Pistol, I would be quiet
Pist. Sweet Knight, I kisse thy Neaffe: what? wee haue
seene the seuen Starres
Dol. Thrust him downe stayres, I cannot endure such
a Fustian Rascall
Pist. Thrust him downe stayres? know we not Galloway
Nagges?
Fal. Quoit him downe (Bardolph) like a shoue-groat
shilling: nay, if hee doe nothing but speake nothing, hee
shall be nothing here
Bard. Come, get you downe stayres
Pist. What? shall wee haue Incision? shall wee embrew?
then Death rocke me asleepe, abridge my dolefull
dayes: why then let grieuous, gastly, gaping Wounds,
vntwin'd the Sisters three: Come Atropos, I say
Host. Here's good stuffe toward
Fal. Giue me my Rapier, Boy
Dol. I prethee Iack, I prethee doe not draw
Fal. Get you downe stayres
Host. Here's a goodly tumult: Ile forsweare keeping
house, before Ile be in these tirrits, and frights. So: Murther
I warrant now. Alas, alas, put vp your naked Weapons,
put vp your naked Weapons
Dol. I prethee Iack be quiet, the Rascall is gone: ah,
you whorson little valiant Villaine, you
Host.
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