Document:  All > Shakespeare > Comedies > Merry Wives of Windsor > Act I, scene III

	and ROBIN]

FALSTAFF: Mine host of the Garter!

Host: What says my bully-rook? speak scholarly and wisely.

FALSTAFF: Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my

Host: Discard, bully Hercules; cashier: let them wag; trot, trot.

FALSTAFF: 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 I well, bully Hector?

FALSTAFF: Do so, good mine host.

Host: I have spoke; let him follow.


	Let me see thee froth and lime: I am at a word; follow.


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

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

PISTOL: O base Hungarian wight! wilt thou the spigot wield?


NYM: He was gotten in drink: is not the humour conceited?

FALSTAFF: I am glad I am so acquit of this tinderbox: his
	thefts were too open; his filching was like an
	unskilful singer; he kept not time.

NYM: The good humour is to steal at a minute's rest.

PISTOL: 'Convey,' the wise it call. 'Steal!' foh! a fico
	for the phrase!

FALSTAFF: Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.

PISTOL: Why, then, let kibes ensue.

FALSTAFF: There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must shift.

PISTOL: Young ravens must have food.

FALSTAFF: Which of you know Ford of this town?

PISTOL: I ken the wight: he is of substance good.

FALSTAFF: My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.

PISTOL: Two yards, and more.

FALSTAFF: 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
	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 behavior, to be Englished
	rightly, is, 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'

PISTOL: He hath studied her will, and translated her will,
	out of honesty into English.

NYM: The anchor is deep: will that humour pass?

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

PISTOL: As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.

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

FALSTAFF: I have writ me here a letter to her: and here
	another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good
	eyes too, examined my parts with most judicious
	oeillades; sometimes the beam of her view gilded my
	foot, sometimes my portly belly.

PISTOL: Then did the sun on dunghill shine.

NYM: I thank thee for that humour.

FALSTAFF: O, she did so course o'er my exteriors with such a
	greedy intention, that the appetite of her eye did
	seem to scorch me up like a burning-glass! Here's
	another letter to her: she bears the purse too; she
	is a region in Guiana, all gold and bounty. I will
	be cheater to them both, and they shall be
	exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West
	Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go bear thou
	this letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to
	Mistress Ford: we will thrive, lads, we will thrive.

PISTOL: Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,
	And by my side wear steel? then, Lucifer take all!

NYM: I will run no base humour: here, take the
	humour-letter: I will keep the havior of reputation.

FALSTAFF: [To ROBIN]  Hold, sirrah, bear you these letters tightly;
	Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.
	Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;
	Trudge, plod away o' the hoof; seek shelter, pack!
	Falstaff will learn the humour of the age,
	French thrift, you rogues; myself and skirted page.

	[Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN]

PISTOL: Let vultures gripe thy guts! for gourd and fullam holds,
	And high and low beguiles the rich and poor:
	Tester I'll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,
	Base Phrygian Turk!

NYM: I have operations which be humours of revenge.

PISTOL: Wilt thou revenge?

NYM: By welkin and her star!

PISTOL: With wit or steel?

NYM: With both the humours, I:
	I will discuss the humour of this love to Page.

PISTOL:      And I to Ford shall eke unfold
	How Falstaff, varlet vile,
	His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
	And his soft couch defile.

NYM: My humour shall not cool: I will incense Page to
	deal with poison; I will possess him with
	yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dangerous:
	that is my true humour.

PISTOL: Thou art the Mars of malecontents: I second thee; troop on.



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