Falstaff.—What trade art thou, Feeble?
Feeble.—I'm a woman's tailor, sir.
Falstaff.—Well, good woman's tailor, wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy's battle as thou hast done in a woman's petticoat?
Feeble.—I will do my good will, sir; you can have no more.
Falstaff.—Well said, good woman's tailor! Well said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove, or most magnanimous mouse. Prick me the woman's tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master Shallow.
Feeble.—I would Wart might have gone, too, sir.
Falstaff.—I would thou wert a man's tailor, that thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble.
Feeble.—It shall suffice, sir.
Falstaff.—I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?
Shallow.—Peter Bullcalf, o' the green.