PRINCE.
Why, you whoreson round man, what’s the matter?
FALSTAFF.
Are not you a coward? Answer me to that—and Poins there?
POINS.
Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the Lord, I’ll stab thee.
FALSTAFF.
I call thee coward? I’ll see thee damned ere I call thee coward, but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! Give me them that will face me.—Give me a cup of sack. I am a rogue if I drunk today.
PRINCE.
O villain! Thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk’st last.
FALSTAFF.
All is one for that. A plague of all cowards, still say I.
[Drinks.]
PRINCE.
What’s the matter?
FALSTAFF.
What’s the matter? There be four of us here have ta’en a thousand pound this day morning.
PRINCE.
Where is it, Jack, where is it?