Fal.

“When Arthur first in court”^{6 note}—Empty the jordan.—“And was a worthy king.”

Host.

Sick of a calm: yea, good sooth.

Fal.

So is all her sect; an they be once in a calm, they are sick.

Dol.

You muddy rascal, is that all the comfort you give me?

Fal.

You make fat rascals, mistress Doll.

Dol.

I make them! gluttony and diseases make them^{7 note}; I make them not.

Fal.

If the cook help to make the gluttony, you

help to make the diseases, Doll: we catch of you, Doll, we catch of you; grant that, my poor virtue, grant that.

Dol.
Yea, joy^{8 note}; our chains, and our jewels.

Fal.

“Your brooches, pearls, and owches^{9 note}:”—for to serve bravely, is to come halting off, you know: to come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon the charged chambers^{1 note} bravely:——

Dol.

[Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself^{2 note}!]

Host.

By my troth, this is the old fashion: you two never meet, but you fall to some discord. You are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with another's confirmities. What the good year^{3 note}! one must bear, and that must be you: you are the weaker vessel; as they say, the emptier vessel.

Dol.

Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogshead? there's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him: you have not seen a hulk better stuffed in the hold.—Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars; and whether I shall ever see thee again, or no, there is nobody cares.

Re-enter Drawer.

Draw.

Sir, ancient Pistol's below^{4 note}, 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 lived all this while, to have swaggering now.—Shut the door, I pray you.

Fal.

Dost thou hear, hostess?—

Host.

Pray you, pacify yourself, sir John: there comes no swaggerers here.

Fal.

Dost thou hear? it is mine ancient.

Host.

Tilly-valley, sir John^{5 note}, never tell me: your ancient swaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before master Tisick, the deputy, t'other day; and, as he said to me,—it was no longer ago than Wednesday last,—“Neighbour Quickly,” says he;—master Dumb, our minister, was by then;—“Neighbour Quickly,” says he, “receive those that are civil; for,” said 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 comes 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 stroke him as gently as a puppy greyhound: he will not swagger with a Barbary hen, if her

feathers turn back in any show of resistance.—Call him up, drawer.

Host.

Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my house, nor no cheater^{6 note}; 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, an 'twere an aspen leaf. I cannot abide swaggerers.

Pist.

God save you, sir John!

Fal.

Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with a cup of sack: do you discharge upon mine hostess.

Pist.

I will discharge upon her, sir John, with two bullets.

Fal.

She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall hardly offend her.

Host.

Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets. I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I.

Pist.

Then to you, mistress Dorothy: I will charge you.

Dol.

Charge me? I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for your master.

Pist.

I know you, mistress Dorothy.

Dol.

Away, you cut-purse rascal? you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your

mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you!—Since when, I pray you, sir?—God's light! with two points on your shoulder? much!

Pist.

I will murder your ruff for this.

[Fal.

No more, Pistol^{7 note}: I would not have you go off here. Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.]

Host.

No, good captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.

Dol.

Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you have earned them. You a captain, you slave! for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house?—He a captain! Hang him, rogue! He lives upon mouldy stewed prunes, and dried cakes. A captain! these villains will make the word captain as odious [as the word occupy^{8 note}, which was an excellent good word before it was ill sorted^{9 note}:] therefore captains had need look to 't.

Bard.

Pray thee, go down, good ancient.

Fal.

Hark thee hither, mistress Doll.

Pist.

Not I: I tell thee what, corporal Bardolph; I could tear her.—I'll be revenged of her.

Page.

Pray thee, go down.

Pist.

I'll see her damned first;—to Pluto's damned lake, by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus

and tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I. Down! down, dogs! down fates! Have we not Hiren here^{1 note}?

Host.

Good captain Peesel, be quiet; it is very late, i' faith. I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.

Pist.
These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack-horses,
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia^{2 note}

,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,
Compare with Cæsars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?

Host.

By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

Bard.

Begone, good ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon.

Pist.
Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins.
Have we not Hiren here?

Host.

On my word, captain, there's none such here. What the goodyear! do you think I would deny her? for God's sake, be quiet.

Pist.
Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis^{3 note}
.
Come, give's some sack.
Se fortuna me tormenta, il sperare me contenta^{4 note}.—
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there. [Laying down his sword.
Come we to full points here, and are et cetera's nothing?

Fal.

Pistol, I would be quiet.

Pist.

Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif^{5 note}. What! we have seen the seven stars.

Dol.

For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I cannot endure such a fustian rascal.

Pist.

Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags^{6 note}?

Fal.

Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat shilling^{7 note}: nay, an he do nothing but speak nothing, he shall be nothing here.

Bard.

Come, get you down stairs.

Pist.
What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?— [Snatching up his sword.

Then, death, rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the sisters three! Come, Atropos, I say!

Host.

Here's goodly stuff toward!

Fal.

Give me my rapier, boy.

Dol.

I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.

Fal.

Get you down stairs.

Host.

Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house, afore I'll be in these territs and frights. So; murder, I warrant now.—Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons; put up your naked weapons.