Come on, come on, come on. Give me your hand, sir, give me your hand,

sir. An early stirrer, by the rood! And how doth my good cousin

Silence?

Good morrow, good cousin Shallow.

And how doth my cousin, your bedfellow? And your fairest daughter and

mine, my god-daughter Ellen?

Alas, a black ousel, cousin Shallow!

By yea and no, sir, I dare say my cousin William is become a good

scholar. He is at Oxford still, is he not?

Indeed, sir, to my cost.

He must, then, to the Inns o’ Court shortly. I was once of Clement’s

Inn, where I think they will talk of mad Shallow yet.

You were called “lusty Shallow” then, cousin.

By the mass, I was called anything, and I would have done anything

indeed too, and roundly too. There was I, and little John Doit of

Staffordshire, and black George Barnes, and Francis Pickbone, and Will

Squele, a Cotswold man. You had not four such swinge-bucklers in all

the Inns o’ Court again. And I may say to you, we knew where the

bona-robas were and had the best of them all at commandment. Then was

Jack Falstaff, now Sir John, a boy, and page to Thomas Mowbray, Duke of

Norfolk.

This Sir John, cousin, that comes hither anon about soldiers?

The same Sir John, the very same. I see him break Scoggin’s head at the

court gate, when he was a crack not thus high; and the very same day

did I fight with one Sampson Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray’s Inn.

Jesu, Jesu, the mad days that I have spent! And to see how many of my

old acquaintance are dead!

We shall all follow, cousin.

Certain, ’tis certain, very sure, very sure. Death, as the Psalmist

saith, is certain to all, all shall die. How a good yoke of bullocks at

Stamford fair?

By my troth, I was not there.

Death is certain. Is old Double of your town living yet?

Dead, sir.

Jesu, Jesu, dead! He drew a good bow, and dead! He shot a fine shoot.

John a Gaunt loved him well, and betted much money on his head. Dead!

He would have clapped i’ th’ clout at twelve score, and carried you a

forehand shaft a fourteen and fourteen and a half, that it would have

done a man’s heart good to see. How a score of ewes now?

Thereafter as they be; a score of good ewes may be worth ten pounds.

And is old Double dead?

Here come two of Sir John Falstaff’s men, as I think.

Good morrow, honest gentlemen.

I beseech you, which is Justice Shallow?

I am Robert Shallow, sir, a poor esquire of this county, and one of the

King’s justices of the peace. What is your good pleasure with me?

My captain, sir, commends him to you, my captain, Sir John Falstaff, a

tall gentleman, by heaven, and a most gallant leader.

He greets me well, sir. I knew him a good backsword man. How doth the

good knight? May I ask how my lady his wife doth?

Sir, pardon. A soldier is better accommodated than with a wife.

It is well said, in faith, sir, and it is well said indeed too. “Better

accommodated!” It is good, yea indeed, is it. Good phrases are surely,

and ever were, very commendable. “Accommodated.” It comes of

_accommodo_. Very good, a good phrase.

Pardon, sir, I have heard the word—phrase call you it? By this day, I

know not the phrase, but I will maintain the word with my sword to be a

soldier-like word, and a word of exceeding good command, by heaven.

Accommodated, that is when a man is, as they say, accommodated, or when

a man is being whereby he may be thought to be accommodated; which is

an excellent thing.

It is very just.

Look, here comes good Sir John. Give me your good hand, give me your

worship’s good hand. By my troth, you like well and bear your years

very well. Welcome, good Sir John.

I am glad to see you well, good Master Robert Shallow. Master Surecard,

as I think?

No, Sir John, it is my cousin Silence, in commission with me.

Good Master Silence, it well befits you should be of the peace.

Your good worship is welcome.

Fie, this is hot weather, gentlemen. Have you provided me here half a

dozen sufficient men?

Marry, have we, sir. Will you sit?

Let me see them, I beseech you.

Where’s the roll? Where’s the roll? Where’s the roll? Let me see, let

me see, let me see. So, so, so, so, so, so, so. Yea, marry, sir: Ralph

Mouldy! Let them appear as I call; let them do so, let them do so. Let

me see; where is Mouldy?

