Speeches (Lines) for Doll Tearsheet in "History of Henry IV, Part II"

Mistress Quickly. I' faith, sweetheart, methinks now you are in an
good temperality. Your pulsidge beats as extraordinarily as
would desire; and your colour, I warrant you, is as red as
rose, in good truth, la! But, i' faith, you have drunk too
canaries; and that's a marvellous searching wine, and it
the blood ere one can say 'What's this?' How do you now?

Doll Tearsheet. Better than I was--hem.

Falstaff. So is all her sect; and they be once in a calm, they
sick.

Doll Tearsheet. A pox damn you, you muddy rascal! Is that all the comfort
give me?

Falstaff. You make fat rascals, Mistress Doll.

Doll Tearsheet. I make them! Gluttony and diseases make them: I make them
not.

Falstaff. If the cook help to make the gluttony, you help to
the diseases, Doll. We catch of you, Doll, we catch of you;
that, my poor virtue, grant that.

Doll Tearsheet. Yea, joy, our chains and our jewels.

Falstaff. 'Your brooches, pearls, and ouches.' For to serve
is to come halting off; you know, to come off the breach with
pike bent bravely, and to surgery bravely; to venture upon
charg'd chambers bravely--

Doll Tearsheet. Hang yourself, you muddy conger, hang yourself!

Mistress Quickly. By my troth, this is the old fashion; you two never
but you fall to some discord. You are both, i' good truth, as
rheumatic as two dry toasts; you cannot one bear with
confirmities. What the good-year! one must bear, and that
you. You are the weaker vessel, as as they say, the emptier
vessel.

Doll Tearsheet. Can a weak empty vessel bear such a huge full hogs-head?
There's a whole merchant's venture of Bourdeaux stuff in him;
have not seen a hulk better stuff'd in the hold. Come, I'll
friends with thee, Jack. Thou art going to the wars; and
I shall ever see thee again or no, there is nobody cares.

Francis. Sir, Ancient Pistol's below and would speak with you.

Doll Tearsheet. Hang him, swaggering rascal! Let him not come hither; it
the foul-mouth'dst rogue in England.

Mistress Quickly. Cheater, call you him? I will bar no honest man my
nor no cheater; but I do not love swaggering, by my troth. I
the worse when one says 'swagger.' Feel, masters, how I
look you, I warrant you.

Doll Tearsheet. So you do, hostess.

Pistol. Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.

Doll Tearsheet. Charge me! I scorn you, scurvy companion. What! you poor,
base, rascally, cheating, lack-linen mate! Away, you mouldy
rogue, away! I am meat for your master.

Pistol. I know you, Mistress Dorothy.

Doll Tearsheet. Away, you cut-purse rascal! you filthy bung, away! By
wine, I'll thrust my knife in your mouldy chaps, an you play
saucy cuttle with me. Away, you bottle-ale rascal! you
basket-hilt stale juggler, you! Since when, I pray you, sir?
God's light, with two points on your shoulder? Much!

Mistress Quickly. No, good Captain Pistol; not here, sweet captain.

Doll Tearsheet. Captain! Thou abominable damn'd cheater, art thou not
to be called captain? An captains were of my mind, they would
truncheon you out, for taking their names upon you before you
have earn'd them. You a captain! you slave, for what? For
a poor whore's ruff in a bawdy-house? He a captain! hang him,
rogue! He lives upon mouldy stew'd prunes and dried cakes. A
captain! God's light, these villains will make the word as
as the word 'occupy'; which was an excellent good word before
was ill sorted. Therefore captains had need look to't.

Pistol. Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf. What! we have seen the
stars.

Doll Tearsheet. For God's sake thrust him down stairs; I cannot endure
fustian rascal.

Falstaff. Give me my rapier, boy.

Doll Tearsheet. I pray thee, Jack, I pray thee, do not draw.

Mistress Quickly. Here's a goodly tumult! I'll forswear keeping house
I'll be in these tirrits and frights. So; murder, I warrant
Alas, alas! put up your naked weapons, put up your naked

Doll Tearsheet. I pray thee, Jack, be quiet; the rascal's gone. Ah, you
whoreson little valiant villain, you!

