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_ ACT I. SCENE III.
The Garter Inn.
[Enter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, 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 followers.
HOST.
Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot, trot.
FALSTAFF.
I sit at ten pounds a week.
HOST.
Thou'rt an emperor-Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. 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.
[To BARDOLPH]
Let me see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow.
[Exit HOST.]
FALSTAFF.
Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade;
an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a wither'd serving-man a
fresh tapster. Go; adieu.
BARDOLPH.
It is a life that I have desir'd; I will thrive.
PISTOL.
O base Hungarian wight!
Wilt thou the spigot wield?
[Exit BARDOLPH.]
NYM.
He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?
FALSTAFF.
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.
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 behaviour, to be English'd rightly,
is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'
PISTOL.
He hath studied her well, 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, examin'd 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 cheaters 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 haviour 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 i' th' 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 in my head 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 malcontents; I second thee; troop on.
[Exeunt.] _
Read next: ACT I: SCENE IV
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