make the difeafes, Dol; we catch of you, Dol, we catch of you; grant that, my poor virtue, grant that Dol. Ay, marry, our chains and our jewels. Fat. Your brooches, pearls, and owches: for to ferve bravely, is to come halting off, you know; to come off the breach with his pike bent bravely, and to furgery bravely; to venture upon the charge'd chambers bravely Dol. Hang yourfelf, you muddy conger, hang your felf! Hoft. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never meet, but you fall to fome discord; you are both, in good troth, as rheumatic as two dry toafts, you cannot one bear with.another's confirmities. What the good jer? one must bear, and that must be you: you are the weaker veffel, as they say, the emptier veffel. [To Dol. Dol. Can a weak empty veffel bear fuch a huge full hogfhead? there's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux ftuff in him; you have not feen a hulk better ftuff'd in the hold. Come, I'll be friends with thee, Jack: thou art going to the wars, and whether I fhall ever fee thee again or no, there is no body cares. SCENE IX. Enter Drawer. Draw. Sir, Ancient Pistol is below, and would speak with you. Dol. Hang him, fwaggering rafcal, let him not come hither; it is the foul-mouth'dft rogue in England. Hoft. If he fwagger, let him not come here: no, by my faith. I muft live amongft my neighbours, I'll no fwaggerers. I am in good name and fame with the very beft: fhut the door, there comes no fwaggerers here. I have not liv'd all this while to have swaggering now: fhut the door, I pray you. Fal. Doft thou hear, hostess? Hoft. Pray you, pacify yourself, Sir John; there comes no fwaggerers here. Fal. Doft thou hear it is mine Ancient. Hoft. Tilly-fally, Sir John, never tell me; your ancient fwaggerer comes not in my doors. I was before She means to fay Splenetic. Mafter Mafter Tifick the deputy the other day; and, as he faid to me-it was no longer ago than Wednesday lastNeighbour Quickly, fays he;-Mafter Domb our minifter was by then;-neighbour Quickly, fays he, receive thofe that are civil; for, faith he, you are in an ill name; (now he said so, I can tell whereupon ;) for, fays he, you are an honest woman, and well thought on; therefore take heed what guests you receive: receive, fays he, no fwaggering companions. There come none here. You would bleis you to hear what he faid. No, I'll no swaggerers. Fal. He's no fwaggerer, hoftefs; a tame cheater, i'faith; you may ftroak him as gently as a puppeygreyhound; he will not fwagger with a Barbary hen, if her fathers turn back in any fhew of refiftance. Call him up, drawer. Hoft. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honeft man my houfe, nor no cheater; but I do not love fwaggering, by my troth; I am the worse, when one fays fwagger. Feel, Mafters, how I fhake, look you, I warrant you. Dol. So you do, hoftefs. Hoft. Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, as if it were an afpen-leaf. I cannot abide fwaggerers. SCENE X. Enter Piftol, Bardolph, and Page. Pift. Save you, Sir John. Fal. Welcome, Ancient Piftol. Here, Piftol, I charge you with a cup of fack: do you discharge upon mine hoftefs. Pift. I will difcharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets. Fal. She is piftol-proof, Sir, you fhall hardly offend her. Hoft. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets. I will drink no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I. Pift. Then to you, Mrs. Dorothy, I will charge you. Dol. Charge me! I fcorn you, fcurvy companion! what? you poor, bafe, rafcally, cheating, lack-linen mate; away, you mouldy rogue, away, I'm meat for your mafter. Pist. I know you, Milrefs Dorothy. Del. A Dol. Away, you cut-purte rafcal, you filthy bung, away by this wine, I'll thrut my knife in your mouldy chaps, if you play the faucy cuttle with me. way, you bottle-ale rafcal, you baiket hilt tale juggler, you. Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two points on your fhoulder? much * ! Pift. I will murder your ruff for this. Fal. No more, Piftol; wou'd not have you go off here: discharge yourself of our company, Piitol. oft. No, good Captain Fiñol: not here, fweet Captain. Dol. Captain! thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not atham'd to be call'd Captain? if Captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out of taking their names upon you before you have earn dit sem. "You a Captain! you flave! for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-houte! e a Captain! hang him, rogue, he lives upon mouldy itew'd prunes and dry'd cakes. A Captain! thefe villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy; which was an excellent good word before it was ill forted: therefore captains had need look to it. Bard. Pray thee, go down, good Ancient. Pift. Not : I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, Í could tear her I'll be revenge'd on her. : Page. Pray thee, go down. Pift. I'll fee her damn d firt; to Pluto's damned lake, to the infernal deep, to Erebus and tortures vile alfo. Hold hook and line, fay 1: down! down, dogs; down fates have we not Hiren † here? Shall pack Hoft. Good Captain Feefel, be quiet, it is very late: I befeech you now, aggravate your choler. Pift. Thefe be good humours indeed. And hollow-pamper'd jades of fia ‡, Which cannot go but thirty miles a-day, * A common expreffion of cifiain at that time. [horfes The name of Ptols and Ar dis du Gaul's fword. Mr. Thebald ‡ These lines are in,a a qu t-tien out of an old abfurd fustian play, intitled, Tumbu,lain's conquefts; or, The Scy bian fhepherd. Mr. Theobald, Compare Compare with Cæfars, and with Cannibals, And Trojan Greeks may rather damn them with Shall we fall foul for toys? Hoft By my troth, Captain, thefe are very bitter words. Bard. Begone, good Ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon. Pift. Die men like dogs; give crowns like pins have we not Hiren here? Hoft. O' my word, Captain there's none fuch here. What the good-jer? do you think I would deny her? I pray, be quiet. Pift. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis; come, give me fome fack. Si fortuna më tormenta, il fperare me contenta. Fear we broad-fides? no, let the fiend give fire: Give me fome fack: and, fweet-heart, lie thou there: Come we to full points here; and are & cætera's noFal. Piftol, I would be quiet. [thing! Pift. Sweet Knight, I kifs thy neif: what! we have feen the seven stars. Dol. Thruft him down stairs, I cannot endure fuch a fuftian rafcal. Pift. Thrust him down ftairs? know we not galloway nags ? Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a fhove-great fhilling: nay, if he do nothing but speak nothing, he fhall be nothing here. Bard. Come, get you down stairs. Pift. What, fhall we have incifion! fhall we embrew? then Death rock me afleep, abridge my doleful days: why, then let grievous, ghaftly, gaping wounds antwine the fifters three. Come, Atropos, I fay. [Drawing his fword. Hoft. Here's goodly ftuff toward. Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee, do not draw.. [Drawing and driving Piftol out. Hoft. Here's a goodly tumult: I'll forfwear keeping houfe before I'll be in thefe tirrets and frights. So; murther, murther, I warrant now. Alas, alas, put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.TML Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, be quiet, the rafcal is gone ah, you whorfon, little valiant villain; you! Hoft. Are you not hurt i' th' groin ? methought he made a fhrewd thruft at your belly. Fal. Have you turned him out of doors? Bard. Yes, Sir, the rascal's drunk: you him, Sir, in the shoulder. Fal. A rafcal, to brave me! have hurt Dol. Ah, you fweet little rogue, you: alas, poor ape, how thou fweat'ft? come, let me wipe thy facecome on, you whorfon chops-ah, rogue! I love thee, ➡thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon; and ten times better than the nine worthies: a villain ! Fal. A rafcally flave! I will tofs the rogue in a blanket, Del. Do, if thou dar'ft for thy heart: if thou doft, I'll canvass thee between a pair of theets. Enter Mufic. Page. The mufic is come, Sir. Fal. Let them play; play Sirs. Sit on my knee. Dok. A rafcal, bragging flave! the rogue fled from me like quick-filver. Dol. I'faith, and thou follow'dft him like a church: thou whorfon little tydie Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting on days, and foining on nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven? SCENE XI. Enter Prince Henry and Poins. Fal. Peace, good Dol, do not speak like a death'shead do not bid me remember mine end. Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of? Fal. A good fhallow young fellow: he would have made a good pantler, he would have chipp'd breau well. Dol. They fay, Poins has a good wit. Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon !-his wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard: there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet. VOL. IV. B b Del |