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DOLL TEARSHEET
Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What!
you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen
mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for
your master.
PISTOL
I know you, Mistress Dorothy.
DOLL TEARSHEET
Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away!
by this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy
chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away,
you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale
juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? God's
light, with two points on your shoulder? much!
PISTOL
God let me not live, but I will murder your ruff for this.
FALSTAFF
No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here:
discharge yourself of our company, Pistol.
MISTRESS QUICKLY
No, Good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.
DOLL TEARSHEET
Captain! thou abominable damned cheater, art thou
not ashamed to be called captain? An captains were
of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for
taking their names upon you before you have earned
them. You a captain! you slave, for what? for
tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a
captain! hang him, rogue! he lives upon mouldy
stewed prunes and dried cakes. A captain! God's
light, these villains will make the word as odious
as the word 'occupy;' which was an excellent good
word before it was ill sorted: therefore captains
had need look to't.
BARDOLPH
Pray thee, go down, good ancient.
FALSTAFF
Hark thee hither, Mistress Doll.
PISTOL
Not I I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could
tear her: I'll be revenged of her.
Page
Pray thee, go down.
PISTOL
I'll see her damned first; to Pluto's damned lake,
by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and
tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I.
Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have we not
Hiren here?
MISTRESS QUICKLY
Good Captain Peesel, be quiet; 'tis very late, i'
faith: I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.
PISTOL
These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack-horses
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?
MISTRESS QUICKLY
By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.
BARDOLPH
Be gone, good ancient: this will grow to a brawl anon.
PISTOL
Die men like dogs! give crowns like pins! Have we
not Hiren here?
MISTRESS QUICKLY
O' my word, captain, there's none such here. What
the good-year! do you think I would deny her? For
God's sake, be quiet.
PISTOL
Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Come, give's some sack.
'Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.'
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
Laying down his sword
Come we to full points here; and are etceteras nothing?
FALSTAFF
Pistol, I would be quiet.
PISTOL
Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf: what! we have seen
the seven stars.
DOLL TEARSHEET
For God's sake, thrust him down stairs: I cannot
endure such a fustian rascal.
PISTOL
Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?
FALSTAFF
Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat
shilling: nay, an a' do nothing but speak nothing,
a' shall be nothing here.
BARDOLPH
Come, get you down stairs.
PISTOL
What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?
Snatching up his sword
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!
MISTRESS QUICKLY
Here's goodly stuff toward!
FALSTAFF
Give me my rapier, boy.
DOLL TEARSHEET
I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.
FALSTAFF
Get you down stairs.
Drawing, and driving PISTOL out
MISTRESS QUICKLY
Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping
house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and frights.
So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! put up
your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.
Exeunt PISTOL and BARDOLPH
DOLL TEARSHEET
I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone.
Ah, you whoreson little valiant villain, you!
MISTRESS QUICKLY
He you not hurt i' the groin? methought a' made a
shrewd thrust at your belly.
Re-enter BARDOLPH
FALSTAFF
Have you turned him out o' doors?
BARDOLPH
Yea, sir. The rascal's drunk: you have hurt him,
sir, i' the shoulder.
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