PISTOL. God save you, Sir John! FALSTAFF. Welcome, Ancient Pistol. Here, Pistol, I charge you with a cup of sack; do you discharge upon mine hostess. PISTOL. I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets. FALSTAFF. She is pistol-proof, sir; you shall not hardly offend her. HOSTESS. Come, I'll drink no proofs nor no bullets. I'll drink no more than will do me good, for no man's pleasure, I. PISTOL. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you. DOLL. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor, base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for your master. PISTOL. I know you, Mistress Dorothy. DOLL. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By this wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play the saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir? God's light, with two points on your shoulder? Much! PISTOL. God let me not live but I will murder your ruff for this. FALSTAFF. No more, Pistol; I would not have you go off here. Discharge yourself of our company, Pistol. HOSTESS. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain. DOLL. Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not ashamed to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For tearing a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him, rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A