FALSTAFF. ’Tis no matter for the name; the play ’s the thing, the name is mere hollowness and sound. Here, you fellow with the dog, you whoreson shaveling of a man, what is thy name? LAUNCE. They call me Launce, an’ it doth please you, sir. FALSTAFF. How if I do not please? Marry, and what is _then_ thy name? Answer to that. LAUNCE. I could never i’ the world tell that, sir, and no more, indeed, sir, could my dog Crab that’s here, who, saving your presence, is the most hard-hearted cur alive. FALSTAFF. No exceptions, good Launce; exceptions are the devil’s counters, therefore, beware of exceptions. But hark you, good man Launce. Fetch me here some sack, and let it o’erflow the tankard, too, for I’ve a thirst upon me such as Hercules came most honestly by after his twelve labours. LAUNCE. Please you, sir, I do not know the meanings of sack and Hercules. I did never see either of the gentlemen you speak of. FALSTAFF. ’Tis no matter for Hercules, but, God’s pity for ’t, to be unacquainted with sack is to have lived as a dead man liveth. Sack, good Launce, is the prince of roystering blades; the pearl of price; the nonpareil of the world, the--nay, there’s no fit comparison to be made. Ambrosia and nectar together were but ashes i’ the mouth to ’t. TRINCULO [_coming forward_] You speak nothing aside the matter, sir, as I’m a true man. There’s nought to be named i’ the world before sack, and herein, of all places i’ the world, there’s no inn, no sack, no sack within. So you’ll e’en have to stomach that, though you’ve small stomach to’t. FALSTAFF. Small stomach, say you? An’ you denominate this belly of mine a small stomach, there’s no truth in your tongue. TRINCULO. And no sack in your stomach, either. LAUNCE. These be as fine words as ever I heard. FALSTAFF. Now, Sir Shaveling, and who bade you to speak? LAUNCE. None, sir. I speak but when I have a mind, sir, and I am silent when I have a mind, likewise. FALSTAFF. Have a mind to silence and let bigger men speak for you. LAUNCE. Then I can tell who will do all the tongue-wagging, sir, for I spy none here that is bigger i’ the girth than yourself. FALSTAFF. As for the girth, Shaveling, that cometh of sack. TRINCULO. And pillage of the larder, too, or I’m no true woman’s son.