Fal. Not a penny. I have been content, sir, you 5 should lay my countenance to pawn: I have grated upon my good friends for three reprieves for you and your [coach-fellow] Nym; or else you had looked through the grate, like a geminy of baboons. I am damned in hell for swearing to gentlemen my friends, you were good soldiers and 10 tall fellows; and when Mistress Bridget lost the handle of her fan, I took’t upon mine honour thou hadst it not.
Pist. [Didst not thou] share? hadst thou not fifteen pence?
Fal. Reason, you rogue, reason: thinkest thou I’ll endanger 15 my soul gratis? At a word, hang no more about me, I am no gibbet for you. Go. A short knife and a [throng]!—To your manor of Pickt-hatch! Go. You’ll not bear a letter for me, you rogue! you stand upon your honour! Why, thou unconfinable baseness, it is as much as 20 I can do to keep the [terms] of my [honour] precise: [I, I, I] myself sometimes, leaving the fear of [God] on the left hand, and hiding mine honour in my necessity, am fain to shuffle, to hedge, and to lurch; and [yet you, rogue], will ensconce your [rags], your cat-a-mountain looks, your red-lattice II. 2.
25 phrases, and your [bold-beating] oaths, under the shelter of your honour! You will not do it, you!
Pist. I do [relent]: what [would thou] more of man?
Enter Robin.
Rob. Sir, here’s a woman would speak with you.
Fal. Let her approach.
[Enter Mistress Quickly.]
30 Quick. Give your worship good morrow.
Fal. Good morrow, good wife.