Part 11

Host. No, good Captaine Pistol: not heere, sweete Captaine

Dol. Captaine? thou abhominable damn'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 Whores 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 damn'd first: to Pluto's damn'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 Cæsar, and with Caniballs, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather damne 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.