DOLL.
Sirrah, what humour ’s the Prince of?
FALSTAFF.
A good shallow young fellow; he would have made a good pantler; he would ha’ chipped bread well.
DOLL.
They say Poins has a good wit.
FALSTAFF.
He a good wit? Hang him, baboon! His wit’s as thick as Tewksbury mustard; there’s no more conceit in him than is in a mallet.
DOLL.
Why does the Prince love him so, then?
FALSTAFF.
Because their legs are both of a bigness, and he plays at quoits well, and eats conger and fennel, and drinks off candles’ ends for flap-dragons, and rides the wild mare with the boys, and jumps upon joint stools, and swears with a good grace, and wears his boots very smooth like unto the sign of the Leg, and breeds no bate with telling of discreet stories, and such other gambol faculties he has that show a weak mind and an able body, for the which the Prince admits him: for the Prince himself is such another. The weight of a hair will turn the scales between their avoirdupois.
PRINCE.
Would not this nave of a wheel have his ears cut off?
POINS.
Let’s beat him before his whore.
PRINCE.
Look whe’er the withered elder hath not his poll clawed like a parrot.
POINS.
Is it not strange that desire should so many years outlive performance?