Fluellen.
Gow.
Nay, that's right; But why wear you your leek
to day? saint Davy's day is past.
Flu.
There is occasions and causes why and wherefore
in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, captain
Gower; The rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, pragging
knave, Pistol,—which you and yourself, and all the 'orld,
know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of
no merits,—he is come to me, and prings me pread
and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek:
it was in a place where I could not breed no contentions note
with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in
my cap 'till I see him once again, and then I will tell
him a little piece of my desires.
Enter Pistol.
Gow.
Why, here he comes, note swelling like a turkey-cock.
Flu.
'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks.
-- 96 --
—Got pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy
lousy knave, Got pless you!
Pis.
Ha! art thou Bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.
Flu.
I peseech you heartily, [taking the Leek from his
Cap.] scurvy lousy knave, at my desires, and my requests,
and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because,
look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and
your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with
it, I would desire you to eat it.
Pis.
Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats.
Flu.
There is one goat for you. [beating him.] Will
you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it?
Pis.
Base Trojan, thou shalt die.
Flu.
You say very true, scald knave, when Got's
will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time, and
eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it. [beating
him again.] You call'd me yesterday, mountain 'squire;
but I will make you to-day a 'squire of low degree. I
pray you, fall to; [beating again.] if you can mock a leek,
you can eat a leek.
Gow.
Enough, captain, you have astonish'd him.
Flu.
I say, I will make him eat some part of my
leek, or I will peat his pate four days:—bite, I pray
you; [giving the Leek into his Hand.] it is goot for your
green wound, and your ploody coxcomb.
Pis.
Must I bite?
Flu.
Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of
question too, and ambiguities.
Pis.
By this leek, [eating of it.] I will most horribly
revenge. I eat, and eat, I swear.
-- 97 --
Flu.
Eat, I pray you: Will you have some more sauce
to your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.
Pis.
Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat.
Flu.
Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay,
pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your
proken coxcomb: When you take occasions to see leeks
hereafter, I pray you, mock at them; that is all.
Pis.
Good.
Flu.
Ay, leeks is goot:—Hold you, there is a groat
to heal your pate.
Pis.
Me a groat!
Flu.
Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or I
have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.
Pis.
I take † thy groat, in earnest of revenge. note
Flu.
If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels;
you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of
me but cudgels. Got be wi' you, and keep you, and
heal your pate.
[Exit.
Pis.
All hell shall stir for this.
Gow.
Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave:
Will you mock at an antient tradition,—begun upon
an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy
of predeceased valour,—and dare not avouch in your
deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and
galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought,
because he could not speak English in the native garb, he
could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it
otherwise; and, henceforth, let a Welsh correction teach
you a good English condition. Fare ye well.
[Exit.
Pis.
Doth fortune play the huswy' note with me now?
News have I, that my Nell note14Q0763 is dead i'the 'spital
Of malady note of France;
-- 98 --
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgel'd. Well, bawd will I note turn,
And something lean to cut-purse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal:
And patches will I get unto these scars note;
And swear note, I got them in the Gallia wars.
[Exit.
Edward Capell [1767], Mr William Shakespeare his comedies, histories, and tragedies, set out by himself in quarto, or by the Players his Fellows in folio, and now faithfully republish'd from those Editions in ten Volumes octavo; with an introduction: Whereunto will be added, in some other Volumes, notes, critical and explanatory, and a Body of Various Readings entire (Printed by Dryden Leach, for J. and R. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S10601].
