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!