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 Heaven, 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, Heaven before,
We’ll chide this Dauphin at his father’s door.
The characters group round the King.
Trumpets sound.
Scene II.—EASTCHEAP, LONDON.
Enter Bardolph,(I) Nym, Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, and Boy, L. 2 E.
Quick. (L.C.) Pr’ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.17
Pist. (C.) No; for my manly heart doth yearn.—
Bardolph, be blithe;—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;
Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
And we must yearn therefore.
Bard. (R.) ’Would I were with him, wheresome’er he is!
Quick. (C.) Sure, he’s in Arthur’s bosom,18 if ever man went to Arthur’s bosom. ’A made a finer end,19 and went away, an it had been any christom child;20 ’a parted even just between twelve and one, e’en at turning o’ the tide:21 for after I saw him fumble with the sheets,22 and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers’ ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a’ babbled of green fields. How now, Sir John! quoth I: what, man! be of good cheer. So a’ cried out—Heaven, Heaven, Heaven! three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him ’a should not think of Heaven; I hoped, there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So ’a bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone.
Nym. (R.C.) They say he cried out of sack.
Quick. Ay, that ’a did.
Bard. And of women.
Quick. Nay, that ’a did not.
Boy. (L.) Yes, that ’a did, and said they were devils incarnate.
Quick. crosses L.C. ’A could never abide carnation;23 ’twas a colour he never liked.
Boy. Do you not remember, ’a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph’s nose, and ’a said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire?
Bard. Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire: that’s all the riches I got in his service.
Nym. Shall we shog off?24 the king will be gone from Southampton.
Pist. Come, let’s away.—My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattels and my moveables:
Let senses rule;25 the word is, Pitch and pay;26
Trust none;
For oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes,
And hold-fast is the only dog,27 my duck:
Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor.28
Go, clear thy crystals.29—Yoke-fellows in arms,
Crosses L.H.
Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!
Crosses R.H.
Boy. And that is but unwholesome food, they say.
Pitt. Touch her soft mouth, and march.
Bard. Farewell, hostess.
Kissing her.
Nym. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu.
Pist. Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.
Quick. Farewell; adieu.
Exeunt Bardolph, Pistol, Nym, R.H., and Dame Quickly, L.H.
Boy. As 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 a man to me; for, indeed, three such anticks do not amount to a man. For Bardolph—he is white-livered and red-faced; 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. 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.
Distant March heard. Exit Boy, R.H.
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