SCENE III. Gloucestershire. SHALLOW'S orchard.
Enter FALSTAFF, SHALLOW, SILENCE, DAVY, BARDOLPH, and the Page
Nay, you shall see my orchard, where, in an arbour,
we will eat a last year's pippin of my 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
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
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
Who, I? I have been merry twice and once ere now.
There's a dish of leather-coats for you.
Your worship! I'll be with you straight.
A cup of wine, sir?
A cup of wine that's brisk and fine,
And drink unto the leman mine;
And a merry heart lives long-a.
Well said, Master Silence.
An we shall be merry, now comes in the sweet o' the night.
Health and long life to you, Master Silence.
Fill the cup, and let it come;
I'll pledge you a mile to the bottom.
Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou wantest any
thing, 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 cavaleros about London.
I hove 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. A' will not
out; he is 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?
Why, now you have done me right.
To SILENCE, seeing him take off a bumper
Do me right,
And dub me knight: Samingo.
Is't not 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 a' be, but goodman Puff of Barson.
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.
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 therefore.
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 to 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!