Sirrah, do I owe you a thousand pound?
Falst. A thousand pound Hal? A Million. Thy loue is
worth a Million: thou ow'st me thy loue
Host. Nay my Lord, he call'd you Iacke, and said hee
would cudgell you
Fal. Did I, Bardolph?
Bar. Indeed Sir Iohn, you said so
Fal. Yea, if he said my Ring was Copper
Prince. I say 'tis Copper. Dar'st thou bee as good as
thy word now?
Fal. Why Hal? thou know'st, as thou art but a man, I
dare: but, as thou art a Prince, I feare thee, as I feare the
roaring of the Lyons Whelpe
Prince. And why not as the Lyon?
Fal. The King himselfe is to bee feared as the Lyon:
Do'st thou thinke Ile feare thee, as I feare thy Father? nay
if I do, let my Girdle breake
Prin. O, if it should, how would thy guttes fall about
thy knees. But sirra: There's no roome for Faith, Truth,
nor Honesty, in this bosome of thine: it is all fill'd vppe
with Guttes and Midriffe. Charge an honest Woman
with picking thy pocket? Why thou horson impudent
imbost Rascall, if there were any thing in thy Pocket but
Tauerne Recknings, Memorandums of Bawdie-houses,
and one poore peny-worth of Sugar-candie to make thee
long-winded: if thy pocket were enrich'd with anie other
iniuries but these, I am a Villaine: And yet you will
stand to it, you will not Pocket vp wrong.
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