SHADOW.
My mother’s son, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Thy mother’s son! Like enough, and thy father’s shadow. So the son of the female is the shadow of the male. It is often so indeed, but much of the father’s substance!
SHALLOW.
Do you like him, Sir John?
FALSTAFF.
Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him, for we have a number of shadows to fill up the muster-book.
SHALLOW.
Thomas Wart!
FALSTAFF.
Where’s he?
WART.
Here, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Is thy name Wart?
WART.
Yea, sir.
FALSTAFF.
Thou art a very ragged wart.