O, Glendower.

Come, let's hear, Jack; what trick hast thou now?

Mark, Jack.

Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

Down fell their hose.

Ay, four, in buckram suits.

Ay, ay, he said four.

'Zounds, ye fat paunch, an ye call me coward, by the
Lord, I'll stab thee.

Welcome, Jack: where hast thou been?

As merry as crickets, my lad. But hark ye; what
cunning match have you made with this jest of the
drawer? come, what's the issue?

Anon, anon, sir.

Within Francis!

Within Francis!

Within Francis!

Within Francis!

Within Francis!

Francis!

Francis!

Where hast been, Hal?

How the rogue roar'd!

Villains!

Stand close; I hear them coming.

Here, hard by: stand close.

Sirrah Jack, thy horse stands behind the hedge:
when thou needest him, there thou shalt find him.
Farewell, and stand fast.

O, 'tis our setter: I know his voice. Bardolph,
what news?

Come, shelter, shelter: I have removed Falstaff's
horse, and he frets like a gummed velvet.

Farewell, my lord.

Well, for two of them, I know them to be as
true-bred cowards as ever turned back; and for the
third, if he fight longer than he sees reason, I'll
forswear arms. The virtue of this jest will be, the
incomprehensible lies that this same fat rogue will
tell ...

Tut! our horses they shall not see: I'll tie them
in the wood; our vizards we will change after we
leave them: and, sirrah, I have cases of buckram
for the nonce, to immask our noted outward garments.

Why, we will set forth before or after them, and
appoint them a place of meeting, wherein it is at
our pleasure to fail, and then will they adventure
upon the exploit themselves; which they shall have
no sooner achieved, but we'll set upon them.

Now, my good sweet honey lord, ride with us
to-morrow: I have a jest to execute that I cannot
manage alone. Falstaff, Bardolph, Peto and Gadshill
shall rob those men that we have already waylaid:
yourself and I will not be there; and when they
have the booty, if you ...

Sir John, I prithee, leave the prince and me alone:
I will lay him down such reasons for this adventure
that he shall go.

You will, chops?

But, my lads, my lads, to-morrow morning, by four
o'clock, early at Gadshill! there are pilgrims going
to Canterbury with rich offerings, and traders
riding to London with fat purses: I have vizards
for you all; you have horses for yourselves:
Gadshill lies to-night in Rochester: I have bespoke ...

Then art thou damned for keeping thy word with the devil.

Good morrow, sweet Hal. What says Monsieur Remorse?
what says Sir John Sack and Sugar? Jack! how
agrees the devil and thee about thy soul, that thou
soldest him on Good-Friday last for a cup of Madeira
and a cold capon's leg?