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Full Online Book HomePlaysKing Henry V - ACT V - SCENE I
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King Henry V - ACT V - SCENE I Post by :James_Albert Category :Plays Author :William Shakespeare Date :May 2011 Read :2820

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King Henry V - ACT V - SCENE I

ACT V. SCENE I.
France. The English camp.

(Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER.)


GOWER.
Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day?
Saint Davy's day is past.

FLUELLEN.
There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in
all things. I will tell you, ass my friend, Captain Gower: the
rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol-
which you and yourself and all the world 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 contendon with him;
but I will be so bold 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)

GOWER.
Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.

FLUELLEN.
'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks.
God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God
pless you!

PISTOL.
Ha! art thou bedlam? Dost thou thirst, base Troyan,
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

FLUELLEN.
I peseech you heartily, 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.

PISTOL.
Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.

FLUELLEN.
There is one goat for you. (Strikes him) Will you
be so good, scald knave, as eat it?

PISTOL.
Base Troyan, thou shalt die.

FLUELLEN.
You say very true, scald knave- when God's will is. I
will desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your
victuals; come, there is sauce for it.

(Striking 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; if you can mock a leek, you
can eat a leek.

GOWER.
Enough, Captain, you have astonish'd him.

FLUELLEN.
I say I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I
will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you, it is good for
your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.

PISTOL.
Must I bite?

FLUELLEN.
Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and out of question
too, and ambiguides.

PISTOL.
By this leek, I will most horribly revenge- I eat and
eat, I swear-

FLUELLEN.
Eat, I pray you; will you have some more sauce to
your leek? There is not enough leek to swear by.

PISTOL.
Quiet thy cudgel: thou dost see I eat.

FLUELLEN.
Much good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray
you throw none away; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb.
When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at
'em; that is all.

PISTOL.
Good.

FLUELLEN.
Ay, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.

PISTOL.
Me a groat!

FLUELLEN.
Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I have
another leek in my pocket which you shall eat.

PISTOL.
I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.

FLUELLEN.
If I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels; you
shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God
bye you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

(Exit)

PISTOL.
All hell shall stir for this.

GOWER.
Go, go: you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock
at an ancient 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)

PISTOL.
Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
News have I that my Nell is dead i' th' spital
Of malady of France;
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd I'll turn,
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal;
And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars,
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.


(Exit.)

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