joys And golden times and happy news of price. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world. A foutre for the world and worldlings base! I speak of Africa and golden joys. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? And shall good news be baffled? Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies' lap. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. Why then, lament therefore. Give me pardon, sir: if, sir, you come with news from the court, I take it there's but two ways, either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, under the king, in some authority. Under which king, Besonian? speak, or die. Under King Harry. Harry the Fourth? or Fifth? Harry the Fourth. A foutre for thine office! Sir John, thy tender lambkin now is king; Harry the Fifth's the man. I speak the truth: When Pistol lies, do this; and fig me, like The bragging Spaniard. What, is the old king dead? As nail in door: the things I speak are just. Away, Bardolph! saddle my horse. Master Robert Shallow, choose what office thou wilt in the land, 'tis thine. Pistol, I will double-charge thee with dignities. O joyful day! I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. What! I do bring good news. Carry Master Silence to bed. Master Shallow, my Lord Shallow,--be what thou wilt; I am fortune's steward--get on thy boots: we'll ride all night. O sweet Pistol! Away, Bardolph! Come, Pistol, utter more to me; and withal devise something to do thyself good. Boot, boot, Master Shallow: I know the young king is sick for me. Let us take any man's horses; the laws of England are at my commandment. Blessed are they that have been my friends; and woe to my lord chief-justice! Let vultures vile seize on his lungs also! 'Where is the life that late I led?' say they: Why, here it is; welcome these pleasant days! No, thou arrant knave; I would to God that I might die, that I might have thee hanged: thou hast drawn my shoulder out of joint. The constables have delivered her over to me; and she shall have whipping-cheer enough, I warrant her: there hath been a man or two lately killed about her. Nut-hook, nut-hook, you lie. Come on; I 'll tell thee what, thou damned tripe-visaged rascal,