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  • Title: Henry IV, Part 2 (Folio 1 1623)
  • Editor: Rosemary Gaby

  • Copyright Rosemary Gaby. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: Rosemary Gaby
    Not Peer Reviewed

    Henry IV, Part 2 (Folio 1 1623)

    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
    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
    Pist. I will discharge vpon her (Sir Iohn) with two
    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
    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
    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 Caesar, 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
    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-
    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