This the Dolphin speaks.

K. HEN.

What treasure, uncle?

EXE.

Tennis-balls, my liege.

K. HEN.

We are glad the Dolphin is so pleasant with us,

His present and your pains we thank you for.

When we have match'd our rackets to these balls,

We will in France, by God's grace, play a set

Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.

Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler

That all the courts of France will be disturb'd

With chaces. And we understand him well,

How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,

Not measuring what use we made of them.

We never valu'd this poor seat of England,

And therefore, living hence, did give ourself

To barbarous license; as 'tis ever common

That men are merriest when they are from home.

But tell the Dolphin I will keep my state,

Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness

When I do rouse me in my throne of France.

For that I have laid by my majesty,

And plodded like a man for working-days;

But I will rise there with so full a glory

That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,

Yea, strike the Dolphin blind to look on us.

And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his

Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones, and his soul

Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance

That shall fly with them; for many a thousand widows

Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands;

Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;

And some are yet ungotten and unborn

That shall have cause to curse the Dolphin's scorn.

But this lies all within the will of God,

To whom I do appeal, and in whose name

Tell you the Dolphin I am coming on

To venge me as I may, and to put forth

My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.

So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dolphin

His jest will savor but of shallow wit,

When thousands weep more than did laugh at it. –

Convey them with safe conduct. – Fare you well.

 

Exeunt Ambassadors.

 

EXE.

This was a merry message.

K. HEN.

We hope to make the sender blush at it.

Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour

That may give furth'rance to our expedition;

For we have now no thought in us but France,

Save those to God, that run before our business.

Therefore let our proportions for these wars

Be soon collected, and all things thought upon

That may with reasonable swiftness add

More feathers to our wings; for, God before,

We'll chide this Dolphin at his father's door.

Therefore let every man now task his thought,

That this fair action may on foot be brought.

 

Exeunt.

 

 

[Act II]

Flourish. Enter Chorus.

 

Now all the youth of England are on fire,

And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;

Now thrive the armorers, and honor's thought

Reigns solely in the breast of every man.

They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,

Following the mirror of all Christian kings,

With winged heels, as English Mercuries.

For now sits Expectation in the air,

And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point,

With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,

Promis'd to Harry and his followers.

The French, advis'd by good intelligence

Of this most dreadful preparation,

Shake in their fear, and with pale policy

Seek to divert the English purposes.

O England! model to thy inward greatness,

Like little body with a mighty heart,

What mightst thou do, that honor would thee do,

Were all thy children kind and natural!

But see, thy fault France hath in thee found out,

A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills

With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,

One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,

Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,

Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,

Have for the gilt of France (O guilt indeed!)

Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France,

And by their hands this grace of kings must die,

If hell and treason hold their promises,

Ere he take ship for France; and in Southampton.

Linger your patience on, and we'll digest

Th' abuse of distance; force a play:

The sum is paid, the traitors are agreed,

The King is set from London, and the scene

Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton;

There is the playhouse now, there must you sit,

And thence to France shall we convey you safe,

And bring you back, charming the Narrow Seas

To give you gentle pass; for if we may,

We'll not offend one stomach with our play.

But till the King come forth, and not till then,

Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.

 

Exit.

 

[Scene I]

 

Enter Corporal Nym and Lieutenant Bardolph.

 

BARD. Well met, Corporal Nym.

NYM. Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

BARD. What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?

NYM. For my part, I care not; I say little; but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles – but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I will wink and hold out mine iron. It is a simple one, but what though? It will toast cheese, and it will endure cold as another man's sword will; and there's an end.

BARD. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends, and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France. Let't be so, good Corporal Nym.

NYM. Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it.

BARD. It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell Quickly, and certainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her.

NYM. I cannot tell; things must be as they may. Men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time, and some say knives have edges. It must be as it may; though patience be a tir'd [mare], yet she will plod – there must be conclusions – well, I cannot tell.

 

Enter Pistol and [Hostess] Quickly.

 

BARD. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good corporal, be patient here.

[NYM.] How now, mine host Pistol?

PIST.

Base tike, call'st thou me host?

Now by [Gadslugs] I swear I scorn the term;

Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.

HOST. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of their needles but it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house straight. [Nym and Pistol draw.] O welliday, Lady, if he be not hewn now, we shall see willful adultery and murther committed.

BARD. Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here.

NYM. Pish!

PIST.

Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland!

HOST. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valor, and put up your sword.

NYM. Will you shog off? I would have you solus.

PIST.

›Solus,‹ egregious dog? O viper vile!

The ›solus‹ in thy most mervailous face,

The ›solus‹ in thy teeth, and in thy throat,

And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy;

And which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!

I do retort the ›solus‹ in thy bowels,

For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,

And flashing fire will follow.

NYM. I am not Barbason, you cannot conjure me.