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Saint

Davy's day is past.

FLUELLEN.

There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all

things. I will tell you, ass 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 a place where I could not breed no contendon 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 Troyan,

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, does 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, scald knave, as eat it?

PISTOL.

Base Troyan, thou shalt die.

FLUELLEN.

You say very true, scald knave- when God's will is. I

will desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your victuals;

come, there is sauce for it. [Striking him again] You call'd 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 astonish'd 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 ambiguides.

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, scald 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 anything I will pay you in cudgels; you

shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God bye

you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

Exit

PISTOL. All hell shall stir for this.

GOWER.

Go, go: you are a couterfeit 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' th' spital

Of malady of France;

And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.

Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs

Honour is cudgell'd. 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