P. Henry. What's the matter?
Fal. What's the matter? there be four of us here have ta'en a thousand pound this morning.
P. Hen. Where is it, Jack? where is it?
Fal. Where is it? taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us.
P. Hen. What, a hundred, man?
Fal. I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have 'scaped by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four, through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a hand-saw ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man: all would not do. A plague of all cowards!—Let them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness.
P. Hen. Speak, sirs: how was it?
Gads. We four set upon some dozen,—
Fal. Sixteen at least, my lord.