Give me some sack; and, sweetheart, lie thou there. 196
Come we to full points here, and are et ceteras nothing?
Fal. Pistol, I would be quiet.
Pist. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neif. What!
we have seen the seven stars. 200
Dol. For God's sake, thrust him down stairs!
I cannot endure such a fustian rascal.
Pist. 'Thrust him down stairs!' know we not
Galloway nags? 204
Fal. Quoit him down, Bardolph, like a shove-
groat shilling: nay, an a' do nothing but speak
nothing, a' shall be nothing here.
Bard. Come, get you down stairs. 208
Pist. What! shall we have incision? Shall we imbrue? [Snatching up his sword.]
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say! 212
Host. Here's goodly stuff toward!
Fal. Give me my rapier, boy.
Dol. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not
draw. 216
Fal. Get you down stairs. [Drawing.]
Host. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear
keeping house, afore I'll be in these tirrits and
frights. So; murder, I warrant now. Alas, alas! 220
put up your naked weapons; put up your naked
weapons. [Exeunt Bardolph and Pistol.]
197 full points: a full stop
199 neif: fist
200 seven stars: the Pleiades
202 fustian: nonsensical
204 Galloway nags: small and inferior breed of horses
205 Quoit: pitch
shove-groat; cf. n.
209 imbrue: draw blood
212 Sisters Three: the Fates, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos
213 toward: at hand
219 tirrits: blunder for terrors (?)
