Pistol.
Fal.
I will not lend thee a penny.
Pist.
Why then the world's mine oyster, which I with
sword will open.
Fal.
Not a penny. I have been content, Sir, you should lay
my countenance to pawn; I have grated upon my good friends
for three reprieves for you, and your coach-fellow, Nim; or else
you had look'd through the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I
am damn'd in hell for swearing to gentlemen, my friends, you
were good soldiers, and tall fellows. And when mistress Bridget
lost the handle of her fan, I took't upon mine honour thou
hadst it not.
Pist.
Didst thou not share? hadst thou not fifteen pence?
Fal.
Reason, you rogue, reason: think'st thou I'll endanger
my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me, I am no
gibbet for you: go, a short knife, and a thong, to your manor
of Pickt-hatcht; go, you'll not bear a letter for me, you
rogue; you stand upon your honour? why, thou unconfinable
baseness, it is as much as I can do to keep the term of my
honour precise. I my self sometimes, leaving the fear of heaven
on the left hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity,
am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch; and yet you rogue
will ensconse your rags, your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lettice
phrases, and your bold-beating oaths, under the shelter of
your honour! you will not do it, you!
Pist.
I do relent; what wouldst thou more of man?
Enter Robin.
Rob.
Sir, here's a woman would speak with you.
Fal.
Let her approach.
-- 259 --
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
