scard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them wag;
trot, trot.

_Fal._ I sit at ten pounds a week.

_Host._ Thou'rt an emperor, Caesar, Keisar, and Pheezar.
I will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap: said 10
I well, bully Hector?

_Fal._ Do so, good mine host.

_Host._ I have spoke; let him follow. [_To Bard._] Let
me see thee froth and lime: I am at a word; follow. [_Exit._

_Fal._ Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade: 15
an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a withered serving-man
a fresh tapster. Go; adieu.

_Bard._ It is a life that I have desired: I will thrive.

_Pist._ O base Hungarian wight! wilt thou the spigot wield?

[_Exit Bardolph._ 20

_Nym._ He was gotten in drink: is not the humour
conceited?

_Fal._ I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his
thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful
singer; he kept not time. 25

_Nym._ The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest.

_Pist._ 'Convey,' the wise it call. 'Steal!' foh! a fico
for the phrase!

_Fal._ Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.

_Pist._ Why, then, let kibes ensue. 30

_Fal._ There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must
shift.

_Pist._ Young ravens must have food.

_Fal._ Which of you know Ford of this town?

_Pist._ I ken the wight: he is of substance good. 35

_Fal._ My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.

_Pist._ Two yards, and more.

_Fal._ No quips now, Pistol! Indeed, I am in the waist
two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am
about thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's 40
wife: I spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves,
she gives the leer of invitation: I can construe the action
of her familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour,
to be Englished rightly, is, 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'

_Pist._ He hath studied her will, and translated her will, 45
out of honesty into English.

_Nym._ The anchor is deep: will that humour pass?

_Fal._ Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her
husband's purse: he hath a legion of angels.

_Pist._ As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I. 50

_Nym._ The humour rises; it is good: humour me the
angels.

_Fal._ I have writ me here a letter to her: and here
another to Page's wife, w