-ftools, and fwears with a good grace, and wears his boot very smooth like unto the fign of the leg, and breeds no hate with telling of indiscreet ftories; and fuch other gambol faculties he hath, that shew a weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince admits him: for the Prince himself is fuch another; the weight of an hair will turn the scales between their Averdupois. P. Henry. P. Henry. Would not this Nave of a wheel have his ears cut off? Poins. Let us beat him before his whore. P. Henry. Look, if the wither'd Elder hath not his poll claw'd like a Parrot. Poins. Is it not ftrange, that defire fhould fo many years out-live performance? Fal. Kifs me, Dol. P. Henry. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what fays the almanack to that? Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not* clafping too his mafter's old Tables, his note-book, his counfel-keeper? Fal. Thou doft give me flattering buffes. Dol. By my troth, I kifs thee with a moft conftant heart. Fal. I am old, I am old. Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a fcurvy young boy of them all. Fal. What ftuff wilt thou have a kirtle of? I shall receive money on Thursday: Thou shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry fong, come: it grows late, we will to bed. Thou wilt forget me when I an gone. Dol. By my troth, thou wilt fet me a weeping if thou fay'ft fo: prove, that ever I drefs myself handfom till thy return- -Well, hearken the end. Fal. Some fack, Francis. P. Henry. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir. Fal. Ha a baftard fon of the King's! and art not thou Poins his brother? P. Henry. Why, thou globe of finful continents, what a life doft thou lead? lifping-to his mafler's old Tables, &c. We fhould read, clafping too his master's old Tables, &c. i. e. embracing his mafter's caftoff Whore, and now his Bawd, [his Note-book, his Councel-keeper.] We have the fame Phrase again in Cymbaline, You clalp young Cupid's Tables. Fal. |