Page 1627 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.

PISTOL
An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give;
Thy spirits are most tall. [65]

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? [70]
No, to the spital go,

And from the powdering-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 [75]
For the only she; and − pauca, there’s enough.

Go to.
Enter the Boy.

BOY
Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and your Hostess: he is very
sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, [80] 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
killed his heart. Good husband, come home presently. [85]
Exit [with Boy].

BARDOLPH