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Act V, Prologue

PROLOGUE.

[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 the 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 winged thoughts
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd 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 bruised 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 the antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels,
Go forth and fetch their conquering 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 broached 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 chanc'd,
Till Harry's back-return again to France.
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
The interim, by rememb'ring you 'tis past.
Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, straight back again to France.

[Exit.]

Act V, Scene 1

SCENE I. France. The English camp.

[Enter Fluellen and Gower.]

GOWER.
Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day?
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 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, 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, scurfy, 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, 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 mean time, and eat your victuals.
Come, there is sauce for it. [Strikes him.] 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.

(The entire section is 4,503 words.)