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Shal. By the mass, you'll crack a quart together, ah! will you not, Master Bardolph ? Bard. Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot.

Shal. By God's liggens, I thank thee:-the knave will stick by thee, I can assure thee that : 'a will not out; he is true bred.

Bard. And I'll stick by him, sir.

Shal. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing: be merry. [Knocking heard.] Look, who's at door there, ho! Who knocks?

[Exit DAVY.

Fal. [To SILENCE, who drinks a bumper.]

Why, now you have done me right.

Sil. [Singing.] Do me right,

Is 't not so?

Fal. 'T is so.

And dub me knight,

Samingo.

Sil. Is 't so? Why, then say, an old man can do somewhat.

Re-enter DAVY.

Davy. If it please your worship, there's one Pistol come from the court with news.

Fal. From the court! let him come in.

[blocks in formation]

Pist. Sir John, God save you !

Fal. What wind blew you hither, Pistol?

Pist. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good.-

Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in the realm.

Sil. By 'r lady, I think he be, but goodman Puff of Barson.

Pist. Puff!

Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base !—
Sir John, I am thy Pistol, and thy friend,
And helter-skelter have I rode to thee;
And tidings do I bring, and lucky joys,
And golden times, and happy news of price.

Fal. I pr'ythee now, deliver them like a man of this world.

Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base!

speak of Africa, and golden joys.

Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?

Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.

Sil. [Sings.] And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. Pist. Shall Dunghill curs confront the Helicons? And shall good news be baffled?

Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.

Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your

breeding.

Pist. Why then, lament therefore.

Shal. Give me pardon, sir :-if, sir, you come with news from the court, I take it, there's but two ways: either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, under the king, in some authority.

Pist. Under which king, bezonian? speak, or die. Shal. Under King Harry.

Pist.

Harry the Fourth? or Fifth?

Shal. Harry the Fourth.

Pist.

A foutra for thine office !

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king;

Harry the Fifth 's the man. I speak the truth : When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like

The bragging Spaniard.

Fal. What is the old king dead?

Pist. As nail in door: the things I speak are

just.

Fal. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse.Master Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land, 't is thine.—Pistol, I will doublecharge thee with dignities.

Bard. O joyful day!-I would not take a knighthood for my fortune.

Pist. What! I do bring good news?

Fal. Carry Master Silence to bed.-Master Shallow, my Lord Shallow, be what thou wilt; I am Fortune's steward. Get on thy boots: we'll ride all night.-O sweet Pistol -Away, Bardolph. [Exit BARDOLPH.]-Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and, withal, devise something to do thyself good.-Boot, boot, Master Shallow: I know the young king is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses; the laws of England are at my command. ment. Happy are they which have been my friends; and woe to my lord chief justice!

Pist. Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! 'Where is the life that late I led?' say they ; Why, here it is;-welcome this pleasant day!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-London.

A Street.

Enter Beadles, dragging in Hostess QUICKLY and DOLL TEAR-SHEET.

Host. No, thou arrant knave; I would to God I might die, that I might have thee hanged: thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint.

1 Bead. The constables have delivered her over to me, and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I

warrant her. There hath been a man or two lately

killed about her.

Come on;

Doll. Nuthook, nuthook, you lie ! I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal. An the child I now go with do miscarry, thou hadst better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.

Host. O the Lord, that Sir John were come! he would make this a bloody day to somebody. But I pray God the fruit of her womb miscarry!

Come,

1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again; you have but eleven now. I charge you both go with me; for the man is dead that you and Pistol beat among you.

Doll. I'll tell thee what, thou thin man in a censer, I will have you as soundly swinged for this, you blue-bottle rogue! you filthy famished correctioner! if you be not swinged, I'll forswear half-kirtles.

1 Bead. Come, come, you she knight-errant,

come.

Host. O God, that right should thus overcome might! Well, of sufferance comes ease.

Doll. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.

Host. Ay; come, you starved blood-hound.

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