Boys of art, I have
deceiv'd you both; I have
directed
you to wrong places;
your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt
sack be the issue.
Shakespeare
CAIUS. Ay, dat is very good! excellent!
HOST. Peace, I say. Hear mine host of the Garter. Am I
politic? am I subtle? am I a Machiavel? Shall I lose my
doctor? No; he gives me the potions and the motions. Shall I
lose my parson, my priest, my Sir Hugh? No; he gives me
the proverbs and the noverbs. Give me thy hand, terrestrial;
so. Give me thy hand, celestial; so.
Boys of art, I have
deceiv'd you both; I have
directed
you to wrong places;
your hearts are mighty, your skins are whole, and let burnt
sack be the issue.
Come, lay their swords to pawn. Follow
me, lads of peace; follow, follow, follow.
SHALLOW. Trust me, a mad host. Follow, gentlemen, follow.
SLENDER. [Aside] O sweet Anne Page!
Exeunt all but CAIUS and EVANS
CAIUS. Ha, do I perceive dat? Have you make-a de sot of us,
ha, ha?
EVANS. This is well; he has made us his vlouting-stog. I
desire you that we may be friends; and let us knog our prains
together to be revenge on this same scall, scurvy, cogging
companion, the host of the Garter.
CAIUS. By gar, with all my heart.
