Act I, Scene iii:
A room in the Garter Inn.

[Enter FALSTAFF, HOST, BARDOLPH, NYM, PISTOL, and ROBIN.]

FALSTAFF:

Mine host of the Garter!

HOST:

What says my bully rook? Speak scholarly and wisely.

FALSTAFF:

Truly, mine host, I must turn away some of my followers.

HOST:

Discard, bully Hercules; cashier; let them wag; trot, trot.

FALSTAFF:

I sit at ten pounds a week.

HOST:

Thou'rt an emperor, Caesar, Keiser, and Pheazar. I

will entertain Bardolph; he shall draw, he shall tap; said I

well, bully Hector?

FALSTAFF:

Do so, good mine host.

HOST:

I have spoke; let him follow.[To BARDOLPH]Let me

see thee froth and lime. I am at a word; follow.

[Exit.]

FALSTAFF:

Bardolph, follow him. A tapster is a good trade;

an old cloak makes a new jerkin; a withered serving-man 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 tinder-box: 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 minim'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.

FALSTAFF:

There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must shift.

PISTOL:

Young ravens must have food.

FALSTAFF:

Which of you know Ford of this town?

PISTOL:

I ken the wight; he is of substance good.

FALSTAFF:

My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.

PISTOL:

Two yards, and more.

FALSTAFF:

No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist

two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about

thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife; I

spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she

gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of her

familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be

Englished rightly, is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'

PISTOL:

He hath studied her well, and translated her will out

of honesty into English.

NYM:

The anchor is deep; will that humour pass?

FALSTAFF:

Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her

husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels.

PISTOL:

As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.

NYM:

The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels.

FALSTAFF:

I have writ me here a letter to her; and here

another to Page's wife, who even now gave me good eyes

too, examined my parts with most judicious oeillades;

sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot, sometimes my

portly belly.

PISTOL:

Then did the sun on dunghill shine.

NYM:

I thank thee for that humour.

FALSTAFF:

O! she did so course o'er my exteriors with such

a greedy intention that the appetite of her eye did seem to

scorch me up like a burning-glass. Here's another letter to

her: she bears the purse too; she is a region in Guiana, all

gold and bounty. I will be 'cheator to them both, and they

shall be exchequers to me; they shall be my East and West

Indies, and I will trade to them both. Go, bear thou this

letter to Mistress Page; and thou this to Mistress Ford. We

will thrive, lads, we will thrive.

PISTOL:

Shall I Sir Pandarus of Troy become,

And by my side wear steel? then Lucifer take all!

NYM:

I will run no base humour. Here, take the

humour-letter; I will keep the haviour of reputation.

FALSTAFF:

[To ROBIN] Hold, sirrah; bear you these letters tightly;

Sail like my pinnace to these golden shores.

Rogues, hence, avaunt! vanish like hailstones, go;

Trudge, plod away o' hoof; seek shelter, pack!

Falstaff will learn the humour of this age;

French thrift, you rogues; myself, and skirted page.

[Exeunt FALSTAFF and ROBIN.]

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 Page.

PISTOL:

And I to Ford 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 Page 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.]