Fal. Thou art a very ragged Wart Shal. Shall I pricke him downe, Sir Iohn? Falst. It were superfluous: for his apparrel is built vpon his backe, and the whole frame stands vpon pins: prick him no more Shal. Ha, ha, ha, you can do it sir: you can doe it: I commend you well. Francis Feeble Feeble. Heere sir Shal. What Trade art thou Feeble? Feeble. A Womans Taylor sir Shal. Shall I pricke him, sir? Fal. You may: But if he had beene a mans Taylor, he would haue prick'd you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemies Battaile, as thou hast done in a Womans petticote? Feeble. I will doe my good will sir, you can haue no more Falst. Well said, good Womans Tailour: Well sayde Couragious Feeble: thou wilt bee as valiant as the wrathfull Doue, or most magnanimous Mouse. Pricke the womans Taylour well Master Shallow, deepe Maister Shallow Feeble. I would Wart might haue gone sir Fal. I would thou wert a mans Tailor, that y might'st mend him, and make him fit to goe. I cannot put him to a priuate souldier, that is the Leader of so many thousands. Let that suffice, most Forcible Feeble Feeble. It shall suffice Falst. I am bound to thee, reuerend Feeble. Who is the next? Shal. Peter Bulcalfe of the Greene Falst. Yea marry, let vs see Bulcalfe Bul. Heere sir Fal. Trust me, a likely Fellow. Come, pricke me Bulcalfe till he roare againe Bul. Oh, good my Lord Captaine Fal. What? do'st thou roare before th'art prickt Bul. Oh sir, I am a diseased man Fal. What disease hast thou? Bul. A whorson cold sir, a cough sir, which I caught with Ringing in the Kings affayres, vpon his Coronation day, sir Fal. Come, thou shalt go to the Warres in a Gowne: we will haue away thy Cold, and I will take such order, that thy friends shall ring for thee. Is heere all? Shal. There is two more called then your number: you must haue but foure heere sir, and so I pray you go in with me to dinner Fal. Come, I will goe drinke with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you in good troth, Master Shallow Shal. O sir Iohn, doe you remember since wee lay all night in the Winde-mill, in S[aint]. Georges Field Falstaffe. No more of that good Master Shallow: No more of that Shal. Ha? it was a merry night. And is Iane Nightworke aliue? Fal. She liues, M[aster]. Shallow Shal. She neuer could away with me Fal. Neuer, neuer: she would alwayes say shee could not abide M[aster]. Shallow Shal. I could anger her to the heart: shee was then a Bona-Roba. Doth she hold her owne well Fal. Old, old, M[aster]. Shallow Shal. Nay, she must be old, she cannot choose but be old: certaine shee's old: and had Robin Night-worke, by old Night-worke, before I came to Clements Inne Sil. That's fiftie fiue yeeres agoe