Shallow.—­Peace, fellow, peace!  Stand aside; know you where you are?  For the next, Sir John; let me see.—­Simon Shadow?

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

Shallow.—­Where’s Shadow?

Shadow.—­Here, sir.

Falstaff.—­Shadow, whose son art thou?

Shadow.—­My mother’s son, sir.

Falstaff.—­Thy mother’s son!  Like enough, and thy father’s shadow.  Prick him.  Shadow will serve for summer.

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.—­Ha, ha, ha!  Shall I prick him down, 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.—­I’m a woman’s tailor, sir.

Falstaff.—­Well, good woman’s tailor, 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 me the woman’s tailor well, Master Shallow; deep, Master Shallow.

Feeble.—­I would Wart might have gone, too, sir.

Falstaff.—­I would thou wert a man’s tailor, that thou mightst mend him and make him fit to go.  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’ the 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’m a diseased man.

Falstaff.—­What disease hast thou?

Bullcalf.—­A terrible cold, sir, a cough, sir.

Falstaff.—­Come, thou shalt go to the wars in a gown.  We will have away with thy cold.  Is here all?

Shallow.—­Here is two more 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.