Enter CHORUS.

Chorus	Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story
	That I may prompt them; and of such as have,
	I humbly pray them to admit th' excuse
	Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
	Which cannot in their huge and proper life
	Be here presented. Now we bear the king
	Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,
	Heave him away upon your wingd thoughts
	Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
	Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys,
	Whose shouts and claps outvoice the deep-mouthed sea,
	Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king
	Seems to prepare his way. So let him land,
	And solemnly see him set on to London.
	So swift a pace hath thought that even now
	You may imagine him upon Blackheath,
	Where that his lords desire him to have borne
	His bruisd helmet and his bended sword
	Before him through the city. He forbids it,
	Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride,
	Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent
	Quite from himself to God. But now behold,
	In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
	How London doth pour out her citizens-
	The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,
	Like to the senators of th' antique Rome
	With the plebeians swarming at their heels,
	Go forth and fetch their conqu'ring Caesar in-
	As, by a lower but loving likelihood,
	Were now the general of our gracious empress,
	As in good time he may, from Ireland coming,
	Bringing rebellion broachd on his sword,
	How many would the peaceful city quit
	To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause,
	Did they this Harry. Now in London place him.-
	As yet the lamentation of the French
	Invites the King of England's stay at home;
	The Emperor's coming in behalf of France,
	To order peace between them; - and omit
	All the occurrences, whatever chanced,
	Till Harry's back-return again to France:
	There must we bring him; and myself have played
	The interim, by rememb'ring you 'tis past.
	Then brook abridgement, and your eyes advance,
	After your thoughts, straight back again to France.
													[Exit.
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 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 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, Ensign 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 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 Trojan, 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.
													[Strikes him.
	You called me yesterday "mountain-squire", but I will make 
	you today 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, 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-buy-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 Doll 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 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 cudgelled scars,
	And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.
													[Exit.
