Where the devil are all my old
thieves, that were wont to keep this walk? Falstaff, the
villain, is so fat, he cannot get on's horse, but me thinks
Poines and Peto should be stirring here about.
SIR JOHN.
How much is there on't, of thy word?
KING.
A hundred pound in Angels, on my word.
The time has been I would have done as much
For thee, if thou hadst past this way, as I have now.
SIR JOHN.
Sirra, what art thou? thou seem'st a gentleman.
KING.
I am no less; yet a poor one now, for thou hast all my money.
SIR JOHN.
>From whence cam'st thou?
KING.
>From the court at Eltham.
SIR JOHN.
Art thou one of the King's servants?
KING.
Yes, that I am, and one of his chamber.
SIR JOHN.
I am glad thou art no worse; thou mayest the better spare thy
money: & thinkst thou thou mightst get a poor thief his
pardon, if he should have need.
KING.
Yes, that I can.
SIR JOHN.
Wilt thou do so much for me, when I shall have occasion?
KING.
Yes, faith will I, so it be for no murther.
SIR JOHN.
Nay, I am a pitiful thief; all the hurt I do a man, I take but
his purse; I'll kill no man.
KING.
Then, of my word, I'll do it.
SIR JOHN.
Give me thy hand of the same.
KING.
There tis.
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