Here, an it please you.

What think you, Sir John? A good-limbed fellow, young, strong, and of

good friends.

Is thy name Mouldy?

Yea, an’t please you.

’Tis the more time thou wert used.

Ha, ha, ha! most excellent, i’ faith! Things that are mouldy lack use.

Very singular good, in faith, well said, Sir John, very well said.

Prick him.

I was pricked well enough before, an you could have let me alone. My

old dame will be undone now for one to do her husbandry and her

drudgery. You need not to have pricked me, there are other men fitter

to go out than I.

Go to. Peace, Mouldy; you shall go. Mouldy, it is time you were spent.

Spent?

Peace, fellow, peace. Stand aside. Know you where you are? For

th’other, Sir John. Let me see: Simon Shadow!

Yea, marry, let me have him to sit under. He’s like to be a cold

soldier.

Where’s Shadow?

Here, sir.

Shadow, whose son art thou?

My mother’s son, sir.

Thy mother’s son! Like enough, and thy father’s shadow. So the son of

the female is the shadow of the male. It is often so indeed, but much

of the father’s substance!

Do you like him, Sir John?

Shadow will serve for summer. Prick him, for we have a number of

shadows to fill up the muster-book.

Thomas Wart!

Where’s he?

Here, sir.

Is thy name Wart?

Yea, sir.

Thou art a very ragged wart.

Shall I prick him, Sir John?

It were superfluous, for his apparel is built upon his back, and the

whole frame stands upon pins. Prick him no more.

Ha, ha, ha! You can do it, sir, you can do it. I commend you well.

Francis Feeble!

Here, sir.

What trade art thou, Feeble?

A woman’s tailor, sir.

Shall I prick him, sir?

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?

I will do my good will, sir, you can have no more.

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.

I would Wart might have gone, sir.

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.

It shall suffice, sir.

I am bound to thee, reverend Feeble. Who is next?

Peter Bullcalf o’ th’ green!

Yea, marry, let’s see Bullcalf.

Here, sir.

Fore God, a likely fellow! Come, prick me Bullcalf till he roar again.

O Lord! good my lord captain—

What, dost thou roar before thou art pricked?

O Lord, sir, I am a diseased man.

What disease hast thou?

A whoreson cold, sir, a cough, sir, which I caught with ringing in the

King’s affairs upon his coronation day, sir.

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?

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.

Come, I will go drink with you, but I cannot tarry dinner. I am glad to

see you, by my troth, Master Shallow.

O, Sir John, do you remember since we lay all night in the windmill in

Saint George’s Field?

No more of that, good Master Shallow, no more of that.

Ha, ’twas a merry night. And is Jane Nightwork alive?

She lives, Master Shallow.

She never could away with me.

Never, never; she would always say she could not abide Master Shallow.

By the mass, I could anger her to th’ heart. She was then a bona-roba.

Doth she hold her own well?

Old, old, Master Shallow.

Nay, she must be old, she cannot choose but be old, certain she’s old,

and had Robin Nightwork by old Nightwork before I came to Clement’s

Inn.

That’s fifty-five year ago.

Ha, cousin Silence, that thou hadst seen that that this knight and I

have seen! Ha, Sir John, said I well?

We have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Shallow.

That we have, that we have, that we have; in faith, Sir John, we have.

Our watchword was “Hem boys!” Come, let’s to dinner; come, let’s to

dinner. Jesus, the days that we have seen! Come, come.

Good Master Corporate Bardolph, stand my friend; and here’s four Harry

ten shillings in French crowns for you. In very truth, sir, I had as

lief be hanged, sir, as go. And yet, for mine own part, sir, I do not

care; but rather because I am unwilling, and, for mine own part, have a

desire to stay with my friends; else, sir, I did not care, for mine own

part, so much.

Go to, stand aside.

And, good Master Corporal Captain, for my old dame’s sake, stand my

friend. She has nobody to do anything about her when I am gone, and she

is old, and cannot help herself. You shall have forty, sir.

Go to, stand aside.

By my troth, I care not. A man can die but once. We owe God a death.

I’ll ne’er bear a base mind. An ’t be my destiny, so; an ’t be not, so.

No man’s too good to serve’s prince, and let it go which way it will,

he that dies this year is quit for the next.

Well said, th’art a good fellow.

Faith, I’ll bear no base mind.

Come, sir, which men shall I have?

Four of which you please.

Sir, a word with you. I have three pound to free Mouldy and Bullcalf.

Go to, well.

Come, Sir John, which four will you have?

Do you choose for me.

Marry, then, Mouldy, Bullcalf, Feeble, and Shadow.

Mouldy and Bullcalf: for you, Mouldy, stay at home till you are past

service; and for your part, Bullcalf, grow till you come unto it. I

will none of you.

Sir John, Sir John, do not yourself wrong. They are your likeliest men,

and I would have you served with the best.

Will you tell me, Master Shallow, how to choose a man? Care I for the

limb, the thews, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man? Give

me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here’s Wart. You see what a ragged

appearance it is. He shall charge you and discharge you with the motion

of a pewterer’s hammer, come off and on swifter than he that gibbets on

the brewer’s bucket. And this same half-faced fellow, Shadow; give me

this man. He presents no mark to the enemy. The foeman may with as

great aim level at the edge of a penknife. And for a retreat, how

swiftly will this Feeble, the woman’s tailor, run off! O, give me the

spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver into Wart’s

hand, Bardolph.

Hold, Wart. Traverse. Thas, thas, thas.

Come, manage me your caliver. So, very well, go to, very good,

exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old, chopt, bald

shot. Well said, i’ faith, Wart. Th’art a good scab. Hold, there’s a

tester for thee.

He is not his craft’s master, he doth not do it right. I remember at

Mile-End Green, when I lay at Clement’s Inn—I was then Sir Dagonet in

Arthur’s show—there was a little quiver fellow, and he would manage you

his piece thus. And he would about and about, and come you in and come

you in. “Rah, tah, tah,” would he say. “Bounce” would he say; and away

again would he go, and again would he come. I shall ne’er see such a

fellow.

These fellows will do well. Master Shallow. God keep you, Master

Silence: I will not use many words with you. Fare you well, gentlemen

both. I thank you. I must a dozen mile tonight. Bardolph, give the

soldiers coats.

Sir John, the Lord bless you! God prosper your affairs! God send us

peace! At your return, visit our house, let our old acquaintance be

renewed. Peradventure I will with ye to the court.

Fore God, I would you would, Master Shallow.

Go to, I have spoke at a word. God keep you.

Fare you well, gentle gentlemen. [_Exeunt Justices_.] On, Bardolph,

lead the men away. [_Exeunt Bardolph, recruits, &c._] As I return, I

will fetch off these justices. I do see the bottom of Justice Shallow.

Lord, Lord, how subject we old men are to this vice of lying! This same

starved justice hath done nothing but prate to me of the wildness of

his youth, and the feats he hath done about Turnbull Street, and every

third word a lie, duer paid to the hearer than the Turk’s tribute. I do

remember him at Clement’s Inn, like a man made after supper of a

cheese-paring. When he was naked, he was, for all the world, like a

forked radish, with a head fantastically carved upon it with a knife.

He was so forlorn, that his dimensions to any thick sight were

invincible. He was the very genius of famine, yet lecherous as a

monkey, and the whores called him mandrake. He came ever in the

rearward of the fashion, and sung those tunes to the overscutched

huswives that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his

fancies or his good-nights. And now is this Vice’s dagger become a

squire, and talks as familiarly of John a Gaunt as if he had been sworn

brother to him, and I’ll be sworn he ne’er saw him but once in the

tilt-yard, and then he burst his head for crowding among the marshal’s

men. I saw it and told John a Gaunt he beat his own name, for you might

have thrust him and all his apparel into an eel-skin; the case of a

treble hautboy was a mansion for him, a court. And now has he land and

beefs. Well, I’ll be acquainted with him if I return, and ’t shall go

hard but I’ll make him a philosopher’s two stones to me. If the young

dace be a bait for the old pike, I see no reason in the law of nature

but I may snap at him. Let time shape, and there an end.