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fwaggering, by my troth; I am the worse, when one fays, fwagger. Feel, mafters, how I shake, look you, I warrant you.

Dol. So you do, hostess.

Hoft. Do I? yea, in very truth, do I, as if it were an afpen leaf. I cannot abide swaggerers.

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Enter Pistol, Bardolph and Page.

Pift. Save you, Sir John.

Fal. Welcome, ancient Pistol. Here, Piftol, I charge you with a cup of fack, do you discharge upon mine hoftefs.

Pift. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.

Fal. She is Piftol-proof, Sir, you shall hardly offend her.

Hoft. Come, I'll drink no proofs, nor no bullets; I will drink no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure. I

Pift. Then to you, Mrs. Dorothy, I will charge you. Dol. Charge me! I fcorn you, fcurvy companion! what you poor, bafe, rafcally, cheating, lack-linnen mate. Away, you mouldy rogue, away, I'm meat for your mafter.

Pift. I know you, Miftrefs Dorothy.

Dol. Away, you cut-purfe rafcal, you filthy bung, away. By this wine, I'll thruft my knife in your mouldy chaps, if you play the fawcy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal, you basket-hilt ftale jugler. You.-Since when, I pray you, Sir?-8 what, with two * points on your fhoulder? much!

what, with two points on your shoulder? much! Much was a common expreffion of dif

T 3

Pift.

dain at that time, of the fame fenfe with that more modern one, Marry come up. The Oxford

As a mark of his commiffion.

Editor

Pift. I will murther your ruff for this.

Fal. No more, Piftol; I wou'd not have you go off* here. Difcharge your felf of our company, Pistol. Hoft. No, good captain Fistel; not here, fweet cap

tain.

!

Dol. Captain! thou abominable damn'd cheater, are thou not afham'd to be call'd captain? if Captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out of taking their names upon you, before you have earn'd them. You a captain! you flave! for what? for tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house?- he a captain hang him, rogue,' he lives upon mouldy ftew'd prunes and dry'd cakes. A captain! thefe villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy; which was an excellent good word, before it was ill forted; therefore captains had need look to it.

Bard. Pray thee, go down, good Antient.
Fal. Hark thee hither, mistress Dol.

Pit. Not I. I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph,-I could tear her. I'll be reveng'd on her.

Page. Pray thee, go down.

Pift. I'll fee her damn'd firft: to Pluto's damned lake, to the infernal deep, where Erebus and tortures vile alfo. Hold hook and line, fay I; down! down, dogs; down, fates; have we not Hiren here?

Hoft. Good captain Peefel, be quiet, it is very late ; I beseech you now, aggravate your choler.

Pift. These be good humours, indeed. Shall packhorfes

Ed tor not apprehending this, is from the old edition of 16c0. alters it to march. WARBURT.

I cannot but think the emendation right. This ufe of much I do not remember, nor is it here proved by any example.

POPE.

1 —he lives upon mouldy flew`d prunes and dry'd cakes.] That is, he lives at other mens coft, but is not admitted to their tables, 9 No more, Piftol, c.] This and gets only what is too stale to be eaten in the house.

And

And hollow-pamper'd jades of Afia,
Which cannot go but thirty miles a day,
Compare with Cafars, and with * Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus, and let the welkin roar.

Shall we fall foul for toys?

Hoft. By my troth, captain, thefe are very bitter words.

Bard. Begone, good Ancient. This will grow to a brawl anon.

Pift. Die men, like dogs; give crowns like pins ; 3 have we not Hiren here?

Hoft. O' my word, captain, there's none fuch here. What the good jer? do you think, I would deny her? pray, be quiet.

Pift. Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis; come, give me fome fack. 4 * Si fortuna me tormenta, Spe

ro me contenta.

hollow-pamper'd jades of Afia, &c.] These lines are in part a quotation out of an old abfurd fuftian play intitled, Tamburlan's Conquefts, or the Scythian Shepherd. THEOBALD. annibal is ufed by a blunder for Hannibal. This was afterwards copied by Congreve's Bluff and Wittol. Bluff is a character apparently taken from this of Ancient Piftol.

thefe Heroes, calls his Sword
Hiren. I have been told, Ama-
dis du Gaul had a Sword of this
Name.
Hirir s to ftrike:
From hence it feems proba-
ble that Hiren may be deriv'd;
and fo fignify a fwashing, cut-
ting Sword- But what won-
derful Humour is there in the
good Hoftefs fo innocently mif-
taking Piftol's Drift, fancying
that he meant to fight for a
Whore in the Houfe, and there-
fore telling him, On my Word,
Captain, there's none fuch here;
what the good-jer! do you think,
I would deny her? THEOBALD.

3 have we not Hiren here? Hoft. O' my Word, Captain, there's none fuch here ] i. e. Shall I fear, that have this trufty and invincible Sword by my Side? For, as King Arthur's Swords 4 Sir Tho. Hanmer reads, Si were call'd Caliburne and Ron; fortuna me tormenta, il ferare me as Edward the Confeffor's, Cur- contenta, which is undoubtedly tana; as Charlemagne's, Joyeuse; the true reading, but perhaps it Orlando's, Durindana; Rinaldo's, was intended that Pistol should Fuberta; and Rogero's, Balifar- corrupt it. dafo Piftol, in Imitation of

T 4

Fear

Fear we broad fides? no, let the fiend give fire: Give me fome fack; and, fweet-heart, lye thou there. [Laying down his sword.

5 Come we to full points here; and are & cætera's nothing?

Fal. Piol, I would be quiet.

Pift. Sweet knight, I kifs thy neif. What! we have feen the seven stars.

Dol. Thruft him down ftairs, I cannot endure fuch a fuitian rafcal.

Pift. Thruft him down ftairs? know we not galloway nags?

Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-groat fhilling. Nay, if he do nothing but fpeak nothing, he fhall be nothing here.

Bard. Come, get you down ftairs,

Pift. What, fhall we have incifion! fhall we imbrew? then Death

Rock me afleep, abridge my doleful days:

Why, then let grievous, ghaftly, gaping wounds Untwine the filters three. Come, Atropos, I fay.

[Snatching up bis fword.

Hoft. Here's goodly ftuff toward.

Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.

Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, I pr'ythee, do not draw. Fal. Get you down ftairs.

[Drawing, and driving Pistol cut. Hoft. Here's a goodly tumult; I'll forfwear keeping house, before I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murther, I warrant now. Alas, alas, put up your naked weapons, put up your naked weapons.

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Dol. I pr'ythee, Jack, be quiet, the rafcal is gone. Ah, you whorfon, little valiant villain, you!

Hoft. Are you not hurt i' th' groin? methought, he made a fhrewd thruft at your belly.

Fal. Have you turn'd him out of doors?

Bard. Yes, Sir, the rafcal's drunk. You have hurt him, Sir, in the shoulder.

Fal. A rafcal, to brave me!.

Dol. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you. Alas, poor ape, how thou sweat'ft? Come, let me wipe thy facecome on, you whorfon chops-ah, rogue! I love thee, -thou art as valourous as Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon; and ten times better than the nine Worthies. A villain!

Fal. A rafcally flave; I will tofs the rogue in a blanket.

Dol. Do, if thou dar'ft for thy heart: if thou do'st, I'll canvass thee between a pair of fheets.

Enter Mufick.

Page. The mufick is come, Sir.

Fal. Let them play; play, Sirs. Sit on my knee, Dol. A rafcal, bragging flave! the rogue fled from me like quick-filver.

Dol. I'faith, and thou follow'd'ft him like a church. Thou whorfon little tydie Bartholomew Boar-pig, when wilt thou leave fighting on days, and foining on nights, and begin to patch up thine old body for heaven?

Little tydy Bartholomew Boartig.] For tidy Sir T. Hanmer reads tiny, but they are both words of endearment, and equally proper.

Bartholomew Boar-pig is a little pig made of paste, fold at Bartholomew fair, and given to chil dren for a fairing.

SCENE

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