SCENE III.
Enter Pistol.
Pist.
Qui va là?
K. Henry.
A friend.
Pist.
Discuss unto me, art thou officer?
Or art thou base, common and popular?
K. Henry.
I am a gentleman of a company.
Pist.
Trail'st thou the puissant pike?
K. Henry.
Even so. What are you?
Pist.
As good a gentleman as the Emperor.
K. Henry.
Then you are a better than the King.
Pist.
The King's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame,
Of parents good, of fist most valiant;
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-string
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
K. Henry.
Harry le Roy.
Pist.
Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?
K. Henry.
No, I am a Welshman.
Pist.
Know'st thou Fluellen?
K. Henry.
Yes.
Pist.
Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate,
Upon St. David's day.
K. Henry.
Do not you wear your dagger in your cap
that day, lest he knock that about yours.
Pist.
Art thou his friend?
K. Henry.
And his kinsman too.
Pist.
The Figo for thee then!
-- 436 --
K. Henry.
I thank you. God be with you.
Pist.
My name is Pistol call'd.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
It sorts well with your fierceness.
[Manet King Henry.
Enter Fluellen, and Gower, severally.
Gow.
Captain Fluellen.—
Flu.
So; in the name of Jesu Christ, speak fewer;
it is the greatest admiration in the universal world, when
the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars
is not kept. If you would take the pains but to examine
the wars of Pompey the great, you shall find, I
warrant you, that there is no tittle tattle, nor pibble
pabble, in Pompey's camp; I warrant you, you shall
find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it,
and the forms of it, and the sobrieties of it, and the
modesty of it to be otherwise.
Gow.
Why, the enemy is loud, you hear him all
night.
Flu.
If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a prating
coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also,
look you, be an ass and a fool, and a prating cox-comb,
in your own conscience now?
Gow.
I will speak lower.
Flu.
I pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
[Exeunt.
K. Henry.
Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
