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 men,-
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 play-house 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.

АСТ II.

SCENE I-LONDON. Before the Boar's Head
Tavern, Eastcheap.

Enter, severally, NYм and BARDOLPH.

Bard. Well met, Corporal Nym.

Nym. Good-morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

Bard. What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet? Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little; 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.

Bard. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife:-good corporal, be patient here.

Enter PISTOL and Hostess.

How now, mine host Pistol!

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

Host. 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 bawdy-house straight. [NYм draws his sword.] O well-a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn! now we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed.

Bard. Good lieutenant,―good corporal,-offer nothing here.

Nym. Pish!

Pist. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland!

Host. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your 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;

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 little, in good terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it.

Pist. Obraggart vile and damned furious wight! The grave doth gape and doting death is near; Therefore exhale.

[PISTOL and NYм draw.

Bard. Hear me, hear me what I say:-he that strikes the first stroke I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.

[Draws.

Pist. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.— Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give:

Thy spirits are most tall.

Nym. I will cut thy throat one time or other, in fair terms: that is the humour of it.

Pist. Coupe la gorge! That's the word.-I thee defy again.

O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?
No; to the spital go,

And from the powdering tub of infamy

Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse:
I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she; and-Pauca, there's enough.
Go to.

Enter the Boy.

Boy. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master,and you, hostess:-he is very sick, and would to bed.Good Bardolph, put thy nose between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan.-Faith, he's very ill.

Bard. Away, you rogue.

Host. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding_one of these days: the king has killed his heart.-Good husband, come home presently. [Exeunt Hostess and Boy.

Bard. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France together: why the devil should we keep knives to cut one another's throats? ·

Pist. Let floods o'erswell and fiends for food howl on! Nym. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?

Pist. Base is the slave that pays.

Nym. That now I will have: that's the humour of it.
Pist. As manhood shall compound: push home.

[PISTOL and NYм draw.

Bard. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust I'll kill him; by this sword, I will.

Pist. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their

course.

Bard. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends: an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too. Pr'ythee, put up.

Nym. I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting?

Pist. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;

And liquor likewise will I give to thee,

And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood:

I'll live by Nym and Nym shall live by me

Is not this just?-for I shall sutler be

Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
Give me thy hand.

Nym. I shall have my noble?

Pist. In cash most justly paid.

Nym. Well, then, that's the humour of it.

Re-enter Hostess.

Host. As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaken of a burning quotidian tertian that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.

Nym. The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even of it.

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right;

His heart is fracted and corroborate.

Nym. The king is a good king: but it must be as it may; he passes some humours and careers.

Pist. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live. [Exeunt.

SCENE II.-SOUTHAMPTON.

A Council Chamber.

Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND.

Bed. 'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors.

Exe. They shall be apprehended by and by.

West. How smooth and even they do bear themselves!

As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,

Crowned with faith and constant loyalty.

Bed. The king hath note of all that they intend,

By interception which they dream not of.

Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,

Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours,— That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell

His sovereign's life to death and treachery!

Trumpet sounds. Enter KING HENRY, SCROOP, CAMBRIDGE, GREY, Lords, and Attendants.

K. Hen. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My Lord of Cambridge,—and my kind Lord of Masham,And you, my gentle knight,—give me your thoughts: Think you not that the powers we bear with us Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution and the act

For which we have in head assembled them?

Scroop. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. K. Hen. I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence

That grows not in a fair consent with ours,

Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish

Success and conquest to attend on us.

Cam. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness

Under the sweet shade of your government.

Grey. True: those that were your father's enemies Have steep'd their galls in honey, and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal.

K. Hen. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness; And shall forget the office of our hand

Sooner than quittance of desert and merit

According to the weight and worthiness.

Scroop. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope,

To do your grace incessant services.

K. Hen. We judge no less.-Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday,
That rail'd against our person: we consider
It was excess of wine that set him on;
And on his more advice we pardon him.

Scroop. That's mercy, but too much security:
Let him be punish'd, sovereign; lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
K. Hen. O, let us yet be merciful.

Cam. So may your highness, and yet punish too.
Grey. Sir, you show great mercy if you give him life
After the taste of much correction.

K. Hen. Alas, your too much love and care of me