Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour, we will eat a last

year’s pippin of mine own graffing, with a dish of caraways, and so

forth. Come, cousin Silence. And then to bed.

Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling, and a rich.

Barren, barren, barren; beggars all, beggars all, Sir John. Marry, good

air. Spread, Davy, spread, Davy. Well said, Davy.

This Davy serves you for good uses; he is your serving-man and your

husband.

A good varlet, a good varlet, a very good varlet, Sir John. By the

mass, I have drunk too much sack at supper. A good varlet. Now sit

down, now sit down. Come, cousin.

Ah, sirrah! quoth-a, we shall [_Singing._]

_Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,

And praise God for the merry year,

When flesh is cheap and females dear,

And lusty lads roam here and there

So merrily,

And ever among so merrily._

There’s a merry heart! Good Master Silence, I’ll give you a health for

that anon.

Give Master Bardolph some wine, Davy.

Sweet sir, sit. I’ll be with you anon. Most sweet sir, sit. Master

page, good master page, sit. Proface! What you want in meat, we’ll have

in drink, but you must bear; the heart’s all.

Be merry, Master Bardolph, and, my little soldier there, be merry.

_Be merry, be merry, my wife has all,

For women are shrews, both short and tall.

’Tis merry in hall when beards wag all,

And welcome merry Shrove-tide.

Be merry, be merry._

I did not think Master Silence had been a man of this mettle.

Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now.

[_To Bardolph_.] There’s a dish of leather-coats for you.

Davy!

Your worship? I’ll be with you straight.

[_To Bardolph_] A cup of wine, sir?

_A cup of wine that’s brisk and fine,

And drink unto thee, leman mine,

And a merry heart lives long-a._

Well said, Master Silence.

An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o’ th’ night.

Health and long life to you, Master Silence.

_Fill the cup, and let it come,

I’ll pledge you a mile to th’ bottom._

Honest Bardolph, welcome! If thou want’st anything and wilt not call,

beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief, [_to the Page_] and

welcome indeed too. I’ll drink to Master Bardolph, and to all the

cabileros about London.

I hope to see London once ere I die.

An I might see you there, Davy,—

By the mass, you’ll crack a quart together, ha! will you not, Master

Bardolph?

Yea, sir, in a pottle-pot.

By God’s liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick by thee, I can

assure thee that. He will not out, he. ’Tis true bred.

And I’ll stick by him, sir.

Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing! Be merry.

Look who’s at door there, ho! Who knocks?

[_To Silence, seeing him take off a bumper_.] Why, now you have done me

right.

_Do me right,

And dub me knight:

Samingo._

Is’t not so?

’Tis so.

Is’t so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat.

An’t please your worship, there’s one Pistol come from the court with

news.

From the court? Let him come in.

How now, Pistol?

Sir John, God save you!

What wind blew you hither, Pistol?

Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight, thou art now

one of the greatest men in this realm.

By’r lady, I think he be, but goodman Puff of Barson.

Puff!

Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base!

Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend,

And helter-skelter have I rode to thee,

And tidings do I bring and lucky joys,

And golden times, and happy news of price.

I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world.

A foutre for the world and worldlings base!

I speak of Africa and golden joys.

O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news?

Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof.

[_Singing_.] _And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John._

Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?

And shall good news be baffled?

Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies’ lap.

Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding.

Why then, lament therefor.

Give me pardon, sir. If, sir, you come with news from the court, I take

it there’s but two ways, either to utter them, or conceal them. I am,

sir, under the King, in some authority.

Under which king, Besonian? Speak, or die.

Under King Harry.

Harry the Fourth, or Fifth?

Harry the Fourth.

A foutre for thine office!

Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is King;

Harry the Fifth’s the man. I speak the truth.

When Pistol lies, do this, and fig me, like

The bragging Spaniard.

What, is the old King dead?

As nail in door. The things I speak are just.

Away, Bardolph, saddle my horse. Master Robert Shallow, choose what

office thou wilt in the land, ’tis thine. Pistol, I will double-charge

thee with dignities.

O joyful day!

I would not take a knighthood for my fortune.

What! I do bring good news.

Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord Shallow, be what

thou wilt; I am Fortune’s steward! Get on thy boots, we’ll ride all

night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph!

Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal devise something to do

thyself good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow. I know the young King is sick

for me. Let us take any man’s horses. The laws of England are at my

commandment. Blessed are they that have been my friends, and woe to my

Lord Chief Justice!

Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!

“Where is the life that late I led?” say they:

Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days!