WILLIAMS.
’Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head, the King is not to answer for it.
BATES.
I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.
KING HENRY.
I myself heard the King say he would not be ransom’d.
WILLIAMS.
Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our throats are cut, he may be ransom’d, and we ne’er the wiser.
KING HENRY.
If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.
WILLIAMS.
You pay him then. That’s a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and a private displeasure can do against a monarch! You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a peacock’s feather. You’ll never trust his word after! Come, ’tis a foolish saying.
KING HENRY.
Your reproof is something too round. I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.
WILLIAMS.
Let it be a quarrel between us if you live.
KING HENRY.
I embrace it.
WILLIAMS.
How shall I know thee again?