Shallow.—Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i' faith! Things that are mouldy lack use; very singular good! Well said, Sir John, very well said. Shall I prick him, Sir John?
Falstaff.—Yes, prick him.
Mouldy.—I was pricked well enough before, an' you could have let me alone; my old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and her drudgery; you need not to have pricked me; there are other men fitter to go out than I.
Shallow.—Peace, fellow, peace! Stand aside; know you where you are? For the next, Sir John; let me see.—Simon Shadow?
Falstaff.—Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He's like to be a cold soldier.
Shallow.—Where's Shadow?
Shadow.—Here, sir.
Falstaff.—Shadow, whose son art thou?
Shadow.—My mother's son, sir.
Falstaff.—Thy mother's son! Like enough, and thy father's shadow. Prick him. Shadow will serve for summer.