Would I were in an
alehouse
in London!
Shakespeare
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding- which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George! '
[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off]
SCENE II.
Before Harfleur
Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and BOY
BARDOLPH. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach!
NYM. Pray thee, Corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot, and for
mine own part I have not a case of lives. The humour of it is too
hot; that is the very plain-song of it.
PISTOL. The plain-song is most just; for humours do abound:
Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die;
And sword and shield
In bloody field
Doth win immortal fame.
BOY.
Would I were in an alehouse in London! I wouid give all my
fame for a pot of ale and safety.
PISTOL. And I:
If wishes would prevail with me,
My purpose should not fail with me,
But thither would I hie.
BOY. As duly, but not as truly,
As bird doth sing on bough.
Enter FLUELLEN
FLUELLEN. Up to the breach, you dogs!
Avaunt, you cullions! [Driving them forward]
PISTOL. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage;
Abate thy rage, great duke.
Good bawcock, bate thy rage. Use lenity, sweet chuck.
NYM. These be good humours.
