NYM.
The anchor is deep; will that humour pass?

FALSTAFF.
Now, the report goes she has all the rule of her husband's purse; he
hath a legion of angels.

PISTOL.
As many devils entertain; and 'To her, boy,' say I.

NYM.
The humour rises; it is good; humour me the angels.

FALSTAFF.
I have writ me here a letter to her; and here another to Page's wife,
who even now gave me good eyes too, examined my parts with most
judicious oeillades; sometimes the beam of her view gilded my foot,
sometimes my portly belly.

PISTOL.
Then did the sun on dunghill shine.

NYM.
I thank thee for that humour.

FALSTAFF.
O! she did so course o'er my exteriors with such a greedy intention
that the appetite of her eye did seem to scorch me up like a
burning-glass. Here's another letter to her: she bears the purse