LITMIR.BIZ

        BARDOLPH. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good

      Corporal, be

          patient here.

        NYM. How now, mine host Pistol!

        PISTOL. Base tike, call'st thou me host?

          Now by this hand, I swear I scorn the term;

          Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.

        HOSTESS. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and

      board a

          dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick

      of

          their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house

          straight. [Nym draws] O well-a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn!

      Now

          we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed.

        BARDOLPH. Good Lieutenant, good Corporal, offer nothing here.

        NYM. Pish!

        PISTOL. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of

          Iceland!

        HOSTESS. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your

      sword.

        NYM. Will you shog off? I would have you solus.

        PISTOL. 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile!

          The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face;

          The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat,

          And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy;

          And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!

          I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels;

          For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,

          And flashing fire will follow.

        NYM. I am not Barbason: you cannot conjure me. I have an humour

      to

          knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me,

      Pistol, I

          will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms; if

      you

          would walk off I would prick your guts a little, in good

      terms,

          as I may, and thaes the humour of it.

        PISTOL. O braggart vile and damned furious wight!

          The grave doth gape and doting death is near;

          Therefore exhale. [PISTOL draws]

        BARDOLPH. Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the

      first

          stroke I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.

                                                               [Draws]

        PISTOL. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.

                                 [PISTOL and Nym sheathe their swords]

          Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give;

          Thy spirits are most tall.

        NYM. I will cut thy throat one time or other, in fair terms;

      that

          is the humour of it.

        PISTOL. 'Couple a gorge!'

          That is the word. I thee defy again.

          O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?

          No; to the spital go,

          And from the powd'ring tub of infamy

          Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,

          Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse.

          I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly

          For the only she; and- pauca, there's enough.

          Go to.

        BOY. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master; and your

          hostess- he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph,

      put

          thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a

      warming-pan.

          Faith, he's very ill.

        BARDOLPH. Away, you rogue.

        HOSTESS. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of

      these

          days: the King has kill'd his heart. Good husband, come home

          presently. Exeunt HOSTESS and BOY

        BARDOLPH. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France

          together; why the devil should we keep knives to cut one

          another's throats?

        PISTOL. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!

        NYM. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?

        PISTOL. Base is the slave that pays.

        NYM. That now I will have; that's the humour of it.

        PISTOL. As manhood shall compound: push home.

                                                 [PISTOL and Nym draw]

        BARDOLPH.

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