Welcome to PhiloLogic  
   home |  the ARTFL project |  download |  documentation |  sample databases |   
Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.

Previous section

Next section

SCENE IV. Enter Travellers.

Trav.

Come, neighbour; the boy shall lead our horses down the hill: we'll walk a foot a while, and ease our legs.

Thieves.

Stand,—

Trav.

Jesu bless us!

-- 127 --

Fal.

Strike; down with them, cut the villains' throats; ah! whorson caterpillars; bacon-fed knaves; they hate us youth; down with them, fleece them.

Trav.

O, we are undone, both we and ours for ever.

Fal.

Hang ye, gorbellied knaves, are you undone? no, ye fat chuffs, I would your store were here. On, bacons, on! what, ye knaves? young men must live; you are grand jurors, are ye? we'll jure ye, i'faith.

[Here they rob and bind them: Exeunt. Enter Prince Henry and Poins.

P. Henry.

The thieves have bound the true men: now could thou and I rob the thieves and go merrily to London, it would be argument for a week, laughter for a month, and a good jest for ever.

Poins.

Stand close, I hear them coming.

Enter Thieves again.

Fal.

Come, my masters, let us share, and then to horse before day; an the Prince and Poins be not two arrant Cowards, there's no equity stirring. There's no more valour in that Poins, than in a wild Duck.

P. Henry.

Your mony.

Poins.

Villains!

[As they are sharing, the Prince and Poins set upon them. They all run away, and Falstaff after a blow or two runs away too, leaving the booty behind them.

P. Henry.
Got with much ease. Now merrily to horse:
The thieves are scatter'd, and possest with fear
So strongly, that they dare not meet each other;
Each takes his fellow for an officer.
Away, good Ned. Now Falstaff sweats to death,
And lards the lean earth as he walks along:
Were't not for laughing, I should pity him.

Poins.
How the rogue roar'd!
[Exeunt.

-- 128 --

Previous section

Next section


Alexander Pope [1747], The works of Shakespear in eight volumes. The Genuine Text (collated with all the former Editions, and then corrected and emended) is here settled: Being restored from the Blunders of the first Editors, and the Interpolations of the two Last: with A Comment and Notes, Critical and Explanatory. By Mr. Pope and Mr. Warburton (Printed for J. and P. Knapton, [and] S. Birt [etc.], London) [word count] [S11301].
Powered by PhiloLogic