Host. No, good Captaine Pistol: not heere, sweete Captaine
Dol. Captaine? thou abhominable d.a.m.n"d Cheater, art thou not asham"d to be call"d Captaine? If Captaines were of my minde, they would trunchion you out, for taking their Names vpon you, before you haue earn"d them.
You a Captaine? you slaue, for what? for tearing a poore Wh.o.r.es Ruffe in a Bawdy-house? Hee a Captaine? hang him Rogue, hee liues vpon mouldie stew"d-Pruines, and dry"de Cakes. A Captaine? These Villaines will make the word Captaine odious: Therefore Captaines had neede looke to it
Bard. "Pray thee goe downe, good Ancient
Falst. Hearke thee hither, Mistris Dol
Pist. Not I: I tell thee what, Corporall Bardolph, I could teare her: Ile be reueng"d on her
Page. "Pray thee goe downe
Pist. Ile see her d.a.m.n"d first: to Pluto"s d.a.m.n"d Lake, to the Infernall Deepe, where Erebus and Tortures vilde also. Hold Hooke and Line, say I: Downe: downe Dogges, downe Fates: haue wee not Hiren here?
Host. Good Captaine Peesel be quiet, it is very late: I beseeke you now, aggrauate your Choler
Pist. These be good Humors indeede. Shall PackHorses, and hollow-pamper"d Iades of Asia, which cannot goe but thirtie miles a day, compare with Caesar, and with Canib.a.l.l.s, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather d.a.m.ne them with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roare: shall wee fall foule for Toyes?
Host. By my troth Captaine, these are very bitter words
Bard. Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to a Brawle anon
Pist. Die men, like Dogges; giue Crownes like Pinnes: Haue we not Hiren here?
Host. On my word (Captaine) there"s none such here.
What the good-yere, doe you thinke I would denye her?
I pray be quiet
Pist. Then feed, and be fat (my faire Calipolis.) Come, giue me some Sack, Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contente.
Feare wee broad-sides? No, let the Fiend giue fire: Giue me some Sack: and Sweet-heart lye thou there: Come wee to full Points here, and are et cetera"s nothing?
Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet
Pist. Sweet Knight, I kisse thy Neaffe: what? wee haue seene the seuen Starres
Dol. Thrust him downe stayres, I cannot endure such a Fustian Rascall
Pist. Thrust him downe stayres? know we not Galloway Nagges?
Fal. Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a shoue-groat shilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but speake nothing, hee shall be nothing here
Bard. Come, get you downe stayres
Pist. What? shall wee haue Incision? shall wee embrew?
then Death rocke me asleepe, abridge my dolefull dayes: why then let grieuous, gastly, gaping Wounds, vntwin"d the Sisters three: Come Atropos, I say
Host. Here"s good stuffe toward
Fal. Giue me my Rapier, Boy
Dol. I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw
Fal. Get you downe stayres
Host. Here"s a goodly tumult: Ile forsweare keeping house, before Ile be in these tirrits, and frights. So: Murther I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Weapons, put vp your naked Weapons
Dol. I prethee Iack be quiet, the Rascall is gone: ah, you whorson little valiant Villaine, you
Host. Are you not hurt i"th" Groyne? me thought hee made a shrewd Thrust at your Belly
Fal. Haue you turn"d him out of doores?
Bard. Yes Sir: the Rascall"s drunke: you haue hurt him (Sir) in the shoulder
Fal. A Rascall to braue me
Dol. Ah, you sweet little Rogue, you: alas, poore Ape, how thou sweat"st? Come, let me wipe thy Face: Come on, you whorson Chops: Ah Rogue, I loue thee: Thou art as valorous as Hector of Troy, worth fiue of Agamemnon, and tenne times better then the nine Worthies: ah Villaine
Fal. A rascally Slaue, I will tosse the Rogue in a Blanket
Dol. Doe, if thou dar"st for thy heart: if thou doo"st, Ile canuas thee betweene a paire of Sheetes.
Enter Musique.
Page. The Musique is come, Sir
Fal. Let them play: play Sirs. Sit on my Knee, Dol.
A Rascall, bragging Slaue: the Rogue fled from me like Quick-siluer
Dol. And thou followd"st him like a Church: thou whorson little tydie Bartholmew Bore-pigge, when wilt thou leaue fighting on dayes, and foyning on nights, and begin to patch vp thine old Body for Heauen?
Enter the Prince and Poines disguis"d.
Fal. Peace (good Dol) doe not speake like a Deathshead: doe not bid me remember mine end
Dol. Sirrha, what humor is the Prince of?
Fal. A good shallow young fellow: hee would haue made a good Pantler, hee would haue chipp"d Bread well
Dol. They say Poines hath a good Wit
Fal. Hee a good Wit? hang him Baboone, his Wit is as thicke as Tewksburie Mustard: there is no more conceit in him, then is in a Mallet
Dol. Why doth the Prince loue him so then?
Fal. Because their Legges are both of a bignesse: and hee playes at Quoits well, and eates Conger and Fennell, and drinkes off Candles ends for Flap-dragons, and rides the wilde-Mare with the Boyes, and iumpes vpon Ioyn"dstooles, and sweares with a good grace, and weares his Boot very smooth, like vnto the Signe of the Legge; and breedes no bate with telling of discreete stories: and such other Gamboll Faculties hee hath, that shew a weake Minde, and an able Body, for the which the Prince admits him; for the Prince himselfe is such another: the weight of an hayre will turne the Scales betweene their Haberdepois
Prince. Would not this Naue of a Wheele haue his Eares cut off?
Poin. Let vs beat him before his Wh.o.r.e
Prince. Looke, if the wither"d Elder hath not his Poll claw"d like a Parrot
Poin. Is it not strange, that Desire should so many yeeres out-liue performance?
Fal. Kisse me Dol
Prince. Saturne and Venus this yeere in Coniunction?
What sayes the Almanack to that?
Poin. And looke whether the fierie Trigon, his Man, be not lisping to his Masters old Tables, his Note-Booke, his Councell-keeper?