I am accurs’d to rob in that thieve’s company.
The rascal hath remov’d my horse, and tied him I know not where. If I travel but four foot by the squier further afoot, I shall break my wind. Well, I doubt not but to die a fair death for all this, if I scape hanging for killing that rogue. I have forsworn his company hourly any time this two and twenty years, and yet I am bewitch’d with the rogue’s company. If the rascal have not given me medicines to make me love him, I’ll be hang’d. It could not be else, I have drunk medicines. Poins! Hal! a plague upon you both! Bardolph! Peto! I’ll starve ere I’ll rob a foot further. And ’twere not as good a deed as drink to turn true man and to leave these rogues, I am the veriest varlet that ever chew’d with a tooth. Eight yards of uneven ground is threescore and ten miles afoot with me, and the stony-hearted villains know it well enough. A plague upon it when thieves cannot be true one to another! Whew! a plague upon you all! Give me my horse, you rogues, give me my horse, and be hang’d!