_Prince._ That ever this fellow should have fewer words than a parrot, and yet the son of a woman! His industry 95 is up-stairs and down-stairs; his eloquence the parcel of a reckoning. I am not yet of Percy's mind, the Hotspur of the north; he that kills me some six or seven dozen of Scots at a breakfast, washes his hands, and says[2426] to his wife 'Fie upon this quiet life! I want work.' 'O 100 my sweet Harry,' says she, 'how many hast thou killed to-day?' 'Give my roan horse a drench,' says he; and answers 'Some fourteen,' an hour after; 'a trifle, a trifle.' I prithee, call in Falstaff: I'll play Percy, and that damned brawn shall play Dame Mortimer his wife. 'Rivo!' says[2427] 105 the drunkard. Call in ribs, call in tallow. _Enter_ FALSTAFF, GADSHILL, BARDOLPH, _and_ PETO; FRANCIS _following with wine_.[2428] _Poins._ Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been? _Fal._ 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[2429] 110 them and foot them too. A plague of all cowards! Give[2430] me a cup of sack, rogue. Is there no virtue extant? [_He drinks._[2431] _Prince._ Didst thou never see Titan kiss a dish of[2432] butter? pitiful-hearted Titan, that melted at the sweet tale[2432][2433][2434] of the sun's! if thou didst, then behold that compound.[2434][2435] 115 _Fal._ You rogue, here's lime in this sack too: there is nothing but roguery to be found in villanous man: yet[2436] a coward is worse than a cup of sack with lime in it. A[2437] villanous coward! Go thy ways, old Jack; die when thou wilt, if manhood, good manhood, be not forgot upon the 120 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.[2438] 125 _Prince._ How now, wool-sack! what mutter you? _Fal._ 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! 130 _Prince._ Why, you whoreson round man, what's the[2439] matter? _Fal._ Are not you a coward? answer me to that: and[2440] Poins there? _Poins._ 'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward,[2441] 135 by the Lord, I'll stab thee.[2442]