Falstaff. A rascal! to brave me!

Doll Tearsheet. Ah, you sweet little rogue, you! Alas, poor ape, how thou
sweat'st! Come, let me wipe thy face. Come on, you whoreson
chops. Ah, rogue! i' faith, I love thee. Thou art as valorous
Hector of Troy, worth five of Agamemnon, and ten times better
than the Nine Worthies. Ah, villain!

Falstaff. A rascally slave! I will toss the rogue in a blanket.

Doll Tearsheet. Do, an thou dar'st for thy heart. An thou dost, I'll
thee between a pair of sheets.

Falstaff. Let them play. Play, sirs. Sit on my knee, Don. A
bragging slave! The rogue fled from me like quick-silver.

Doll Tearsheet. I' faith, and thou follow'dst him like a church. Thou
whoreson little tidy Bartholomew boar-pig, when wilt thou
fighting a days and foining a nights, and begin to patch up
old body for heaven?
Enter, behind, PRINCE HENRY and POINS disguised as drawers

Falstaff. Peace, good Doll! Do not speak like a death's-head;
not bid me remember mine end.

Doll Tearsheet. Sirrah, what humour's the Prince of?

Falstaff. A good shallow young fellow. 'A would have made a
pantler; 'a would ha' chipp'd bread well.

Doll Tearsheet. They say Poins has a good wit.

Falstaff. He a good wit! hang him, baboon! His wit's as thick
Tewksbury mustard; there's no more conceit in him than is in
mallet.

Doll Tearsheet. Why does the Prince love him so, then?

Falstaff. Thou dost give me flattering busses.

Doll Tearsheet. By my troth, I kiss thee with a most constant heart.

Falstaff. I am old, I am old.

Doll Tearsheet. I love thee better than I love e'er a scurvy young boy of
them all.

Falstaff. What stuff wilt have a kirtle of? I shall receive
Thursday. Shalt have a cap to-morrow. A merry song, come. 'A
grows late; we'll to bed. Thou't forget me when I am gone.

Doll Tearsheet. By my troth, thou't set me a-weeping, an thou say'st so.
Prove that ever I dress myself handsome till thy return.
hearken a' th' end.

Falstaff. Thou whoreson mad compound of majesty, by this light
flesh and corrupt blood, thou art welcome.

Doll Tearsheet. How, you fat fool! I scorn you.

Henry V. You, gentlewoman--

Doll Tearsheet. What says your Grace?

Falstaff. [To the PAGE]. Pay the musicians, sirrah.--Farewell,
hostess; farewell, Doll. You see, my good wenches, how men of
merit are sought after; the undeserver may sleep, when the
action is call'd on. Farewell, good wenches. If I be not sent
away post, I will see you again ere I go.

Doll Tearsheet. I cannot speak. If my heart be not ready to burst!
Well, sweet Jack, have a care of thyself.

First Beadle. The constables have delivered her over to me; and she
shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her. There hath been
a man or two lately kill'd about her.

Doll Tearsheet. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I'll tell thee what,
thou damn'd tripe-visag'd rascal, an the child I now go with do
miscarry, thou wert better thou hadst struck thy mother, thou
paper-fac'd villain.

First Beadle. If it do, you shall have a dozen of cushions again;
you have but eleven now. Come, I charge you both go with me; for
the man is dead that you and Pistol beat amongst you.

Doll Tearsheet. I'll tell you what, you thin man in a censer, I will have you
as soundly swing'd for this--you blue-bottle rogue, you filthy
famish'd correctioner, if you be not swing'd, I'll forswear
half-kirtles.

Mistress Quickly. O God, that right should thus overcome might!
Well, of sufferance comes ease.

Doll Tearsheet. Come, you rogue, come; bring me to a justice.

Mistress Quickly. Ay, come, you starv'd bloodhound.

Doll Tearsheet. Goodman death, goodman bones!

Mistress Quickly. Thou atomy, thou!

Doll Tearsheet. Come, you thin thing! come, you rascal!