King Henry V | Page 8

mervailous 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 walk off, I would prick your guts a little, in good terms, as I may; and that's the humour of it.
PISTOL.?O braggart vile and damned furious wight!?The grave doth gape, and doting death is near,?Therefore exhale.
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.?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 powdering tub of infamy?Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,?Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse.?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 you,?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.
[They 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.
BARDOLPH.?Corporal Nym, and 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 from you at betting?
PISTOL.?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?
PISTOL.?In cash most justly paid.
NYM.?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 bed-fellow,?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 King Henry, Scroop, Cambridge,?and Grey.]
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 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.
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 uneasiness?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