The Life of King Henry the Fifth

Like to the senators of th' antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels-
Go forth and fetch their conqu'ring Caesar in;
As, by a lower but loving likelihood,
Were now the General of our gracious Empress-
As in good time he may- from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,
How many would the peaceful city quit
To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause,
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him-
As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the King of England's stay at home;
The Emperor's coming in behalf of France
To order peace between them; and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd,
Till Harry's back-return again to France.
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
The interim, by rememb'ring you 'tis past.
Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance,
After your thoughts, straight back again to France. Exit

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!