Knocks goe and come: Gods Vassals drop and
dye: and Sword and Shield, in bloody Field, doth winne
immortall fame

Boy. Would I were in a Ale-house in London, I
would giue all my fame for a Pot of Ale, and safetie

Pist. And I: If wishes would preuayle with me, my
purpose should not fayle with me; but thither would I
high

Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as Bird doth sing on
bough.
Enter Fluellen.

Flu. Vp to the breach, you Dogges; auaunt you
Cullions

Pist. Be mercifull great Duke to men of Mould: abate
thy Rage, abate thy manly Rage; abate thy Rage,
great Duke. Good Bawcock bate thy Rage: vse lenitie
sweet Chuck

Nim. These be good humors: your Honor wins bad
humors.
Enter.

Boy. As young as I am, I haue obseru'd these three
Swashers: I am Boy to them all three, but all they three,
though they would serue me, could not be Man to me;