3. SCENE III. London. Before a tavern.
'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was
rheumatic, and talk'd of the whore of Babylon.
Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose,
and 'a said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire?
Well, the fuel is gone that maintain'd that fire. That's all the
riches I got in his service.
Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton.
Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattels and my movables.
Let senses rule; the word is "Pitch and Pay."
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck;
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.
Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,
Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!
And that's but unwholesome food, they say.
Touch her soft mouth, and march.
I cannot kiss; that is the humour of it; but, adieu.
Let housewifery appear. Keep close, I thee command.