Host.
Mr. Fang, have you entered the Action?

Fang.

It is entered.

Host.

Where's your Man? Is he a lusty Fellow, and will he stand to't?

Fang.

Sirrah Snare.

Snare.

Here Sir here.

Fang.

Snare, we must Arrest Sir John Falstaffe.

Snare.

It may cost some of us our Lives; he will Stab.

Host.

Alas the Day! take heed of him, he would have Stab'd me in my own House, and that most Beastly. He cares not what mischief he does, if his Weapon be out, he will foyn like any Devil, he will spare neither Man Woman nor Child.

Fang.

If I can but close with him I care not for his Thrust.

Host.

No nor I neither, I'll be at your Elbow.

Fang.

If I but Fist him once, if he come but within my Vice.

Host.

I am undone by him; I warrant he's an infinite thing upon my Score, good Mr. Fang hold him sure, and Mr. Snare let him not escape. He is invited to Dinner to the Lubbers-head in Lombardstreet, to Mr. Smooth's the Silk-man. I pray ye, since my Action is enter'd, and my case so publickly known to the World, let him be brought to his Answer, a Hundred Mark is a great deal for a poor

lone Woman to lose. I have borne, and borne, and borne, and have been Fub'd off, and Fub'd off from this Day to that Day, that 'tis a Shame to be thought on; there's no Honesty in such dealing, unless a Woman should be made an Ass, and a Beast to bear every Knaves wrong— Enter Falstaffe and Bardolfe. Yonder he comes, and that Arrant Malmsey-nose Bardolfe with him. Do your Offices, do your Offices Mr. Fang, and Mr. Snare, do me, do me your Offices.

Fal.

How now? What's the matter?

Fang.

Sir John I Arrest you at the Suit of Mrs. Quickly.

Fal.

Away Varlets, draw Bardolf, cut me off the Villains Head, throw the Quean into the Channel.

Host.

Throw me into the Channel? I'le throw thee there. Wilt thou, wilt thou, thou Bastardly Rogue? Murder! Murder! O thou Honey-suckle Villain! Wilt thou kill Heav'ns Officers, and the Kings? Oh thou Hemp-seed Rogue! thou Manqueller, and Woman-queller?

Fal.

Keep 'em off Bardolfe.

Fang.

A Rescue, a Rescue.

Host.

Good People bring a Rescue. Thou wilt not, thou wilt not, do, do thou Rogue! thou Hempseed!

Fal.

Away you Scullion, you Rampallian, you Fustilian, I'le tuck your Catastrophe.

C. Just.

What's the matter? Keep the Peace there!

Host.

Good my Lord be good to me; I beseech you stand to me.

C. Just.

How now Sir John? What are you brawling here? does this become your Place, the Time and Business? You should have been on your way to York. Stand from him Fellow; wherefore hang'st thou on him?

Host.

O my most Worshipful Lord, an't please your Grace, I am a poor Widow of East-cheap, and he's Arrested at my Suit.

C. Just.

What is the Sum?

Host.

It is more than for Some my Lord. It is for all I have; he has eaten me out of House and Home. He has put all my Substance into that Fat Belly of his; but I will have some of it out again, or I will ride thee a nights like the Mare.

C. Just.

How comes this Sir John? What Man of your Title would endure this Tempest of Exclamation? Are not you ashamed to enforce a poor Widdow, to so rough a Course to come by her own?

Fal.

What is the Gross Sum that I owe you?

Host.

Marry (if thou wert an Honest Man) thy self and the Money too. Thou didst swear to me upon a parcel-guilt-Goblet sitting in my Dolphin Chamber, at a round Table by a Sea-coal Fire, on Wednesday in Whitson Week, when the Prince broke thy Head, for lik'ning him to a Singing-man of Windsor, thou did'st Swear to me then (as I was washing thy Wound) to Marry me, and make me a Lady, and thy Wife. Can'st thou deny it? Did not Goody Ketch the Butchers Wife come in then to borrow a little Vinegar, telling us she had a good Dish of Prawnes; whereby thou did'st come to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green Wound? And did'st thou not, when she was gone down Stairs, desire me to be no more familiar with such poor People? Saying, That e're long they should call me Madam? and did'st thou not kiss

me, and bid me fetch thee Thirty Shillings? I put thee now to thy Book Oath, deny it if thou can'st.

Fal.

My Lord, this is a poor Mad Soul, and she says up and down the Town, that her eldest Son is like your Lordship. She has been in good case, and the Truth is Poverty has distracted her, but for these foolish Officers, I beseech you I may have redress against 'em.

C. Just.

Sir John, Sir John, I am well acquainted with your Wrenching the true cause, the false Way. It is not a confident Brow, nor a throng of Words that come with such (more than impudent) Sawciness from you, can thrust me from an even Consideration; I know you have practised upon the easie yielding Spirit of this Woman.

Host.

So he has my Lord.

C. Just.

Prithee Peace, Pay her the Debt you owe her, and unpay the Villany you have done her, the one you may do with good Money, the other with currant Repentance.

Fal.

My Lord I must reply to this Rebuke of yours, you call honourable boldness, impudent Sawciness: My Lord I say to you, I desire deliverance from these Officers, being on immediate Employment on the Kings affairs.

C. Just.

You speak as you had power to do wrong, but clear your reputation and satisfy this poor Woman.

Fal.

Come hither Hostess.

C. Just.

Now Mr. Gower, what news?

Gow.

The King my Lord, and Henry Prince of Wales, are near at hand, the rest that Paper tells.

Fal.

As I am a Gentleman—

Host.

Nay you said that before.

Fal.

As I am a Souldier then, upon my Honour, I'll Marry thee, when the Wars are done. Come no more Words on't.

Host.

By this Heav'nly Ground I tread on! I must be fain to pawn my Plate, and the Tapestry of my Dining Room.

Fal.

Glasses, Glasses, are the only Fashion now, and for your Walls a little painted Canvas, with the Story of the Prodigal, or a German Hunting is worth a Million of your clumsy Arras—Let it be Ten Pound if thou can'st, come, it shall be so; if it were not for some of these Humours, there were not a better Wench in England. Come, wash thy Face and withdraw thy Action; come, thou must not be in this Humour with me, come I know thou wert set on to this.

Host.

Prithee Sir John let it be but Twenty Nobles. I am loath to pawn my Plate in good Earnest, so I am.

Fal.

Let it alone; I'll make a shift elsewhere— you'l be a Fool still.

Host.

Well you shall have it, altho' I pawn my best Gown, will that content you? I hope you'l come to Supper. Well you'l pay me altogether. Will you have Doll Tearsheet meet you at Supper?

Fal.

No more Words, let's have her.