SHALLOW.
He is the wiser man, Master doctor: he is a curer of souls, and you
a curer of bodies; if you should fight, you go against the hair of
your professions. Is it not true, Master Page?

PAGE.
Master Shallow, you have yourself been a great fighter, though now
a man of peace.

SHALLOW.
Bodykins, Master Page, though I now be old, and of the peace, if
I see a sword out, my finger itches to make one. Though we are
justices, and doctors, and churchmen, Master Page, we have some
salt of our youth in us; we are the sons of women, Master Page.

PAGE.
'Tis true, Master Shallow.

SHALLOW.
It will be found so, Master Page. Master Doctor Caius, I come to
fetch you home. I am sworn of the peace; you have showed yourself
a wise physician, and Sir Hugh hath shown himself a wise and
patient churchman. You must go with me, Master Doctor.

HOST.
Pardon, guest-justice.--A word, Monsieur Mockwater.

CAIUS.
Mock-vater! Vat is dat?