Get this No Fear to go!
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PISTOL
Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
News have I that my Nell is dead i' th' spital
Of a malady of France,
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax, and from my weary limbs
Honor is cudgeled. Well, bawd I’ll turn,
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I’ll steal.
And patches will I get unto these cudgeled scars,
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.
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PISTOL
Has Fortune turned on me, like the whore she is? I’ve had news that my Nell died of the pox in a hospice. There went my last refuge. I grow old, and all dignity has been thrashed out of me. Well, I’ll turn pimp and do some occasional pickpocketing. I’ll steal away to England, and I’ll steal some more when I get there. I’ll bandage up these wounds and swear I got them in the French wars.
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