Sir John Falstaff.--A plague of all cowards, I say, and a vengeance too! marry, and amen!--Give me a cup of sack, boy.--Ere I lead this life long, I’ll sew nether-stocks, and mend them, and foot them too. A plague of all cowards!--Give me a cup of sack, rogue.--Is there no virtue extant? [He drinks The Prince of Wales.]--Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale of the sun! if thou didst, then behold that compound. Sir John Falstaff.--You rogue, here’s lime in this sack too: There is nothing but roguery to be found in villainous man: Yet a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it; a villainous coward.--Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the face of the earth, then am I a shotten herring. There live not three good men unhanged in England; and one of them is fat, and grows old: God help the while! a bad world, I say. I would I were a weaver; I could sing psalms or any thing: A plague of all cowards, I say still. The Prince of Wales.--How now, wool-sack! what mutter you? Sir John Falstaff.--A king’s son! If I do not beat thee out of thy kingdom with a dagger of lath, and drive all thy subjects afore thee like a flock of wild geese, I’ll never wear hair on my face more. You prince of Wales! Prince of Wales.--Why, you abominable round man! what’s the matter? Sir John Falstaff.--Are you not a coward? answer me to that; and Poins there? Mr. Poins.--‘Zounds! ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, I’ll stab thee. Sir John Falstaff.--I call thee coward! I’ll see thee damned ere I call thee coward: but I would give a thousand pound I could run as fast as thou canst. You are straight enough in the shoulders, you care not who sees your back. Call you that backing of your friends? A plague upon such backing! give me them that will face me.--Give me a cup of sack:--I am a rogue, if I drunk to-day. The Prince of Wales.--O villain! thy lips are scarce wiped since thou drunk’st last. Sir John Falstaff.--All’s one for that. [He drinks.] A plague of all cowards, still say I. The Prince of Wales.--What’s the matter? Sir John Falstaff.--What’s the matter? there be four of us here have ta’en a thousand pound this day morning. The Prince of Wales.--Where is it, Jack? where is it? Sir John Falstaff.--Where is it? Taken from us it is: a hundred upon poor four of us. The Prince of Wales.--What, a hundred, man? Sir John Falstaff.--I am a rogue, if I were not at half-sword with a dozen of them two hours together. I have ‘scap’d by miracle. I am eight times thrust through the doublet; four through the hose; my buckler cut through and through; my sword hacked like a handsaw, ecce signum. I never dealt better since I was a man; all would not do. A plague of all cowards!--Let them speak: if they speak more or less than truth, they are villains, and the sons of darkness. [Illustration; 113] The Prince of Wales.--Speak, sirs; how was it?