Fal. Go, hang thyself in thine own heir-apparent garters![2294]
If I be ta'en, I'll peach for this. An I have not ballads made[2295]
on you all and sung to filthy tunes, let a cup of sack be my[2296]
poison: when a jest is so forward, and afoot too! I hate it.[2297]
Enter Gadshill, Bardolph and Peto with him.[2298]
Gads. Stand.45
Fal. So I do, against my will.
Poins. O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph,[2299]
what news?[2299]
Bard. Case ye, case ye; on with your vizards: there's[2300]
money of the king's coming down the hill; 'tis going to the50
king's exchequer.
Fal. You lie, ye rogue; 'tis going to the king's tavern.[2301]
Gads. There's enough to make us all.[2302]
Fal. To be hanged.