SCENE I. London. A street.
Enter Corporal NYM and Lieutenant BARDOLPH
Well met, Corporal Nym.
Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.
What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?
For my part, I care not: I say little; but when
time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that
shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will
wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but
what though? it will toast cheese, and it will
endure cold as another man’s sword will: and
there’s an end.
I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and
we’ll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it
be so, good Corporal Nym.
Faith, I will live so long as I may, that’s the
certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I
will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the
rendezvous of it.
It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell
Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you
were troth-plight to her.
I cannot tell: things must be as they may: men may
sleep, and they may have their throats about them at
that time; and some say knives have edges. It must
be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet
she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I
Enter PISTOL and Hostess
Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good
corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol!
Base tike, call’st thou me host? Now, by this hand,
I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.
No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and
board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live
honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will
be thought we keep a bawdy house straight.
NYM and PISTOL draw
O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we
shall see wilful adultery and murder committed.
Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here.
Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear’d cur of Iceland!
Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword.
Will you shog off? I would have you solus.
‘Solus,’ egregious dog? O viper vile!
The ‘solus’ in thy most 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 c*ck is up,
And flashing fire will follow.
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.
O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near;
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.
An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give:
Thy spirits are most tall.
I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair
terms: that is the humour of it.
‘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
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.
Away, you rogue!
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 Hostess and Boy
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?
Let floods o’erswell, and fiends for food howl on!
You’ll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?
Base is the slave that pays.
That now I will have: that’s the humour of it.
As manhood shall compound: push home.
By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I’ll
kill him; by this sword, I will.
Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.
Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends:
an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too.
Prithee, put up.
I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting?
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.
I shall have my noble?
In cash most justly paid.
Well, then, that’s the humour of’t.
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.
The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that’s
the even of it.
Nym, thou hast spoke the right;
His heart is fracted and corroborate.
The king is a good king: but it must be as it may;
he passes some humours and careers.
Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live.