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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,

And dub me knight,

Samingo. Is 't not so ?

Fal. 'T is so

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


Enter PISTOL. How now, Pistol ?

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 authority.

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

Harry the Fourth ? or Fifth ?
Shal. Harry the Fourth.

A foutra for thine office l-
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


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 !


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-chieer enough, I

Come on ;

warrant her. There hath been a man or two lately killed about her.

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 ! 1 Bead. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again ; you have but eleven now. Come, 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,


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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