FALSTAFF.
Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade. An old cloak makes a new jerkin; a withered servingman a fresh tapster. Go, adieu.
BARDOLPH.
It is a life that I have desired. I will thrive.
PISTOL.
O base Hungarian wight, wilt thou the spigot wield?
[Exit Bardolph.]
NYM
He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?
FALSTAFF.
I am glad I am so acquit of this tinderbox. His thefts were too open. His filching was like an unskilful singer, he kept not time.
NYM.
The good humour is to steal at a minute’s rest.
PISTOL.
“Convey,” the wise it call. “Steal?” Foh! A fico for the phrase!
FALSTAFF.
Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.
PISTOL.
Why, then, let kibes ensue.