'Steal' foh! A fico for the
phrase!
FALSTAFF. Well, sirs, I am almost out at heels.
PISTOL. Why, then, let kibes ensue.
FALSTAFF. There is no remedy; I must cony-catch; I must
shift.
PISTOL. Young ravens must have food.
FALSTAFF. Which of you know Ford of this town?
PISTOL. I ken the wight; he is of substance good.
FALSTAFF. My honest lads, I will tell you what I am about.
PISTOL. Two yards, and more.
FALSTAFF. No quips now, Pistol. Indeed, I am in the waist
two yards about; but I am now about no waste; I am about
thrift. Briefly, I do mean to make love to Ford's wife; I
spy entertainment in her; she discourses, she carves, she
gives the leer of invitation; I can construe the action of
her
familiar style; and the hardest voice of her behaviour, to be
English'd rightly, is 'I am Sir John Falstaff's.'
PISTOL. He hath studied her well, and translated her will out
of honesty into English.
NYM. The anchor is deep; will that humour pass?
FALSTAFF. Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her
husband's purse; he hath a legion of angels.
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