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That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
With chaces. And we understand him well,
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valu'd this poor seat of England;
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself
To barbarous licence; As 'tis ever common,
That men are merriest when they are from
home.

But tell the Dauphin, I will keep my state;
Be like a King, and show my sail of greatness,
When I do rouse me in my throne of France:
For that I have laid by my majesty,"
And plodded like a man for working-days;
But I will rise there with so full a glory,
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant Prince, this mock of his
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them: for a many thousand
widows

Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands;

Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;

And some are yet ungotten, and unborn,
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's

scorn.

But this lies all within the will of God,

To whom I do appeal; And in whose name,
Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on,
To venge me as I may, and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
So, get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin,
His jest will savour but of shallow wit,

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Exe. This was a merry message.

K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it. [Descends from his throne. Therefore, my Lords, omit no happy hour, That may give furtherance to our expedition: For we have now no thought in us, but France; Save those to God, that run before our business. Therefore, let our proportions for these wars Be soon collected; and all things thought upon, That may, with reasonable swiftness, add More feathers to our wings; for, God before, We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door, Therefore, let every man now task his thought, That this fair action may on foot be brought.

[Exeunt.

ACT II.

Enter CHORUS.

Cho. Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man : They sell the pasture now, to buy the horse; Following the mirror of all Christian Kings, With winged heels, as English Mercuries.

For now sits Expectation in the air;
And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point,
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,
Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.
The French, advis'd by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation,

Shake in their fear; and with pale policy
Seek to divert the English purposes.

O England! model to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart,

What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural!

But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills.

With treacherous crowns: and three corrupted

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One, Richard Earl of Cambridge; and the second, Henry Lord Scroop of Masham; and the third, Sir Thomas Grey Knight of Northumberland, Have, for the gilt of France, (O guilt indeed!) Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France;

And by their hands this grace of Kings must die, (If hell and treason hold their promises,)

Ere he take-ship for France, and in Southampton.
Linger your patience on; and well digest
The abuse of distance, while we force a play.
The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed:
The King is set from London; and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton:
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit:
And thence to France shall we convey you safe,
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may,
We'll not offend one stomach with our play.
But, till the King come forth, and not till then,
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit.

SCENE I.

The same. Eastcheap.

Enter NYM and BARDOLPH.

Bard. Well met, corporal Nym.

Nym. Good morrow, lieutenant Bardolph. Bard. What, are ancient Pistol and you friends. yet?

little;

Nym. For my part, I care not: I say 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 the humour of it.

Bard. 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.

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.

Bard. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly: and, certainly, she did you wrong; for you were troth-plight to her.

Nym. 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 cannot tell.

Enter PISTOL and Mrs. QUICKLY.

Bard. Here comes ancient Pistol, and his wife:

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good corporal, be patient here. amine host Pistol?

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How now,

Pist. Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.

Quick. 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 bawdyhouse straight. (NYм draws his sword.) O wella day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! O Lord! here's corporal Nym's now shall we have wilful adultery and murder committed. Good lieutenant Bardolph,-good corporal, offer nothing here.

Nym. Pish!

Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prickear'd cur of Iceland!

Quick. Good corporal Nym, show the valour of a man, and put up thy sword.

Nym. Will you shog off? I would have you solus. [Sheathing his sword,

Pist. Solus, egregious dog? O viper vile! The solus in thy most marvellous 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:

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For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,
And flashing fire will follow.

Nym. 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

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