Boy.
Pist.
Save you Sir John.
Fal.
Welcome Antient Pistol—Here PistolI charge
you with a cup of Sack, do you discharge upon my
Hostess.
Pist.
I will discharge upon her Sir John, with
two Bullets.
Host.
I'll drink no Bullets; I'll drink no more
than will do me good for no Man's pleasure I.
Pist.
Then to you Mrs. Dorothy, I will charge you.
Dol.
Charge me? I scorn ye you base Rascally,
poor Cheating, lack Linnen Fellow, away you
mouldy Rogue away; I am Meat for your Master
Sirrah.
Pist.
I know you Mrs. Dorothy.
-- 23 --
Dol.
Away you filth! you Cut-purse! Away
you Bottle-Ale Rascal, ye Basket-hilt Stale Jugler
you! since when I pray you Sir, (with your two
points on your Shoulder) were you so familiar with
me.
Pist.
I will murder your Head-geer for this.
Host.
No good Captain Pistol, not here sweet Captain.
Dol.
Captain! thou abominable Cheater, art thou
not ashamed to be called Captain? if Captains were
of my mind, they would Cudgel you for taking
their Names upon you before you have earn'd 'em.
You a Captain, you Slave for what?
Bar.
Prithee go down good Antient.
Pist.
Not I. I'll tell thee what Corporal Bardolfe.
I could eat her, but I'll be reveng'd.
Bar.
Prithee go down.
Pist.
I'll see her condemn'd first to Pluto's dreadful
Lake.
Host.
Good Captain Pistol be quiet, it is very late,
I beseech you now aggravate your Choller.
Pist.
These be good humours indeed. Shall Pack
Horses, and hollow pamper'd Jades of Asia, which
cannot go but Thirty Miles a Day, compare with
Cæsar, and with Cannibals and Trojan Greeks? nay
rather damn 'em with King Cerberus, and let the
Welkin roar! shall we fall foul for Toys?
Host.
By my troth Captain, these are very bitter
Words.
Bar.
Be gone good Antient; this will grow to a
brawl anon.
Pist.
Dye Men like Dogs! give Crowns like Pins!
have we not Hieren here.
Host.
On my word Captain there's no such here,
what the good yeer, do you think I would deny
her? Pray be quiet!
-- 24 --
Pist.
Then feed and be Fat, my fair Callipolis.
Come give me some Sack. Si Fortune me tormente,
sperato me contente. Fear we Broad-sides? no! let
the Fiend give me some Sack.
Fal.
Pistol I would be quiet.
Pist.
Sweet Knight I kiss thy Fist, what we have
seen the seven Stars.
Dol.
Thrust him down Stairs. I cannot endure
such a Fustian Rascal.
Pist.
Thrust him down Stairs! Know we not Galloway
Nags?
Fal.
Quoit him down Bardolfe, like a Shovelboard
Piece.
Bar.
Come get you down Stairs.
Pist.
What? shall we have Incision, shall we imbrew?
then Death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful
Days? Why then let grievous, ghastly, gaping
Wounds, intwist the Sisters three, come Atropos!
Fal.
Give me my Rapier, Boy.
Dol.
I prithee Jack, I prithee do not draw.
Fal.
Get you down Stairs.
Host.
Here's a goodly Tumult? I'll forswear keeping
House before I'll be in these Titrits, and Frights
—So—Murder I warrant now! Alas! alas! put up
your naked Weapon, put up your naked Weapon.
[Beats Pistol off.
Dol.
I prithee Jack be quiet, the Rascal's gone—
Oh you Whorson little Valiant Villain you?
Host.
Are you not hurt in the Groin; methought
he made a shrewd Thrust at your Belly.
Fal.
Have you turn'd him out of Doors?
Bar.
Yes Sir, the Rascal's Drunk; you have
hurt him Sir in the Shoulder.
Fal.
A Rascal! to brave me!
Dol.
O you sweet little Rogue! Alas! poor Ape,
how thou Sweat'st; come let me wipe thy Face.
Oh Rogue! I love thee, thou art as Valiant as Hector
-- 25 --
of Troy, worth five Agamemnons, and ten times
better than the Nine Worthies—Ah Villain!
Fal.
A Rascally Slave! I will toss the Rogue in
a Blanket.
Enter Drawer.
Draw.
Sir, the Musick's come.
Fal.
Let 'em strike up then. Play Sirs—Sit on
my Knee Dol—A Rascally bragging Slave! The
Rogue fled from me like Quicksilver.
Dol.
And thou followd'st him like a Church. When
wilt thou leave Fighting a Days, and Foyning a
Nights, and begin to patch up thy old Body for
Heaven?
Enter Prince and Poins behind.
Fal.
Peace Dol, do not speak like a Death's-head,
do not put me in mind of my end.
Dol.
Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?
Fal.
A good shallow young Fellow; he would
have made a very good Butler, he would have
chip'd bread well.
Dol.
They say Poins has a good Wit.
Fal.
He a good Wit? hang him Baboon! his Wit
is as thick as Tewksbury Mustard, there is no more
Conceit in him than in a Mallet.
Dol.
Why does the Prince love him so then?
Fal.
Because their Legs are both of a Bigness;
then he plays at Quoits well, jumps over Join'd-Stools,
and Swears with a good Grace; and wears
his Stockings very smooth, like the Sign of the Leg,
and other Gambols, that shew a weak Mind, and an
able body, for which the Prince admits him; for the
Prince himself is just such another; the weight of a
Hair will turn the Scales between their understandings.
Prin. apart.
Would not this Rascal have his Ears
cut off?
-- 26 --
Poin. apart.
Let's beat him before his Whore.
Prin. apart.
