FALSTAFF. Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him, for we have a number of shadows to fill up the muster-book. SHALLOW. Thomas Wart! FALSTAFF. Where’s he? WART. Here, sir. FALSTAFF. Is thy name Wart? WART. Yea, sir. FALSTAFF. Thou art a very ragged wart. SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, Sir John? FALSTAFF. It were superfluous, for his apparel is built upon his back, and the whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no more. SHALLOW. Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir, you can do it. I commend you well. Francis Feeble! FEEBLE. Here, sir. FALSTAFF. What trade art thou, Feeble? FEEBLE. A woman’s tailor, sir. SHALLOW. Shall I prick him, sir? FALSTAFF. You may; but if he had been a man’s tailor, he’d ha’ pricked you. Wilt thou make as many holes in an enemy’s battle as thou hast done in a woman’s petticoat? FEEBLE. I will do my good will, sir, you can have no more. FALSTAFF. Well said, good woman’s tailor! Well said, courageous Feeble! Thou wilt be as valiant as the wrathful dove or most magnanimous mouse. Prick the woman’s tailor: well, Master Shallow, deep, Master Shallow. FEEBLE. I would Wart might have gone, sir. FALSTAFF. I would thou wert a man’s tailor, that thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go. I cannot put him to a private soldier that is the leader of so many thousands. Let that suffice, most forcible Feeble. FEEBLE. It shall suffice, sir. FALSTAFF. I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next? SHALLOW. Peter Bullcalf o’ th’ green! FALSTAFF. Yea, marry, let’s see Bullcalf. BULLCALF. Here, sir. FALSTAFF. Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till he roar again. BULLCALF. O Lord! good my lord captain— FALSTAFF. What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked? BULLCALF. O Lord, sir, I am a diseased man. FALSTAFF. What disease hast thou? BULLCALF. A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with ringing in the King’s affairs upon his coronation day, sir. FALSTAFF. Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown; we will have away thy cold, and I will take such order that thy friends shall ring for thee. Is here all? SHALLOW. Here is two more called than your number; you must have but four here, sir; and so, I pray you, go in with me to dinner. FALSTAFF. Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to see you, by my troth, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the windmill in Saint George’s Field? FALSTAFF. No more of that, good Master Shallow, no more of that. SHALLOW. Ha, ’twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive? FALSTAFF. She lives, Master Shallow. SHALLOW. She never could away with me. FALSTAFF. Never, never; she would always say she could not abide Master Shallow. SHALLOW. By the mass, I could anger her to th’ heart. She was then a bona-roba. Doth she hold her own well? FALSTAFF. Old, old, Master Shallow.