Act 4 - Scene 2
A public road near Coventry.
Enter FALSTAFF and BARDOLPH
Bardolph, get thee before to Coventry; fill me a
bottle of sack: our soldiers shall march through;
Sutton Co'fil' tonight.
Will you give me money, captain?
Lay out, lay out.
This bottle makes an angel.
An if it do, take it for thy labour; and if it make
twenty, take them all; I'll answer the coinage. Bid
Peto meet me at town's end.
I will, captain: farewell.
If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I am a soused
gurnet. I have misused the king's press damnably.
have got, in exchange of a hundred and fifty
soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I press me
but good house-holders, yeoman's sons; inquire
me out contracted bachelors, such as had been asked
on the banns; such a commodity of warm slaves,
as had as lieve hear the devil as a drum; such as
the report of a caliver worse than a struck
fowl or a hurt wild-duck. I pressed me none but such
and-butter, with hearts in their bellies no
bigger than pins' heads, and they have bought out
their services; and
now my whole charge consists of
ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of
companies, slaves as
ragged as Lazarus in the
painted cloth, where the glutton's dogs licked his
sores; and such as indeed
were never soldiers, but
discarded unjust serving-men, younger sons to
younger brothers, revolted tapsters
trade-fallen, the cankers of a calm world and a
long peace, ten times more dishonourable
an old faced ancient: and such have I, to fill up
the rooms of them that have bought out their
that you would think that I had a hundred
and fifty tattered prodigals lately come from
from eating draff and husks. A mad
fellow met me on the way and told me I had unloaded
all the gibbets
and pressed the dead bodies. No eye
hath seen such scarecrows. I'll not march through
them, that's flat: nay, and the
villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had
gyves on; for indeed I had
the most of them out of
prison. There's but a shirt and a half in all my
company; and the half shirt is two
together and thrown over the shoulders like an
herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt,
the truth, stolen from my host at Saint Alban's, or
the red-nose innkeeper of Daventry. But that's
one; they'll find linen enough on every hedge.
Enter the PRINCE and WESTMORELAND
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