None else of name; and, of all other men, But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here, Ascribe we all. When, without stratagem, On one part and on the other?-Take it, God, K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village : And be it death proclaimed through our host, Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell how many is killed? K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknowleg ment, That God fought for us. Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot. Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum; Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men. [Exeunt. SHAK. VII. 2 c ACT V. Enter CHORus. Cho. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story, That I may prompt them: and of such as have, Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, sea, Which, like a mighty whiffler 2 'fore the king, 1 Encloses. 2 An officer who walks first in processions. Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent, Quite from himself, to God. But now behold, The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort,— 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: Similitude. 2 The earl of Essex in the reign of Elizabeth. 3 Spitted, transfixed. [Exit. SCENE I. France. An English court of guard. Enter FLUELLEN and Gower. 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 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, swelling like a turkey-cock. Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks. 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? 1 Flu. 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. Pis. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats. [strikes 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. [striking him again.] You called 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. Gow. Enough, captain; you have astonished him.2 Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days. Pite, I pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb. Pis. Must I bite? 1 Dost thou desire me to put thee to death? 2 Stunned him with the blow. |