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I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew,
Shall I not take mine ease in mine inn?
This sickness doth infect The very life-blood of our enterprise.
I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat.
Food for powder, food for powder ; they'll fill a pit, as well as better.
To the latter end of a fray, and the beginning of a feast, Fits a dull fighter and a keen guest.
Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? No
What is honour ? A word,
Or take away
What is that word, honour ? Air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? He that died o' Wednesday. Doth he feel it? No. Doth he hear it? No. Is it insensible, then? Yea, to the dead. But will it
, not live with the living? No. Why? Detraction will not suffer it :—therefore I'll none of it, honour is a mere scutcheon, and so ends my catechism.*
Two stars keep not their motion in one sphere.
v I could have better spar'd a better man.
1 The better part of valour is discretion.
Lord, lord, how this world is given to lying! 1 grant you I was down, and out of breath, and so was he; but we rose both at an instant, and fought a long hour by Shrewsbury clock,
KING HENRY IV. Part Il.
The first bringer of unwelcome news
* The reading of Falstaff's catechism here used is from the text of Mr. Knight. Some editions have it in a triling degree different from the text here quoted.
Sounds ever after as a sullen bell,
I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men.
He hath eaten me out of house and home.
How many thousand of my poorest subjects
the high and giddy mast
* Not“ departed friend," as erroneously printed in some copies.
In cradle of the rude imperious surge ;
He hath a tear for pity, and a hand
Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.
Then get thee gone ; and dig my grave thyself ;
* Hurly, noise, tumult, confusion.
+ In some copies printed happy low-lie-down." Much discussion has occurred on the passage. Warburton and others read it,
“Then happy lowly clown !"
FALSTAFF. What wind blew you hither, Pistol ?
Under which king, Bezonian ?* speak, or die.
KING HENRY V.
Consideration like an angel came,
When he speaks,
Base is the slave that pays.
For after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of
* Bezonian; a term of reproach from the Italian bisogno.
+ Babbled of green fields. Though this is the generally recognised text, it is by no means a settled point as to the