PRINCE. See now whether pure fear and entire cowardice doth not make thee wrong this virtuous gentlewoman to close with us. Is she of the wicked? Is thine hostess here of the wicked? Or is thy boy of the wicked? Or honest Bardolph, whose zeal burns in his nose, of the wicked? POINS. Answer, thou dead elm, answer. FALSTAFF. The fiend hath pricked down Bardolph irrecoverable, and his face is Lucifer’s privy-kitchen, where he doth nothing but roast malt-worms. For the boy, there is a good angel about him, but the devil outbids him too. PRINCE. For the women? FALSTAFF. For one of them, she’s in hell already, and burns poor souls. For th’ other, I owe her money, and whether she be damned for that I know not. HOSTESS. No, I warrant you. FALSTAFF. No, I think thou art not, I think thou art quit for that. Marry, there is another indictment upon thee, for suffering flesh to be eaten in thy house, contrary to the law, for the which I think thou wilt howl. HOSTESS. All victuallers do so. What’s a joint of mutton or two in a whole Lent? PRINCE. You, gentlewoman. DOLL. What says your Grace? FALSTAFF. His grace says that which his flesh rebels against. [Peto _knocks at door._] HOSTESS. Who knocks so loud at door? Look to th’ door there, Francis. Enter Peto. PRINCE. Peto, how now, what news? PETO. The King your father is at Westminster, And there are twenty weak and wearied posts Come from the north: and as I came along, I met and overtook a dozen captains, Bareheaded, sweating, knocking at the taverns, And asking everyone for Sir John Falstaff. PRINCE. By heaven, Poins, I feel me much to blame, So idly to profane the precious time, When tempest of commotion, like the south Borne with black vapour, doth begin to melt And drop upon our bare unarmed heads. Give me my sword and cloak. Falstaff, good night. [_Exeunt Prince, Poins, Peto and Bardolph._] FALSTAFF. Now comes in the sweetest morsel of the night, and we must hence and leave it unpicked. [_Knocking within_.] More knocking at the door? Enter Bardolph. How now, what’s the matter? BARDOLPH. You must away to court, sir, presently. A dozen captains stay at door for you. FALSTAFF. [_To the Page_.] Pay the musicians, sirrah. Farewell, hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of merit are sought after. The undeserver may sleep, when the man of action is called on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent away post, I will see you again ere I go. DOLL. I cannot speak; if my heart be not ready to burst—well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself. FALSTAFF. Farewell, farewell. [_Exeunt Falstaff and Bardolph._] HOSTESS. Well, fare thee well. I have known thee these twenty-nine years, come peascod-time; but an honester and truer-hearted man—well, fare thee well. BARDOLPH. [_Within_.] Mistress Tearsheet! HOSTESS. What’s the matter? BARDOLPH. [_Within_.] Bid Mistress Tearsheet come to my master.