Scene I

France. The English camp

Enter Fluellen and Gower

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.

Pistol

Good.

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.

Exit

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.

Exit

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.

Exit