Document:  All > Shakespeare > Histories > King Henry V > Act V, scene I


GOWER: Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek today?
	Saint Davy's day is past.

FLUELLEN: There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in
	all things: I will tell you, asse my friend,
	Captain Gower: the rascally, scald, beggarly,
	lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and
	yourself and all the world know to be no petter
	than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is
	come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday,
	look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in place
	where I could not breed no contention with him; but
	I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see
	him once again, and then I will tell him a little
	piece of my desires.

	[Enter PISTOL]

GOWER: Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.

FLUELLEN: 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his
	turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you
	scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you!

PISTOL: Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,
	To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
	Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

FLUELLEN: I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my
	desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat,
	look you, this leek: because, look you, you do not
	love it, nor your affections and your appetites and
	your digestions doo's not agree with it, I would
	desire you to eat it.

PISTOL: Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.

FLUELLEN: There is one goat for you.

	[Strikes him]

	Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it?

PISTOL: Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

FLUELLEN: You say very true, scauld knave, when God's will is:
	I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat
	your victuals: come, there is sauce for it.

	[Strikes him]

	You called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will
	make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you,
	fall to: if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

GOWER: Enough, captain: you have astonished him.

FLUELLEN: I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or
	I will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it
	is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.

PISTOL: Must I bite?

FLUELLEN: Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question
	too, and ambiguities.

PISTOL: By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: I eat
	and eat, I swear--

FLUELLEN: Eat, I pray you: will you have some more sauce to
	your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.

PISTOL: Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.

FLUELLEN: Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. Nay, pray
	you, throw none away; the skin is good for your
	broken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks
	hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all.


FLUELLEN: Ay, leeks is good: hold you, there is a groat to
	heal your pate.

PISTOL: Me a groat!

FLUELLEN: Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I
	have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.

PISTOL: I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.

FLUELLEN: If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels:
	you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but
	cudgels. God b' wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.


PISTOL: All hell shall stir for this.

GOWER: Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will
	you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an
	honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of
	predeceased valour and dare not avouch in your deeds
	any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and
	galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You
	thought, because he could not speak English in the
	native garb, he could not therefore handle an
	English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and
	henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good
	English condition. Fare ye well.


PISTOL: Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
	News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital
	Of malady of France;
	And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
	Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
	Honour is cudgelled. Well, bawd I'll turn,
	And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
	To England will I steal, and there I'll steal:
	And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars,
	And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.



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