Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Pist. Solus, egregious dog? O Viper vile; The solus in thy most meruailous face, the solus in thy teeth, and in thy throate, and in thy hatefull Lungs, yea in thy Maw perdy; and which is worse, within thy nastie mouth. I do retort the solus in thy bowels, for I can take, and Pi-stols cocke is vp, and flashing fire will follow.
Nym. Nym.
Nym. I am not Barbason, you cannot coniure mee: I haue an humor to knocke you indifferently well: If you grow fowle with me Pistoll, I will scoure you with my Rapier, as I may, in fayre tearmes. If you would walke off, I would pricke your guts a little in good tearmes, as I may, and that's the humor of it.
Pist. Pist.
Pist. O Braggard vile, and damned furious wight,
Pist. The Graue doth gape, and doting death is neere,
Pist. Therefore exhale.
Bar. Bar.
Bar. Heare me, heare me what I say: Hee that strikes the first stroake, Ile run him vp to the hilts, as I am a sol-dier.
Pist. An oath of mickle might, and fury shall abate. Giue me thy fist, thy fore-foote to me giue: Thy spirites are most tall.
Nym. I will cut thy throate one time or other in faire termes, that is the humor of it.
Pistoll. Pistoll.
Pistoll. Couple a gorge, that is the word, I defie thee a- gaine. O hound of Creet, think'st thou my spouse to get? No, to the spittle goe, and from the Poudring tub of in famy, fetch forth the Lazar Kite of Cressids kinde, Doll Teare-sheete, she by name, and her espouse. I haue, and I will hold the Quondam Quickely for the onely shee: and Pauca, there's enough to go to.
Pistoll. Enter the Boy.
Boy. Boy.
Boy. Mine Hoast Pistoll, you must come to my May- ster, and your Hostesse: He is very sicke, & would to bed. Good Bardolfe, put thy face betweene his sheets, and do the Office of a Warming-pan: Faith, he's very ill.
Bard. Bard.
Bard. Away you Rogue.