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with straw. I beseech you, good Sir John, let me have five hundred of thousand.
FAL. Sir, I will be as good as my word: this that you
heard was but a colour. SHAL. A colour that I fear you will die in, Sir John.
Fal. Fear no colours: go with me to dinner: come, Lieutenant Pistol ; come, Bardolph: I shall be sent for soon at night. Re-enter PRINCE John, the Lord Chief-Justice;
Officers with them.
Fal. My lord, my lord,
Take them away.
[Exeunt all but PRINCE John and the
CH. Just. And so they are.
We bear our civil swords and native fire
SPOKEN BY A DANCER,
First my fear; then my courtesy; last my speech. My fear is, your displeasure ; my courtesy, my duty ; and my speech, to beg your pardons. If you look for a good speech now, you undo me: for what I have to say is of mine own making; and what indeed I should say will, I doubt, prove mine own marring. But to the purpose, and so to the venture. Be it known to you, as it is very well, I was lately here in the end of a displeasing play, to pray your patience for it and to promise you a better. I meant indeed to pay you
with this; which, if like an ill venture it come unluckily home, I break, and you, my gentle creditors, lose. Here I promised you I would be and here I commit my body to your mercies : bate me some and I will pay you some and, as most debtors do, promise you infinitely
If my tongue cannot entreat you to acquit me, will you command me to use my legs ? and yet that nere but light payment, to dance out of your debt. But a good conscience will make any possible satisfaction, and so would I. All the gentlewomen here have forgiven
me : if the gentlemen will not, then the gentlemen do
with the gentlewomen, which was never seen before in such an assembly.
One word more, I beseech you. If you be not too much cloyed with fat meat, our humble author will continue the story, with Sir John in it, and make you merry with fair Katharine of France: where, for any thing I know, Falstaff shall die of a sweat, unless already a' be killed with your hard opinions ; for Oldcastle died a martyr, and this is not the man. My tongue is weary; when my legs are too, I will bid you good night : and so kneel down before you ; but, indeed, to pray for the queen.
Edinburgh : T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty