Quick.

O, Sir John Falstaff!

Doll.

O, sweet Sir John!

Fal.

How! mine hostess, and my good vestal Mrs. Tearsheet! save ye gentlewomen both, good-morrow.

Host.

Godild ye, Sir John—well I vow and protest an I didn't say he would take as civil notice of his old acquaintance: nay, tho's he was created my lord-mayor of London.

Doll.

What talk ye of lord-mayors and fusty citizens, gossip Quickly? Sir John is a courtier, and to be sure we must gratulate him now as one of the greatest knights in the nation.—O sweet, Sir John!—

Fal.

Truce with your formalities, Mrs. Dorothy. It is true, indeed, I am one of the biggest knights in the kingdom—but, pray, have you seen none of our followers by the way? Pistol, nor Peto!

Quick.

No verily, Sir John, not one.—We have seen nothing of any of them to day. They are all gone to the coronation, I warrant; and indeed we should have been there too, hadn't it been for that wicked villain, constable Fang, that, by a mistake of the beadle of our ward, would have carried us to Bridewel this morning.

Fal.

How! mine hostess and my fair Dorothy to Bridewel!

Quick.

Even to Bridewel I can assure ye.

Fal.

But how; how? dame Quickly to Bridewel! a decent church-going widow and a modest maiden, I should say, single gentlewoman, to a house of correction! why, what—

Quick.

So I said, Sir John. Nuthook, Nuthook, says I, do you know what you do, says I?—Have me to Bridewel, says I,—! say to Bridewel indeed! a ruptable housekeeper, that has paid scot and lot, and born the burthen of half the parish any time these twenty years.

Fal.

That thou hast, hostess; of the male half, I'll be sworn for thee.

Quick.

Besides, says I, do you know Sir John Falstaff? says I.—Touch a hair of Mrs. Dorothy's head, says I, and Sir John will make you smart for it, says I, ev'ry bone in your skin, says I.

Fal.

And what said the rascal to that?

Quick.

Said, Sir John! he stood mumchance, and spoke never a living syllable, but set his vinegar-visag'd catch-poles upon us; who fastened their claws into Mrs. Tearsheet's best kirtle, and tore it into as many rents and tatters, as there were in the old tapestry hangings I pawn'd to fit your honour out for the last expedition.

Fal.

Pshaw!

Dol.

Yes indeed, Sir John made a mere tatterdemallion of me. But we did so tongue the leather-ear'd vultures—

Fal.

That they were glad to loose their gripe to get rid of you, I suppose.

Quick.

Nay, Sir John, I was oblig'd to perduce an angel to convince them we were not the parties indicted.

Fal.

Infidel rogues! would nothing less than the testimony of an angel convince them?

Quick.

Ay I knew how Sir John would take it. O, how soundly will the knave constable be swing'd for this! a jack-in-office rascal! we shall cure the blue-skin'd runnion of his itch for whipping, I warrant ye.