2

And hollow-pamper'd jades of Afia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,
Compare with Cafars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar.

Shall we fall foul for toys?

Hoft. By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.

Bard. Begone, good Ancient. This will grow to a brawl anon.

Pift. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins; 3 have we not Hiren here?

Hoft. O' my word, captain, there's none fuch here. What the good-jer? do you think, I would deny her? pray, be quiet.

I

Pift. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis; come, give me fome fack. * Si fortuna me tormenta, fpero

me contenta.

2

hollow pamper'd jades of Afia, &c. These lines are in part a quotation out of an old abfurd fuftian play intitled, Tamburlain's Conquefts, or the Scythian Shepherd. THEOBALD. + Cannibal is ufed by a blunder for Hannibal. This was afterwards copied by Congreve's Bluff and Wittol. Bluff is a character apparently taken from this of Ancient Piftol.

3 have we not Hiren here? Hoft. O' my Word, Captain, there's none fuch here.] i. e. Shall I fear, that have this trufty and invincible Sword by my Side? For, as King Arthur's Swords were call'd Caliburne and Ron; as Edward the Confeffor's, Curtana; as Charlemagne's, Joyeuse; Orlando's, Durindana; Rinaldo's, Fußberta; and Rogero's, Balifarda; lo Piftol, in Imitation of

thefe Heroes, calls his Sword
Hiren. I have been told, Ama-
dis de Gaul had a Sword of this
Name. Hirir is to strike:
From hence it feems proba-
ble that Hiren may be deriv'd;
and fo fignify a fwashing, cut-
ting Sword
But what won-

derful Humour is there in the
good Hoftefs fo innocently mis-
taking Piftol's Drift, fancying
that he meant to fight for a
Whore in the Houfe, and there-
fore telling him, On my Ward,
Captain, there's none fuch here;
what the good-jer! do you think,
I would deny her? THEOBALD.

4 Sir Tho. Hanmer reads, Si fortuna me tormenta, il fperare me contenta, which is undoubtedly the true reading, but perhaps it was intended that Pistol should corrupt it.

Fear we broad fides? no, let the fiend give fire: Give me fome fack; and, fweet-heart, lye thou there. [Laying down his fword. "Come we to full points here; and are catera's nothing?

Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet.sy 12:29Y but Pift. Sweet knight, I kifs thy neif. What! we have feen the seven stars.

Dol. Thruft him down ftairs, I cannot endure fuch a fuftian rafcal.

Pist. Thrust him down ftairs? know we not ' gal loway nags?

T4

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a fhove-groat fhilling. Nay, if he do nothing but fpeak nothing, he fhall be nothing here.

Bard. Come, get you down stairs.

A

Pift. What, fhall we have incifion! fhall we imbrew? then Death

Rock me afleep, abridge my doleful days:
Why, then let grievous, ghaftly, gaping wounds
Untwine the fifters three. Come, Atropos, I fay.

[Snatching up his fword.

Hoft. Hoere's goodly stuff toward.

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.

Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee, do not draw.
Fal. Get you down stairs.

[Drawing, and driving Piftol out. Hoft. Here's a goodly tumult; I'll forfwear keeping house, before I'll be in thefe tirrits and frights. So; murther, I warrant now. Alas, alas, put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, be quiet, the rafcal is gone. Ah, you whorfon, little valiant villain, you mone ! Hoft. Are you not hurt i'th' groin? methought, he made a fhrewd thruft at your belly.

Fal. Have you turn'd him out of doors?

Bard. Yes, Sir, the rafcal's drunk. You have hurt him, Sir, in the fhoulder.

Fal. A rafcal, to brave me!

Dol. Ah, you fweet little rogue, you. Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat'ft? Come, let me wipe thy facecome on, you whorfon chops-ah, rogue! I love thee, -thou art as valourous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon; and ten times better than the nine Worthies. A villain!

Fal. A rafcally flave; I will tofs the rogue in a blanket.

