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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].
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SCENE IX. Enter Drawer.

Draw.

Sir, ancient Pistol is below and would speak with you.

Dol.

Hang him, swaggering rascal, let him not come hither; it is the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England.

Host.

If he swagger, let him not come here: no, by my faith: I must live amongst my neighbours, I'll no swaggerers: I am in good name and fame with the very best: shut the door, there comes no swaggerers here: I have not liv'd all this while to have swaggering now: shut the door, I pray you.

Fal.

Dost thou hear, Hostess?—

Host.

Pray you, pacify your self, Sir John; there comes no swaggerers here.

Fal.

Do'st thou hear—it is mine Ancient.

Host.

Tilly-fally, Sir John, never tell me; your Ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before

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master Tisick the deputy the other day; and, as he said to me—it was no longer ago than Wednesday last— neighbour Quickly, says he;—master Domb our minister was by then—neighbour Quickly, says he, receive those that are civil; for saith he, you are in an ill name: (now he said so, I can tell whereupon;) for, says he, you are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore take heed, what guests you receive: receive, says he, no swaggering companions.—There come none here. You would bless you to hear what he said. No, I'll no swaggerers.

Fal.

He's no swaggerer, Hostess; a tame cheater, i'faith; you may stroak him as gently as a puppey-greyhound; he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her feathers turn back in any shew of resistance. Call him up, drawer.

Host.

Cheater, call you him? 8 noteI will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth; I am the worse, when one says, swagger: feel, masters, how I shake, look you, I warrant you.

Dol.

So you do, hostess.

Host.

Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, as if it were an aspen leaf: I cannot abide swaggerers.

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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].
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