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    Act 3. Scene II

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    SCENE II. The same.

    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 would 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! your honour wins bad humours.

    Exeunt all but Boy

    Boy
    As young as I am, I have observed these three
    swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they
    three, though they would serve me, could not be man
    to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to
    a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and
    red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but
    fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue
    and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks
    words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath
    heard that men of few words are the best men; and
    therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a'
    should be thought a coward: but his few bad words
    are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never
    broke any man's head but his own, and that was
    against a post when he was drunk. They will steal
    any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a
    lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for
    three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn
    brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a
    fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the

    men would carry coals. They would have me as
    familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their
    handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood,
    if I should take from another's pocket to put into
    mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I
    must leave them, and seek some better service:
    their villany goes against my weak stomach, and
    therefore I must cast it up.

    Exit

    Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following

    GOWER
    Captain Fluellen, you must
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