HOSTESS.
Good Captain Peesel, be quiet, ’tis very late, i’ faith. I beseek you now, aggravate your choler.
PISTOL.
These be good humours, indeed! Shall packhorses
And hollow pamper’d jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty mile a day,
Compare with Caesars and with Cannibals,
And Trojant Greeks? Nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?
HOSTESS.
By my troth, captain, these are very bitter words.
BARDOLPH.
Be gone, good ancient. This will grow to a brawl anon.
PISTOL.
Die men like dogs! Give crowns like pins! Have we not Hiren here?
HOSTESS.
O’ my word, captain, there’s none such here. What the good-year, do you think I would deny her? For God’s sake, be quiet.
PISTOL.
Then feed and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Come, give ’s some sack.
Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.
Fear we broadsides? No, let the fiend give fire.
Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
[Laying down his sword.]
Come we to full points here? And are etceteras nothings?
FALSTAFF.
Pistol, I would be quiet.