William Shakespeare: Henry IV (Pt 2), Act V, Scene III
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.
Sir John: marry, good air. Spread, Davy; spread,
Davy; well said, Davy.
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.
Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer,
When flesh is cheap and females dear,
And lusty lads roam here and there
And ever among so merrily.
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.
'Tis merry in hall when beards wag all,
And welcome merry Shrove-tide.
Be merry, be merry.
And a merry heart lives long-a.
Honest Bardolph, welcome: if thou wantest any thing, and wilt not call, beshrew thy heart. Welcome, my little tiny thief.
To the Page
Bardolph, and to all the cavaleros about London.
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.
To Silence, seeing him take off a bumper
Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm.
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.
And shall good news be baffled?
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.
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.
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.
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.
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!
'Where is the life that late I led?' say they:
Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days!