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Henry V (Quarto 1, 1600)

Author: William Shakespeare
Editor: James D. Mardock
Peer Reviewed
Enter Gower, and Flewellen.
Gower. But why do you weare your Leeke to day?
Saint Dauies day is past?
2900Flew. There is occasion Captaine Gower,
Looke you why, and wherefore,
The other day looke you, Pistolles
Which you know is a man of no merites
In the worell, is come where I was the other day,
2905And brings bread and sault, and bids me
Eate my Leeke: twas in a place, looke you,
Where I could moue no discentions:
But if I can see him, I shall tell him,
A litle of my desires.
Gow. Here a comes, swelling like a Turkecocke.
Enter Pistoll.
Flew. Tis no matter for his swelling, and his turkecocks,
2915God plesse you Antient Pistoll, you scall,
Beggerly, lowsie knaue, God plesse you.
Pist. Ha, art thou bedlem?
Dost thou thurst base Troyan,
To haue me folde vp Parcas fatall web?
Hence, I am qualmish at the smell of Leeke.
2920Flew. Antient Pistoll. I would desire you because
It doth not agree with your stomache, and your appetite,
And your digestions, to eate this Leeke.
Pist. Not for Cadwalleder and all his goates.
Flew. There is one goate for you Antient Pistol.
He strikes him.
Pist. Bace Troyan, thou shall dye.
2930Flew. I, I know I shall dye, meane time, I would
Desire you to liue and eate this Leeke.
Gower. Inough Captaine, you haue astonisht him.
Flew. Astonisht him, by Iesu, Ile beate his head
Foure dayes, and foure nights, but Ile
Make him eate some part of my Leeke.
Pist. Well must I byte?
Flew. I out of question or doubt, or ambiguities
2942.1You must byte.
Pist. Good good.
Flew. I Leekes are good, Antient Pistoll.
There is a shilling for you to heale your bloody coxkome.
Pist. Me a shilling.
Flew. If you will not take it,
I haue an other Leeke for you.
Pist. I take thy shilling in earnest of reconing.
2960Flew. If I owe you any thing, ile pay you in cudgels,
You shalbe a woodmonger,
And by cudgels, God bwy you,
Antient Pistoll, God blesse you,
And heale your broken pate.
2962.1Antient Pistoll, if you see Leekes an other time,
Mocke at them, that is all: God bwy you.
Exit Flewellen.
Pist. All hell shall stir for this.
2975Doth Fortune play the huswye with me now?
Is honour cudgeld from my warlike lines?
Well France farwell, newes haue I certainly
That Doll is sicke. One mallydie of France,
2977.1The warres affordeth nought, home will I trug.
Bawd will I turne, and vse the slyte of hand:
2980To England will I steale,
And there Ile steale.
And patches will I get vnto these skarres,
And sweare I gat them in the Gallia warres.
Exit Pistoll.