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 walk off I would prick your guts a little, in good terms,
as I may, and thaes the
humour of it.
PISTOL. O braggart vile and
damnedfurious wight!
The grave doth gape and doting death is near;
Therefore
exhale. [PISTOL draws]
BARDOLPH. 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]
PISTOL. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
[PISTOL and Nym sheathe their swords]
Give me thy fist, 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.
PISTOL. 'Couple a gorge!'
That is 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 powd'ring tub of infamy
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her e
spouse.
I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she; and- pauca, there's enough.
Go to.
Enter the Boy
BOY. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master; and your
hostess- he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put
thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan.
Faith, he's very ill.
BARDOLPH. Away, you rogue.
HOSTESS. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a
pudding one of these
days: the King has kill'd his heart. Good husband, come home
presently. Exeunt HOSTESS and BOY
BARDOLPH. 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?
PISTOL. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!
NYM. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?
PISTOL. Base is the slave that pays.
NYM. That now I will have; that's the
humour of it.
PISTOL. As
manhood shall
compound: push home.
[PISTOL and Nym draw]
BARDOLPH. By this sword, he that makes the first
thrust I'll kill
him; by this sword, I will.
PISTOL. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.
[Sheathes his sword]
BARDOLPH. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends; an
thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Prithee put up.
NYM. I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting?
PISTOL. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
And
liquorlikewise 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. [Sheathing his sword] I shall have my noble?
PISTOL. In cash most
justly paid.
NYM. [Shaking hands] Well, then, that's the
humour of't.
Re-enter HOSTESS
HOSTESS. As ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John.
Ah, poor heart! he is so shak'd 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.
PISTOL. 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.
PISTOL. Let us condole the
knight; for, lambkins, we will live.
Exeunt
SCENE II.
Southampton. A council-chamber
Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND
BEDFORD. Fore God, his Grace is bold, to trust these traitors.
EXETER. They shall be apprehended by and by.
WESTMORELAND. How smooth and even they do bear themselves,
As if
allegiance in their bosoms sat,
Crowned with faith and
constant loyalty!
BEDFORD. The King hath note of all that they intend,
By interception which they dream not of.
EXETER. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,
Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with
gracious favours-
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
His
sovereign's life to death and treachery!
Trumpets sound. Enter the KING, SCROOP,
CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and attendants
KING HENRY. Now sits the wind fair, and we will
aboard.
My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham,
And you, my gentle
knight, give me your thoughts.
Think you not that the pow'rs 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.
KING HENRY. I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded
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.
CAMBRIDGE. Never was
monarch better fear'd and lov'd
Than is your Majesty. There's not, I think, a subject
That sits in heart-grief and uneasines
Under the sweet shade of your government.
GREY. True: 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.
KING HENRY. 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.
KING HENRY. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday
That rail'd 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
punish'd,
sovereign, lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
KING HENRY. O, let us yet be merciful!
CAMBRIDGE. 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.
KING HENRY. Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch!
If little faults
proceeding on distemper
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested,
Appear before us? We'll yet
enlarge that man,
Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care
And tender
preservation of our person,
Would have him
punish'd. And now to our French causes:
Who are the late commissioners?
CAMBRIDGE. I one, my lord.
Your Highness bade me ask for it to-day.
SCROOP. So did you me, my liege.
GREY. And I, my royal
sovereign.
KING HENRY. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;
There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, Sir Knight,
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours.
Read them, and know I know your worthiness.
My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter,
We will
aboard to-night. Why, how now, gentlemen?
What see you in those papers, that you lose
So much
complexion? Look ye how they change!
Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there
That have so cowarded and chas'd your blood
Out of appearance?
CAMBRIDGE. I do
confess my fault,
And do
submit me to your Highness' mercy.
GREY, SCROOP. To which we all appeal.
KING HENRY. The mercy that was quick in us but late
By your own
counsel is suppress'd and kill'd.
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy;
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.
See you, my princes and my noble peers,
These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here-
You know how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with an appertinents
Belonging to his honour; and this man
Hath, for a few light crowns,
lightly conspir'd,
And sworn unto the practices of France
To kill us here in Hampton; to the which
This
knight, no less for
bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is, hath
likewise sworn. But, O,
What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop, thou cruel,
Ingrateful,
savage, and inhuman creature?
Thou that didst bear the key of all my
counsels,
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul,
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold,
Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use-
May it be possible that foreign hire
Could out of thee
extract one spark of evil
That might annoy my finger? 'Tis so strange
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross
As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.
Treason and murder ever kept together,
As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,
Working so grossly in a natural cause
That
admiration did not whoop at them;
But thou, 'gainst all
proportion, didst bring in
Wonder to wait on
treason and on murder;
And
whatsoevercunning fiend it was
That
wrought upon thee so preposterously
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence;
And other devils that suggest by
treasons
Do botch and bungle up damnation