Toolbox



Textual Analysis

[ Go ]

Shakespeare on Stage
Original Shakespeare Company, A Midsommer Night's Dreame (Midsummer Midsommer). To Jun. 21, 2013.
American Shakespeare Center, Return to the Forbidden Planet. To Dec. 1, 2013.
American Shakespeare Center, All's Well That Ends Well. To Nov. 29, 2013.
SIP Editors, King Henry VIII. To Aug. 4, 2013.
Original Shakespeare Company, As You Like It. To Jun. 23, 2013.
More Performances…
‌

Henry the Fourth, Part Two (Folio 1 1623)

Author: William Shakespeare
Not Peer Reviewed
The Second Part of King Henry the Fourth.
83
1110 Falst. Do'st thou heare? it is mine Ancient.
Host. Tilly-fally (Sir Iohn) neuer tell me, your ancient
Swaggerer comes not in my doores. I was before Master
Tisick the Deputie, the other day: and as hee said to me,
it was no longer agoe then Wednesday last: Neighbour
1115Quickly (sayes hee;) Master Dombe, our Minister, was by
then: Neighbour Quickly (sayes hee) receiue those that
are Ciuill; for (sayth hee) you are in an ill Name: now
hee said so, I can tell whereupon: for (sayes hee) you are
an honest Woman, and well thought on; therefore take
1120heede what Guests you receiue: Receiue (sayes hee) no
swaggering Companions. There comes none heere. You
would blesse you to heare what hee said. No, Ile no
Swaggerers.
Falst. Hee's no Swaggerer (Hostesse:) a tame Cheater,
1125hee: you may stroake him as gently, as a Puppie Grey-
hound: hee will not swagger with a Barbarie Henne, if
her feathers turne backe in any shew of resistance. Call
him vp (Drawer.)
Host. Cheater, call you him? I will barre no honest
1130man my house, nor no Cheater: but I doe not loue swag-
gering; I am the worse when one sayes, swagger: Feele
Masters, how I shake: looke you, I warrant you.
Dol. So you doe, Hostesse.
Host. Doe I? yea, in very truth doe I, if it were an As-
1135pen Leafe: I cannot abide Swaggerers.

Enter Pistol, and Bardolph and his Boy.

Pist. 'Saue you, Sir Iohn.
Falst. Welcome Ancient Pistol. Here (Pistol) I charge
you with a Cup of Sacke: doe you discharge vpon mine
1140Hostesse.
Pist. I will discharge vpon her (Sir Iohn) with two
Bullets.
Falst. She is Pistoll-proofe (Sir) you shall hardly of-
fend her.
1145Host. Come, Ile drinke no Proofes, nor no Bullets: I
will drinke no more then will doe me good, for no mans
pleasure, I.
Pist. Then to you (Mistris Dorothie) I will charge
you.
1150Dol. Charge me? I scorne you (scuruie Companion)
what? you poore, base, rascally, cheating, lacke-Linnen-
Mate: away you mouldie Rogue, away; I am meat for
your Master.
Pist. I know you, Mistris Dorothie.
1155Dol. Away you Cut-purse Rascall, you filthy Bung,
away: By this Wine, Ile thrust my Knife in your mouldie
Chappes, if you play the sawcie Cuttle with me. Away
you Bottle-Ale Rascall, you Basket-hilt stale Iugler, you.
Since when, I pray you, Sir? what, with two Points on
1160your shoulder? much.
Pist. I will murther your Ruffe, for this.
Host. No, good Captaine Pistol: not heere, sweete
Captaine.
Dol. Captaine? thou abhominable damn'd Cheater,
1165art thou not asham'd to be call'd Captaine? If Captaines
were of my minde, they would trunchion you out, for ta-
king their Names vpon you, before you haue earn'd them.
You a Captaine? you slaue, for what? for tearing a poore
Whores Ruffe in a Bawdy-house? Hee a Captaine? hang
1170him Rogue, hee liues vpon mouldie stew'd-Pruines, and
dry'de Cakes. A Captaine? These Villaines will make
the word Captaine odious: Therefore Captaines had
neede looke to it.
Bard. 'Pray thee goe downe, good Ancient.
1175Falst. Hearke thee hither, Mistris Dol.
Pist. Not I: I tell thee what, Corporall Bardolph, I
could teare her: Ile be reueng'd on her.
Page. 'Pray thee goe downe.
Pist. Ile see her damn'd first: to Pluto's damn'd Lake,
1180to the Infernall Deepe, where Erebus and Tortures vilde
also. Hold Hooke and Line, say I: Downe: downe
Dogges, downe Fates: haue wee not Hiren here?
Host. Good Captaine Peesel be quiet, it is very late:
I beseeke you now, aggrauate your Choler.
1185Pist. These be good Humors indeede. Shall Pack-
Horses, and hollow-pamper'd Iades of Asia, which can-
not goe but thirtie miles a day, compare with Cæsar, and
with Caniballs, and Troian Greekes? nay, rather damne
them with King Cerberus, and let the Welkin roare: shall
1190wee fall foule for Toyes?
Host. By my troth Captaine, these are very bitter
words.
Bard. Be gone, good Ancient: this will grow to a
Brawle anon.
1195Pist. Die men, like Dogges; giue Crownes like Pinnes:
Haue we not Hiren here?
Host. On my word (Captaine) there's none such here.
What the good-yere, doe you thinke I would denye her?
I pray be quiet.
1200Pist. Then feed, and be fat (my faire Calipolis.) Come,
giue me some Sack, Si fortune me tormente, sperato me con-
tente. Feare wee broad-sides? No, let the Fiend giue fire:
Giue me some Sack: and Sweet-heart lye thou there:
Come wee to full Points here, and are et cetera's no-
1205thing?
Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet.
Pist. Sweet Knight, I kisse thy Neaffe: what? wee haue
seene the seuen Starres.
Dol. Thrust him downe stayres, I cannot endure such
1210a Fustian Rascall.
Pist. Thrust him downe stayres? know we not Gallo-
way Nagges?
Fal. Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a shoue-groat
shilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but speake nothing, hee
1215shall be nothing here.
Bard. Come, get you downe stayres.
Pist. What? shall wee haue Incision? shall wee em-
brew? then Death rocke me asleepe, abridge my dolefull
dayes: why then let grieuous, gastly, gaping Wounds,
1220vntwin'd the Sisters three: Come Atropos, I say.
Host. Here's good stuffe toward.
Fal. Giue me my Rapier, Boy.
Dol. I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw.
Fal. Get you downe stayres.
1225Host. Here's a goodly tumult: Ile forsweare keeping
house, before Ile be in these tirrits, and frights. So: Mur-
ther I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Wea-
pons, put vp your naked Weapons.
Dol. I prethee Iack be quiet, the Rascall is gone: ah,
1230you whorson little valiant Villaine, you.
Host. Are you not hurt i'th'Groyne? me thought hee
made a shrewd Thrust at your Belly.
Fal. Haue you turn'd him out of doores?
Bard. Yes Sir: the Rascall's drunke: you haue hurt
1235him (Sir) in the shoulder.
Fal. A Rascall to braue me.
Dol. Ah, you sweet little Rogue, you: alas, poore Ape,
how thou sweat'st? Come, let me wipe thy Face: Come
on, you whorson Chops: Ah Rogue, I loue thee: Thou
art