Henry V: Act II

Now all the youth of England are on fire,
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
Now thrive the armorers, and honor’s thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man.

Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland—
Have, for the gilt of France (O guilt indeed!),
Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France,
And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
If hell and treason hold their promises,
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.

Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.

Pish for thee, Iceland dog, thou prick-eared cur of Iceland!

"Solus,” egregious dog?

O viper vile, the solus in thy most marvelous face, the solus in thy teeth and in thy throat and in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy, and, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!

If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms.

O braggart vile and damnèd furious wight,
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near.

An oath of mickle might, and fury shall abate.

No, to the spital go, and from the powd’ring tub of infamy fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid’s kind, Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse.

I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly for the only she: and pauca, there’s enough too!

Ah, poor heart, he is so shaked of a burning quotidian-tertian that it is most lamentable to behold.

They shall be apprehended by and by.

Those that were your father’s enemies
Have steeped their galls in honey, and do serve you
With hearts create of duty and of zeal.

We judge no less.—Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday
That railed against our person.

Let him be punished, sovereign, lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.

Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons ’gainst this poor wretch.

My Lord of Cambridge here,
You know how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appurtenants
Belonging to his honor, and this man
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired
And sworn unto the practices of France
To kill us here in Hampton

My Lord of Cambridge here,
You know how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with all appurtenants
Belonging to his honor, and this man
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired
And sworn unto the practices of France
To kill us here in Hampton

All other devils that suggest by treasons
Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colors, and with forms being fetched
From glist’ring semblances of piety

All other devils that suggest by treasons
Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colors, and with forms being fetched
From glist’ring semblances of piety

But he that tempered thee bade thee stand up,
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.

If that same demon that hath gulled thee thus
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vasty Tartar back
And tell the legions “I can never win
A soul so easy as that Englishman’s.”

If that same demon that hath gulled thee thus
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vasty Tartar back
And tell the legions “I can never win
A soul so easy as that Englishman’s.”

Or are they spare in diet,
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
Garnished and decked in modest complement,
Not working with the eye without the ear,
And but in purgèd judgment trusting neither?

Or are they spare in diet,
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
Garnished and decked in modest complement,
Not working with the eye without the ear,
And but in purgèd judgment trusting neither?

And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot
To mark the full-fraught man and best endued
With some suspicion.

Our purposes God justly hath discovered,
And I repent my fault more than my death,
Which I beseech your Highness to forgive,
Although my body pay the price of it.

No; for my manly heart doth earn.—Bardolph, be blithe.—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins.

No; for my manly heart doth earn.—Bardolph, be blithe.—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins.

Look to my chattels and my movables.

It fits us then to be as provident
As fear may teach us out of late examples
Left by the fatal and neglected English
Upon our fields.

...you shall find his vanities forespent
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly,
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring and be most delicate.

So the proportions of defense are filled,
Which of a weak and niggardly projection
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting
A little cloth.

So the proportions of defense are filled,
Which of a weak and niggardly projection
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting
A little cloth.

So the proportions of defense are filled,
Which of a weak and niggardly projection
Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting
A little cloth.

He wills you, in the name of God almighty,
That you divest yourself and lay apart
The borrowed glories that, by gift of heaven,
By law of nature and of nations, ’longs
To him and to his heirs—namely, the crown
And all wide-stretchèd honors that pertain
By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France.

He wills you, in the name of God almighty,
That you divest yourself and lay apart
The borrowed glories that, by gift of heaven,
By law of nature and of nations, ’longs
To him and to his heirs—namely, the crown
And all wide-stretchèd honors that pertain
By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France.

Deliver up the crown and to take mercy
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws, and on your head
Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries,
The dead men’s blood, the privèd maidens’ groans,
For husbands, fathers, and betrothèd lovers
That shall be swallowed in this controversy.

Thus says my king: an if your father’s Highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty,
He’ll call you to so hot an answer of it
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trespass and return your mock
In second accent of his ordinance.