SCENE I. France. The English camp. The Life of King Henry the Fifth  Shakespeare homepage  |  Henry V  | Act 5, Scene 1 

 Previous scene  |  Next scene  SCENE I. France. The English camp. 

 Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER  GOWER  Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek today? 

 Saint Davy's day is past. 

 FLUELLEN  There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in 

 all things: I will tell you, asse my friend, 

 Captain Gower: the rascally, scald, beggarly, 

 lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and 

 yourself and all the world know to be no petter 

 than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is 

 come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, 

 look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in place 

 where I could not breed no contention with him; but 

 I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see 

 him once again, and then I will tell him a little 

 piece of my desires. 



 Enter PISTOL  GOWER  Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock. 

 FLUELLEN  'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his 

 turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you 

 scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you! 

 PISTOL  Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, 

 To have me fold up Parca's fatal web? 

 Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek. 

 FLUELLEN  I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my 

 desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, 

 look you, this leek: because, look you, you do not 

 love it, nor your affections and your appetites and 

 your digestions doo's not agree with it, I would 

 desire you to eat it. 

 PISTOL  Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. 

 FLUELLEN  There is one goat for you. 



 Strikes him  Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it? 

 PISTOL  Base Trojan, thou shalt die. 

 FLUELLEN  You say very true, scauld knave, when God's will is: 

 I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat 

 your victuals: come, there is sauce for it. 



 Strikes him  You called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will 

 make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, 

 fall to: if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek. 

 GOWER  Enough, captain: you have astonished him. 

 FLUELLEN  I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or 

 I will peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it 

 is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb. 

 PISTOL  Must I bite? 

 FLUELLEN  Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question 

 too, and ambiguities. 

 PISTOL  By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: I eat 

 and eat, I swear-- 

 FLUELLEN  Eat, I pray you: will you have some more sauce to 

 your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by. 

 PISTOL  Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat. 

 FLUELLEN  Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. Nay, pray 

 you, throw none away; the skin is good for your 

 broken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks 

 hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all. 

 PISTOL  Good. 

 FLUELLEN  Ay, leeks is good: hold you, there is a groat to 

 heal your pate. 

 PISTOL  Me a groat! 

 FLUELLEN  Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I 

 have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat. 

 PISTOL  I take thy groat in earnest of revenge. 

 FLUELLEN  If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels: 

 you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but 

 cudgels. God b' wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate. 



 Exit  PISTOL  All hell shall stir for this. 

 GOWER  Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will 

 you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an 

 honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of 

 predeceased valour and dare not avouch in your deeds 

 any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and 

 galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You 

 thought, because he could not speak English in the 

 native garb, he could not therefore handle an 

 English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and 

 henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good 

 English condition. Fare ye well. 



 Exit  PISTOL  Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now? 

 News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital 

 Of malady of France; 

 And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. 

 Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs 

 Honour is cudgelled. Well, bawd I'll turn, 

 And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand. 

 To England will I steal, and there I'll steal: 

 And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars, 

 And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. 



 Exit  Shakespeare homepage  |  Henry V  | Act 5, Scene 1 

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