Si fortune me tormenta, spero contenta.

The heavens thee guard and keep, most royal imp of fame!

There roar'd the sea, and trumpet-clangor sounds.

My knight, I will inflame thy noble liver,
And make thee rage.
Thy Doll, and Helen of thy noble thoughts,
Is in base durance and contagious prison;
Haled thither
By most mechanical and dirty hand:
Rouse up revenge from ebon den with fell
Alecto's snake,
For Doll is in ...

'Tis 'semper idem,' for 'obsque hoc nihil est:'
'tis all in every part.

God bless thy lungs, good knight.

Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also!
'Where is the life that late I led?' say they:
Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days!

What! I do bring good news.

As nail in door: the things I speak are just.

A foutre for thine office!
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.

Harry the Fourth? or Fifth?

Under which king, Besonian? speak, or die.

Why then, lament therefore.

Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons?
And shall good news be baffled?
Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap.

A foutre for the world and worldlings base!
I speak of Africa and golden joys.

Puff!
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.

Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet
knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm.

Sir John, God save you!

What! shall we have incision? shall we imbrue?
Snatching up his sword
Then death rock me asleep, abridge my doleful days!
Why, then, let grievous, ghastly, gaping wounds
Untwine the Sisters Three! Come, Atropos, I say!

Thrust him down stairs! know we not Galloway nags?

Sweet knight, I kiss thy neaf: what! we have seen
the seven stars.

Then feed, and be fat, my fair Calipolis.
Come, give's some sack.
'Si fortune me tormente, sperato me contento.'
Fear we broadsides? no, let the fiend give fire:
Give me some sack: and, sweetheart, lie thou there.
Laying down his sword
Come we to full points here; and are ...

Die men like dogs! give crowns like pins! Have we
not Heren here?

These be good humours, indeed! Shall pack-horses
And hollow pamper'd jades of Asia,
Which cannot go but thirty mile a-day,
Compare with Caesars, and with Cannibals,
And Trojan Greeks? nay, rather damn them with
King Cerberus; and let the welkin roar.
Shall we fall foul for toys?

I'll see her damned first; to Pluto's damned lake,
by this hand, to the infernal deep, with Erebus and
tortures vile also. Hold hook and line, say I.
Down, down, dogs! down, faitors! Have we not
Hiren here?

Not I I tell thee what, Corporal Bardolph, I could
tear her: I'll be revenged of her.

God let me not live, but I will murder your ruff for this.

I know you, Mistress Dorothy.

Then to you, Mistress Dorothy; I will charge you.

I will discharge upon her, Sir John, with two bullets.

God save you, Sir John!