Fal.

Mine Host of the Garter.

Host.

What says my Bully Rock? speak schollarly, and wisely.

Fal.

Truly, mine Host, I must turn away some of my Followers.

Host.

Discard, Bully Hercules, cashier; let them wag; trot, trot.

Fal.

I sit at ten Pounds a Week.

Host.

Thou'rt an Emperor, Cæsar, Keisar and Phaezer. I will entertain Bardolph, he will draw, he will tap, said I well, Bully Hector?

Fal.

Do so, good mine Host.

Host.

I have spoke, let him follow; let me see thee froth and live: I am at a word; follow.

Fal.

Bardolph follow him, a Tapster is a good Trade; an old Cloak makes a new Jerkin; a wither'd Serving-man, a fresh Tapster; go, adieu.

Bard

It is a Life that I have desir'd: I will thrive.

Pist.

O base Hungarian Wight, wilt thou the Spigot wield.

Nym.

He was gotten in Drink; is not the Humour conceited.

Fal.

I am glad I am so acquit of this Tinderbox; his Thefts were too open, his Filching was like an unskilful Singer, he kept not time.

Nym.

The good Humour is to steal at a Minute's rest.

Pist.

Convey, the Wise it call: Steal? foh; a fico for the Phrase.

Fal.

Well, Sirs, I am almost out at Heels.

Pist.

Why then let Kibes ensue.

Fal.

There is no remedy: I must conicatch, I must shift.

Pist.

Young Ravens must have Food.

Fal.

Which of you know Ford of this Town?

Pist.

I ken the Wight, he is of Substance good.

Fal.

My honest Lads, I will tell you what I am about.

Pist.

Two Yards and more.

Fal.

No Quips now, Pistol: Indeed I am in the Waste two Yards about; but I am now about no Waste, I am about Thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make Love to Ford's Wife: I spy Entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she gives the Leer of Invitation; I can construe the Action of her familiar Stile, and the hardest Voice of her Behaviour, to be english'd right, is, am Sir John Falstaff's.

Pist.

He hath study'd her Will, and translated her Will, out of Honesty into English.

Nym.

The Anchor is deep; will that Humour pass?

Fal.

Now, the Report goes, she has all the Rule of her Husband's Purse: He hath a Legend of Angels.

Pist.

As many Devils entertain; and to her, Boy, say I.

Nym.

The Humour rises; it is good; humour me the Angels.

Fal.

I have writ me here a Letter to her; and here another to Page's Wife, who even now gave me good Eyes too, examin'd my Parts with most judicious Illiads; sometimes the Beam of her view guided my Foot, sometimes my portly Belly.

Pist.

Then did the Sun on Dung-hill shine.

Nym.

I thank thee for that Humour.

Fal.

O she did so course o'er my Exteriors with such a greedy Intention, that the Appetite of her Eye did seem to scorch me up like a Burning-glass: Here's another Letter to her; she bears the Purse too; she is a Region in Guiana, all Gold and Bounty. I will be Cheaters to them both, and they shall be Exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West-Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this Letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford: We will thrive, Lads, we will thrive.

Pist.
Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become;
And by my Side wear Steel? Then Lucifer take all.

Nym.

I will run no base Humour: Here take the Humour-Letter, I will keep the Haviour of Reputation.

Fal.
Hold, Sirrah, bear you these Letters rightly,
Sail like my Pinnace to these golden Shores.

Rogues, hence, avaunt, vanish like Hail-stones; go,
Trudge, plod away o'th' hoof, seek shelter, pack:
Falstaff will learn the Honour of the Age,
French Thrift, you Rogues, my self, and skirted Page. [Exit. Falstaff and Boy.

Pist.

Let Vultures gripe thy Guts; for Gourd, and Fullam holds; and high and low beguiles the rich and poor.

Nym.
I have Operations,
Which be Humours of Revenge.

Pist.
Wilt thou revenge?

Nym.
By Welkin and her Star.

Pist.
With Wit, or Steel?

Nym.
With both the Humours, I:
I will discuss the Humour of this Love to Ford.

Pist.
And I to Page shall eke unfold
How Falstaff, Varlet vile,
His Dove will prove, his Gold will hold,
And his soft Couch defile.

Nym.

My Humour shall not cool; I will incense Ford to deal with Poison, I will possess him with Yellowness, for the Revolt of mine is dangerous: That is my true Humour.

Pist.

Thou art the Mars of Male-contents: I second thee; troop on.