Dol. Do, if thou dar'ft for thy heart: if thou do'st, I'll canvass thee between a pair of sheets.

Enter Mufick.

Page. The mufick is come, Sir.

Fal. Let them play; play, Sirs. Sit on my knee, Dol. A rafcal, bragging flave! the rogue fled from me like quick-filver.

Dol. I'faith, and thou follow'd'ft him like a church, Thou whorfon little tydie Bartholomew Boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting on days, and foining on nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

Little tydy Bartholomew Boarpig.] For tidy Sir T. Hanmer reads tiny, but they are both words of endearment, and equally proper.

Bartholomew Boar-pig is a little pig made of pafte, fold at Bartholomew fair, and given to chil dren for a fairing.

SCENE

SCENE XI.

Wet! 9-. Enter Prince Henry and Poins. horfinny

Fal. Peace, good Dol, do not speak like a death's head, do not bid me remember mine end.

Dol. Sirrah, what humour is the Prince of?

Fal. A good fhallow young fellow; he would have made a good Pantler, he would have chipp'd bread well.

Dol. They fay, Poins has a good wit.

Fal. He a good wit? hang him, baboon!-his wit is as thick as Tewksbury mustard, there is no more conceit in him, than is in a mallet.

Dol. Why doth the Prince love him fo then?

Fal. Because their legs are both of a bignefs, and he plays at quoits well, and 'eats conger and fennel, and

drinks off candles' ends for flap dragons, and ride and

the

wild mare with the boys, and jumps upon joint-ftools, and fwears with a good grace, and wears his boot very fmooth like unto the fign of the leg, and breeds no bate with telling of 'difcreet ftories; and fuch other gambol faculties he hath, that fhew a weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince admits him, for the Prince himself is fuch another, the weight of an hair will turn the fcales between their Averdupois. P. Henry. Would not this* Nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?

Poins. Let us beat him before his whore.

P. Henry. Look, if the wither'd Elder hath not his poll claw'd like a Parrot.

Poins. Is it not ftrange, that defire fhould fo many years out-live performance?

9 Eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles' ends. Thefe qualifications I do not understand. difcreet ftories ;] We fhould read indifcreet. WARB. * Nurve of a wheel.] Nave

i

and knave are eafily reconciled, but why nave of a wheel? I fuppofe for his roundness. He was called round man in contempt before. ༈ །

Fal.

Fal. Kifs me, Dol.

2

P. Henry. Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction! what fays the almanack to that?

3

Poins. And, look, whether the fiery Trigon, his man, be not lifping to his master's old Tables, his notebook, his counfel-keeper?

Fal. Thou doft give me flattering buffes.

Dol. By my troth, I kifs thee with a moft conftant heart.

Fal. I am old, I am old..

Dol. I love thee better than I love e'er a fcurvy young boy of them all.

Fal. What ftuff wilt thou have a kirtle of? I fhall receive money on Thursday. Thou shalt have a cap tomorrow. A merry fong, come it grows late, we will to bed. Thou wilt forget me when I am gone. Dol. By my troth, thou wilt fet me a weeping if thou fay ft fo. Prove, that ever I drefs myself handfom till thy return Well, hearken the end.

Fal. Some fack, Francis,

P. Henry. Poins. Anon, anon, Sir.

Fal. Ha! a bastard son of the King's! and art not thou Poins his brother?

P. Henry. Why, thou globe of finful continents, what a life doft thou lead?

Fal. A better than thou: I am a gentleman, thou art a drawer.

P. Henry. Very true, Sir; and I come to draw you out by the ears,

Saturn and Venus this year in conjunction.] This was indeed a prodigy. The Aftrologers, fays Ficinus, remark, that Saturn and Venus are never conjoined.

3 LISPING TO his master's old Tables, &c.] We fhould read CLASPING TOO his mafter's old Tables, &c.] i. e. embracing his master's caft-off whore, and now