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lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. Pist. The plain song is most just, for humours do

abound; Knocks

go and come, God's vassals drop and die;

And sword and shield,

In bloody field,

Doth win immortal fame.
Boy. Would I were in an alehouse in London! I
would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety.
Pist. And I:

If wishes would prevail with me,
My purpose should not fail with me,

But thither would I hie'. Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing on bough.

Enter FLUELLEN.

Flu. Up to the preach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions!

[Driving them forward. Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould ! Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage; Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck!

Nym. These be good humours !—your honour wins bad humours.

[Exeunt Nym, Pistol, and BARDOLPH, fol

lowed by FLUELLEN. young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three, but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for, indeed, three such antics do not amount to

Boy. As

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I have not a CASE of lives :) Meaning, “I have not two lives :" a case of poignards meant a couple of poignards ; and in a passage referred to by Whalley, Ben Jonson speaks of two masques as “ a case of masques.”

? But thither would I hie.] It does not appear from whence Pistol quotes these scraps : probably from some lost ballads of the time. They are printed as prose in the folio, 1623, and they are not found in the quarto editions.

a man, For Bardolph, he is white-livered, and redfaced; by the means whereof, 'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword; by the means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard, that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are match'd with as few good deeds; for ’a never broke any man's head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case; bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coalsø. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets, as their gloves or their handkerchiefs : which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket, to put into mine, for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service : their villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.

[Exit Boy. Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following. Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines : the duke of Gloster would speak with you.

Flu. To the mines; tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war: the con

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the men would carry coals.] Innumerable passages might be cited from our old authors, from Skelton downwards, to show that “carrying coals” was synonymous with what the boy calls “pocketing up of wrongs:" it is so used by Shakespeare in “Romeo and Juliet,” A. i. sc. 1. The origin of the expression was probably the low occupation of colliers in former times, which rendered “ collier " a term of abuse. Thus sir Toby Belch, in “ TwelfthNight,” Vol. ii. p. 388, speaking of the devil, exclaims, “ Hang him, foul collier !” The same point might be proved from the works of Greene, Nash, Dekker, Chapman, Day, and nearly all the contemporaries of Shakespeare.

cavities of it is not sufficient; for, look

you,

th' ath versary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you) is digged himself four yards under the countermines. By Cheshu, I think, ’a will plow up all, if there is not better directions.

Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman ; a very valiant gentleman, i’ faith.

Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not ?
Gow. I think it be.

Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world. I will verify as much in his peard : he has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.

Enter MACMORRIS and JAMY, at a distance. Gower. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, captain Jamy, with him.

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain ; and of great expedition, and knowledge in the ancient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions : by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.

Jamy. I say, gude day, captain Fluellen.
Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain James.

Gower. How now, captain Macmorris ! have you quit the mines ? have the pioneers given o'er?

Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. 0! tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done.

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now will you vouchsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you,

as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly, to satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline : that is the point.

Jamy. It sall be very gude, gude feith, gude captains bath: and I sall quit you' with gude leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry.

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the dukes; it is no time to discourse. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet calls us to the breach, and we talk, and, by Chrish, do nothing : 'tis shame for us all; so God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand : and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done, and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la.

Jamy. By the mess, ere these eyes of mine take themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile lig i' the grund for it; ay, or go to death ; and aile pay it as valorously as I may, that sal I surely do, that is the breif and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard some question 'tween you tway.

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation

Mac. Of my nation! What ish my nation? ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal? What ish my

nation? Who talks of my nation ? Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you ; being as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities.

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Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myself: so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.

Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. Jamy. Au! that's a foul fault. [A Parley sounded. Gow. The town sounds a parley.

Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of wars; and there is an end.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The Same. Before the Gates of Harfleur.

The Governor and some Citizens on the Walls; the

English Forces below. Enter King Henry and his
Train.
K. Hen. IIow yet resolves the governor of the

town?
This is the latest parle we will admit :
Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves,
Or, like to men proud of destruction,
Defy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier,
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,
If I begin the battery once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she Jie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up;
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
Your fresh-fair virgins, and your flowering infants.
What is it then to me, if impious war,
Arrayed in flames like to the prince of fiends,
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats

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