Act 3 - Scene 2

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