The Life of King Henry the Fifth. Уильям Шекспир

Чтение книги онлайн.

        BARDOLPH. Well met, Corporal Nym.

        NYM. Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

        BARDOLPH. What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?

        NYM. For my part, I care not; I say little, but when time shall

          serve, there shall be smiles- but that shall be as it may. I

      dare

          not fight; but I will wink and hold out mine iron. It is a

      simple

          one; but what though? It will toast cheese, and it will

      endure

          cold as another man's sword will; and there's an end.

        BARDOLPH. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and

      we'll

          be all three sworn brothers to France. Let't be so, good

      Corporal

          Nym.

        NYM. Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of

      it;

          and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may. That

      is my

          rest, that is the rendezvous of it.

        BARDOLPH. It is certain, Corporal, that he is married to Nell

          Quickly; and certainly she did you wrong, for you were

          troth-plight to her.

        NYM. I cannot tell; things must be as they may. Men may sleep,

      and

          they may have their throats about them at that time; and some

      say

          knives have edges. It must be as it may; though patience be a

          tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions.

      Well, I

          cannot tell.

        BARDOLPH. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good

      Corporal, be

          patient here.

        NYM. How now, mine host Pistol!

        PISTOL. Base tike, call'st thou me host?

          Now by this hand, I swear I scorn the term;

          Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.

        HOSTESS. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and

      board a

          dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick

      of

          their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house

          straight. [Nym draws] O well-a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn!

      Now

          we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed.

        BARDOLPH. Good Lieutenant, good Corporal, offer nothing here.

        NYM. Pish!

        PISTOL. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of

          Iceland!

        HOSTESS. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your

      sword.

        NYM. Will you shog off? I would have you solus.

        PISTOL. 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile!

          The 'solus' in thy most mervailous 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!

          I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels;

          For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,

          And flashing fire will follow.

        NYM. I am not Barbason: you cannot conjure me. I have an humour

      to

          knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me,

      Pistol, I

          will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms; if

      you

          would walk off I would prick your guts a little, in good

      terms,

          as I may, and thaes the humour of it.

        PISTOL. O braggart vile and damned furious wight!

          The grave doth gape and doting death is near;

          Therefore exhale. [PISTOL draws]

        BARDOLPH. Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the

      first

          stroke I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.

                                                               [Draws]

        PISTOL. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.

                                 [PISTOL and Nym sheathe their swords]

          Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give;

          Thy spirits are most tall.

        NYM. I will cut thy throat one time or other, in fair terms;

      that

          is the humour of it.

        PISTOL. 'Couple a gorge!'

          That is the word. I thee defy again.

          O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?

          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.

          Go to.

        BOY. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master; and your

          hostess- he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph,

      put

          thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a

      warming-pan.

          Faith, he's very ill.

        BARDOLPH. Away, you rogue.

        HOSTESS. СКАЧАТЬ