t murdered some of them.

Fal. Nay, that's past praying for; for I have peppered two of them; two I
am sure I have paid; two rogues in buckram suits. I tell thee what, Hal,
if I tell thee a lie, spit in my face, and call me a horse. Thou knowest
my old ward; (he draws his sword and stands if about to fight) here I lay,
and thus I bore my point. Four rogues in buckram let drive at me--

P. Henry. What! four? Thou saidst but two even now.

Fal. Four, Hal; I told thee four.

Poins. Ay, ay, he said four.

Fal. These four came all afront, and mainly thrust at me. I made no more
ado, but took all their seven points in my target, thus.

P. Henry. Seven? Why, there were but four, even now.

Fal. In buckram?

Poins. Ay, four, in buckram suits.

Fal. Seven, by these hilts, or I am a villain else.

P. Henry. Prithee, let him alone; we shall have more anon.

Fal. Dost thou hear me, Hal?

P. Henry. Ay, and mark thee, too, Jack.

Fal. Do so, for it is worth the listening to. These nine in buckram, that
I told thee of--

P. Henry. So, two more already.

Fal. Their points being broken, began to give me ground; but I followed me
close, came in foot and hand; and, with a thought, seven of the eleven I
paid.

P. Henry. O, monstrous! eleven buckram men grown out of two!

Fal. But three knaves, in Kendal green, came at my back, and let drive at
me; for it was so dark, Hal, that thou couldst not see thy hand.

P. Henry. These lies are like the father of them; gross as a mountain,
open, palpable. Why, thou clay-brained, nott-pated fool; thou greasy
tallow keech--

Fal. What! Art thou mad! Art thou mad? Is not the truth the truth?

P. Henry. Why, how couldst thou know these men in Kendal green, when it
was so dark thou couldst not see thy hand? Come, tell us your reason; what
sayest thou to this?

Poins. Come, your reason, Jack, your reason.

Fal. What, upon compulsion? No, were I at the strappado, or all the racks
in the world, I would not tell you on compulsion. Give you a reason on
compulsion! If reasons were as plentiful as blackberries, I would give no
man a reason on compulsion, I.

P. Henry. I'll be no longer guilty of this sin: this sanguine coward, this
horseback breaker, this huge hill of flesh--

Fal. Away! you starveling, you eel skin, you dried neat's tongue, you
stockfish! Oh for breath to utter what is like thee!--you tailor's yard,
you sheath, you bow case, you--

P. Henry. Well, breathe awhile,