DOLPH. It is a life that I have desired; I will thrive.
PISTOL. O base Hungarian wight! Wilt thou the spigot wield?
NYM. He was gotten in drink. Is not the humour conceited?
FALSTAFF. I am glad I am so acquit of this tinder-box: his thefts were too open; his filching was like an unskilful singer--he kept not time.
NYM. The good humour is to steal at a minim's rest.
PISTOL. 'Convey' the wise it call. '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 lov