Pistol

Pistol
Bardolph,
be blithe.—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins.— Boy,
bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff, he is dead, and
we must earn therefore.
Bardolph
Would I were with him, wheresome’er he
is, either in heaven or in hell.

Trust none, for oaths are straws,
men’s faiths are wafer-cakes

Hostess
Nay,
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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.
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Bardolph
On, on, on, on, on! To the breach, to the breach!
Nym
Pray thee, corporal, stay. The knocks are too hot,
and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives.
The humor of it is too hot; that is the very plainsong
of it.

Would I were in an alehouse in London!
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Pistol
What are his words?
Boy
He prays you to save his life. He is a gentleman of a
good house, and for his ransom he will give you two
hundred crowns.

I did never know so full a voice issue from
so empty a heart. But the saying is true:
“The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.”

Pistol
Tell him my fury shall abate,
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Shallow
Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with
news from the court, I take it there’s but two ways,
either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir,
under the King in some authority.
Pistol 
Under which king, besonian? Speak or die.

“Where is the life that late I led?” say they.
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Falstaff
God save thy Grace, King Hal, my royal Hal.
Pistol
The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal
imp of fame!
Falstaff
God save thee, my sweet boy!

Presume not that I am the thing I was,
For God doth know—so shall the world perceive—
That I have turned away my former self

King
My Lord Chief Justice,
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