Enter PISTOL.

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey

cock.

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks.-Got pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy, lowsy knave, Got pless you!

Pist. 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.

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsy 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, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.

Pist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats.
Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.]

Will you be so good, scald knave, as eat it?
Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got'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 again.) 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.

Gow. Enough, captain; you have astonished1 him. Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days. -Pite, I pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb.

Pist. Must I bite?

Flu. Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities.

Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: I eat, and eke I swear.

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Flu. Eat, I pray you: Will you have some more
sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek to
swear by.

Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat.
Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay,
'pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your
proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see
leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them! that is all.
Pist. Good.

Flu. Ay, leeks is goot:-Hold you, there is a great
to heal your pate.

Pist. Me a groat?

Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or
I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.
Pist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge.
Flu. 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 be wi' you, and keep you,
and heal your pate.

Pist. All hell shall stir for this.

[Exit.

Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit, cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honorable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valor, and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking1 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 you well.

[Exit.

Pist. 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
Honor is cudgeled. Well, bawd will I turn,

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