Come shelter, shelter, I haue remoued
Horse, and he frets like a gum'd Veluet.
Poines, Poines, and be hang'd
Peace ye fat‑kidney'd Rascall,
dost thou keepe.
He is walk'd vp to the top of the hill, Ile go seek
I am accurst to rob in that Theefe company: that
Rascall hath remoued my Horse, and tied him I know not
where. If I trauell but foure foot by the squire further a
foote, I shall breake my winde. Well, I doubt not but
to dye a faire death for all this, if I scape hanging for kil
ling that Rogue, I haue forsworne his company hourely
any time this two and twenty yeare, & yet I am bewitcht
with the Rogues company. If the Rascall haue not giuen
me medicines to make me loue him, Ile be hang'd; it could
not be else: I haue drunke Medicines.
Poines, Hal, a
Plague vpon you both.
Bardolph, Peto: Ile starue ere I
rob a foote further. And 'twere not as good a deede as to
drinke, to turne True‑man, and to leaue these Rogues, I
am the veriest Varlet that euer chewed with a Tooth.
Eight yards of vneuen ground, is threescore & ten miles
afoot with me: and the stony‑hearted Villaines knowe it
well enough, A plague vpon't, when Theeues cannot be
true one to another.
Whew: a plague light vpon you all. Giue my Horse you
Rogues: giue me my Horse, and be hang'd.
Peace ye fat guttes, lye downe, lay thine eare
close to the ground, and list if thou can heare the tread of
Haue you any Leauers to lift me vp again being
downe? Ile not beare mine owne flesh so far afoot again,
for all the coine in thy Fathers Exchequer. What a plague
meane ye to colt me thus?
Thou ly'st, thou art not colted, thou art vncolted.
I prethee good Prince
Hal, help me to my horse,
good Kings sonne.
Out you Rogue, shall I be your Ostler?
Go hang thy selfe in thine owne heire‑apparant‑
Garters: If I be tane, Ile peach for this: and I haue not
Ballads made on all, snd sung to filthy tunes, let a Cup of
Sacke be my poyson: when a iest is so forward, & a foote
too, I hate it.
So I do against my will.
O 'tis our Setter, I know his voyce:
Bardolfe, what newes?
Case ye, case ye; on with your Vizards, there's
mony of the Kings comming downe the hill, 'tis
to the Kings Exchequer.
You lie you rogue, 'tis going to the Kings Tauern.
There's enough to make vs all.