Look if the wither'd Elder has not
his Poll claw'd like a Parrot.
Poin. apart.
'Tis not strange that desire should so
many Years out-live Performance.
Fal.
Kiss me Dol.
Prin. apart.
Saturn and Venus this Year in Conjunction.
Fal.
Thou giv'st me flattering Busses.
Dol.
I kiss you as I love you.
Fal.
I am old Dol, I am old.
Dol.
I love thee better than e're a Scurvy young
Boy of 'em all.
Fal.
I shall receive Money on Thursday. What
Silk wilt thou have a Gown off? I'll send it thee
to Morrow—Come a merry Tune, and then to
Bed, [Musick Plays] is grows late, thou wilt forget
me when I am gone.
Dol.
Thou wilt set me a Weeping if thou say'st
so. I will never dress me till thou return'st—well,
mark the end.
Fal.
Some Wine Francis.
Prin. Poin.
Anon, Anon, Sir.
Fal
Ha! a Bastard Son of the Kings, and are not
you Poins his Brother?
Prin.
Why thou Globe of sinful Continent! What
a Life dost thou Lead?
Fal.
Better than thou. I am a Gentleman, thou
a Drawer.
Prin.
Very true Sir, I come to draw you by the
Ears.
Host.
Now Heaven preserve thy good Grace—welcome
to London. Heaven bless that sweet Face of
thine.
Fal.
Thou whorson mad compound of Majesty, by
this light Flesh and corrupt Blood thou'rt welcome.
-- 27 --
Poin.
He'll laugh you out of your Revenge, and
turn all to Merryment if you take not heed.
Prin.
You whorson Candle-mine you! how vilely
did you speak of me even now, before this honest,
vertuous, civil Gentlewoman?
Host.
Now Blessing on your good Heart, and so
she is by my troth.
Fal.
Did'st thou hear me Hal?
Prin.
Yes, and you knew me, as you did when
you ran away by Gads-hill, you knew I was at your
back, and spake it on purpose to try my Patience.
Fal.
No, no, I did not think thou wert in hearing.
Prin.
I shall drive you than to confess the wilful
Abuse, and then you know how I must handle you.
Fal.
No abuse Hal, on my Honour no abuse.
Prin.
To call me Butler, Bread-chipper, and I
know not what?
Fal.
No abuse Hal.
Poin.
No abuse?
Fal.
No abuse Ned in the World; honest Ned
none; I disprais d him before the Wicked that the
Wicked might not fall in Love with him; in doing
which I have done the part of a careful Friend, and
a true Subject; and thy Father is to give me thanks
for it. No abuse Hal, none Ned, no Boys, none.
Prin.
See now whether pure Fear and entire Cowardize
does not make thee wrong this vertuous Gentlewoman
to close with us? Is she of the Wicked?
is thine Hostess of the Wicked? Or is the Boy of the
Wicked? Or honest Bardolfe, whose Zeal burns in
his Nose, of the Wicked?
Poin.
Answer thou dead Elm Answer.
Fal.
The Fiend has prick'd down Bardolfe irrecoverable,
and his Face is Lucifers Privy-Kitchin,
where he does nothing but tost Malt-worms—For
-- 28 --
the Boy, there is a good Angel about him, but the
Devil outbids him too.
Prin.
Now for the Women.
Fal.
For one of 'em, she is in Hell already, and
burns poor Souls; for the other I owe her Money,
and whether she be Damn'd for that I know not.
Host.
No I warrant you. Who's that knocks so
loud? [Knocking without] Look to the Door there
Francis.
Exit Bardolfe.
Enter Peto.
Prin.
Peto? What news with you?
Peto.
My Lord, The King your Father is at Westminster,
and there are twenty faint and wearied Posts
come from the North; and as I came along I overtook
at least a dozen Captains asking at Taverns after
Sir John Falstaffe.
Prin.
By Heav'n Poins I find I am much to Blame
So idly to prophane the precious time,
When such commotion, like th'unhealthy South,
Born with black Vapours does begin to melt,
And drop upon our bare unarmed Heads.
Give me my Coat and Sword. Falstaffe good night.
Exeunt Prin. and Poin.
Fal.
Now comes in the sweet Morsel of rhe Night,
and we must hence and leave it unpickt. [Knocking
again without.] More knocking at the Door,
how now? What's the matter?
Enter Bardolfe.
Bar.
You must away to Court Sir presently. A
dozen Captains stay at the Door for you.
Fal.
Pay the Musicians Sirrah. Farewel Hostess,
Farewel Dol. You see how Men of Merit are sought
after. The undeserver may Sleep, while the Man of
Action is call'd upon. Farewel good Wenches, if I
be not sent away Post, I'll see you again e're I go.
-- 29 --
Dol.
I cannot speak—if my heart en't ready to
burst—well sweet Jack have a care of thy self.
Fal.
Farewel, Farewel!
Exit Falstaffe.
Host.
Well Fare-thee-well, I have known thee
these twenty nine Years come Pescod time. But an
honester and true-hearted Man—well fare-thee-well.
Bar.
Mrs. Tearsheet.
(within.)
Host.
What's the matter?
Bar.
Bid Mrs. Tearsheet come to my Master.
Host.
Oh run Dol, run run, good Dol.
Exeunt omnes.
-- 30 --
Thomas Betterton [1721], The sequel of Henry the Fourth: With the Humours of Sir John Falstaffe, and Justice Shallow. As it is Acted by His Majesty's Company of Comedians, at the Theatre-Royal in Drury-Lane. Alter'd from Shakespear, by the late Mr. Betterton (Printed for W. Chetwood... and T. Jauncy [etc.], London) [word count] [S35500].
