PISTOL
Let vultures gripe thy guts! For gourd and fullam holds,
And high and low beguile the rich and poor.
Tester I’ll have in pouch when thou shalt lack,
Base Phrygian Turk!
NYM.
I have operations in my head which be humours of revenge.
PISTOL.
Wilt thou revenge?
NYM.
By welkin and her star!
PISTOL.
With wit or steel?
NYM.
With both the humours, I.
I will discuss the humour of this love to Ford.
PISTOL.
And I to Page shall eke unfold
How Falstaff, varlet vile,
His dove will prove, his gold will hold,
And his soft couch defile.
NYM.
My humour shall not cool. I will incense Ford to deal with poison, I will possess him with yellowness, for the revolt of mine is dangerous. That is my true humour.
PISTOL.
Thou art the Mars of malcontents. I second thee. Troop on.
[Exeunt.]