Nym. Pish!

Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-eared cur of Iceland!

Quick. Good corporal Nym, show the valour of a man, and put up thy sword.

Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you solus.

[Sheathing his sword.

Pist. Solus, egregious dog? O viper vile!

The solus in thy most marvellous face;

The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat,

And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy;
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!
I do retort the solus in thy bowels:

For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,

And flashing fire will follow.

Nym. I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to knock you indifferently well: If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would prick your guts a little, in good

and that's the humour of it.

would walk off, I terms, as I may;

Pist. O braggard vile, and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape, and doting death is near; Therefore exhale. [PISTOL and NYм draw.

Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say :-he that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.

[Draws.

Pist. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate. Give me thy first, thy fore-foot to me give;

Thy spirits are most tall.

Nym. I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair terms; that is the humour of it.

2

Pist. Coupe le gorge, that's the word?-I thee defy

again.

O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?
No; to the spital go,

And from the powdering tub of infamy

Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse:
I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she; and-Pauca, there's enough.

Enter the Boy.

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master,--and you, hostess ;-he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put thy nose between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan: 'faith, he's very

ill.

Bard. Away, you rogue.

Quick. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these days: the king has killed his heart.-Good husband, come home presently.

[Exeunt Mrs QUICKLY and Boy. Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together; Why, the devil, should we keep knives to cut one another's throats?

Pist. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl'on! Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?

Pist. Base is the slave that pays.

Nym. That now I will have; that's the humour of it. Pist. As manhood shall compound; Push home. Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll kill him; by this sword, I will.

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their

course.

Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Pr'ythee, put up.

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings, I won of you at betting?

Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
And liquor likewise will I give to thee,

And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood:
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me;-
Is not this just?-for I shall sutler be

Unto the camp, and profits will accrue,

Give me thy hand.

Nym. I shall have my noble?

Pist. In cash most justly paid.

Nym. Well then, that's the humour of it,

Re-enter Mrs QUICKLY.

Quick. As ever you came of women, come in quickly to sir John: Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.

Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the knight, that's the even of it.

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right;

His heart is fracted, and corroborate.

Nym. The king is a good king: but it must be as it

may; he passes some humours, and careers.

Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live. [Exeunt,

5

SCENE II.-Southampton.-A Council Chamber.

Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND. Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors. Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by.

West. How smooth and even they do bear themselves!

As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,

Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty.

Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of.

Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow, Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd with princely fa

vours,―

That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
His sovereign's life to death and treachery!

Trumpet sounds. Enter King HENRY, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, Lords, and Attendants.

K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will abroad. My lord of Cambridge,—and my kind lord of Masham,— And you, my gentle knight,—give me your thoughts: Think you not, that the powers we bear with us, Will cut their passage through the force of France; Doing the execution, and the act,

For which we have in head assembled them?

Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. K. Hen. I doubt not that: since we are well per

suaded,

We carry not a heart with us from hence,

That grows not in a fair consent with ours;
Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish
Success and conquest to attend on us.

Cam. Never was monarch better feared, and loved, Than is your majesty; there's not, I think, a subject, That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness

Under the sweet shade of your government.

Grey. Even those, that were your father's enemies, Have steep'd their galls in honey; and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal.

K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness;

And shall forget the office of our hand,

Sooner than quittance of desert and merit,
According to the weight and worthiness.

Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil;
And labour shall refresh itself with hope,

To do your grace incessant services.

K. Hen. We judge no less.—Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday,
That railed against our person: we consider,
It was excess of wine that set him on ;
And, on his more advice, we pardon him.

Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security:
Let him be punished, sovereign; lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful.

Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too. Grey. Sir, you show great mercy, if you give him life, After the taste of much correction.

K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch.