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Hath proudly flow'd in vanity till now:
[To the Lord Chief Justice.
SCENE III. Glostershire. The Garden of SHALLOW's House. Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, BARDOLPH, the Page,
and Davy. Shal. Nay, you shall see mine orchard; where, in an arbour, we will eat a last year's pippin of my own graffing, with a dish of carraways, and so forth; come, cousin Silence; and then to bed.
Fal. 'Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, and a rich.
Shal. Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John : - marry, good air. Spread, Davy; spread, Davy; well said, Davy.
Fal. This Davy serves you for good uses : he is your servingman, and your husband.
Shal. A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir John. By the mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper: A good varlet. Now sit down, now sit down. - Come, cousin. Sil. Ah, sirrah! quoih-a,
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, [Singing.
Shal. Give master Bardolph some wine, Davy.
Davy. Sweet Sir, sit; I'll be with you anon: - most sweet Sir, sit. — Master page, good master page, sit: proface! What you want in meat, we 'll have in drink. But you must bear: the heart's all.
[E.cit. Shal. Be merry, master Bardolph; – and my little soldier there, be merry Sil. Be merry, be merry, my wife has all; (Singing
For women are shrews, both short and tall:
And welcome merry shrove-tide.
[Setting them before BARDOLPH. Shal. Davy,
Davy. Your worship. - I'll be with you straight.
And a merry heart lives long-a.
Sil. An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet of the night.
Fal. Health and long life to you, master Silence.
I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom. Shal. Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou wantest any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief; and welcome, indeed, too. I 'll drink to master Bardolph, and to all the cavalieros about London.
Davy. I hope to see London once ere I die.
Shal. By the mass, you 'll crack a quart together. Ha! will you not, master Bardolph?
Bard. Yea, Sir, in a pottle pot.
Shal. By God's leggings I thank thee. The kpave will stick by thee, I can assure thee that: he 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. Why, now you have done me right.
[TO SILENCE, who drinks a bumper. Sil. Do me right,
[Singing. And dub me knight:
Fal. 'Tis so.
Pist. Sir John, God save you, Sir.
Sweet knight, th' art now one of the greatest men
Sil. By 'r lady, I think he be, but goodman Puff of Barson.
Fal. I pr’ythee now, deliver them like a man of this world.
Pist. A foutra for the world, and worldlings base!
Fal. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?
Shal. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.
Shal. Give me pardon, Sir:- if, Sir, you come with news from the court, I take it, there is 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.
Harry the fourth? or fifth?
A foutra for thine office!
Fal. What! is the old king dead?
Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land, 't is thine. Pistol, I will double-charge thee with digoities.
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. 0, sweet Pistol ! Away, Bardolph. [Exit BARD.] — 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 commandment. Happy are they which have been my friends, and woe unto 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 these pleasant days! [Exeunt.
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 bast 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.
Dol. Nut-hook, put-hook, you lie. Come on: I'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal, an the child I now go with do miscarry, thou hadst better thou badst struck thy mother, thou paper-faced villain.
Host. O the Lord, that Sir Joho 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;