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So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin
His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.
Convey them with safe conduct.

Fare you well. Exeunt Ambassadors.

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Exe. This was a merry message.
K. Hen. We hope to make the sender blush at it.
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 God, that run before our business.
Therefore, let our proportions for these wars
Be soon collected, and all things thought upon 305
That may with reasonable swiftness add
More feathers to our wings; for, God before,
We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door.
Therefore let every man now task his thought,
That this fair action may on foot be brought. 310
Exeunt.

ACT SECOND

[PROLOGUE.]

Flourish. Enter Chorus.

[Chor.] Now all the youth of England are on fire,
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies.
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,
Following the mirror of all Christian kings,
With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
For now sits Expectation in the air,
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,
Promis'd to Harry and his followers.
The French, advis'd by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation,

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Shake in their fear, and with pale policy

Seek to divert the English purposes.

15

O England! model to thy inward greatness,

Like little body with a mighty heart,

What mightst 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,

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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,

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Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on, and we'll digest

31

35

The abuse of distance, 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 playhouse 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.

40

SCENE I

[London. A street.]

Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant 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 an end. 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

5

10

15

20

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.

Enter Pistol and Hostess.

Bard. Here come Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good Corporal, be patient here. 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.

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30

Host. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentle- 35 women that live honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy house straight. [Nym and Pistol draw.] 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 noth

ing here.

Nym. Pish!

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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.

45