Part 19 (2/2)

”Beneath the covering were the twelve kings, martyrs and confessors of the succession of England, their loins girded with golden girdles, sceptres in their hands, and crowns on their heads, who chaunted with one accord at the King's approach in a sweet tune.

”And they sent forth upon him round leaves of silver mixed with wafers, equally thin and round. And there proceeded out to meet the King a chorus of most beautiful virgin girls, elegantly attired in white, singing with timbrol and dance; and then innumerable boys, as it were an angelic mult.i.tude, decked with celestial gracefulness, white apparel, s.h.i.+ning feathers, virgin locks, studded with gems and other resplendent and most elegant array, who sent forth upon the head of the King pa.s.sing beneath minae of gold, with bows of laurel; round about angels shone with celestial gracefulness, chaunting sweetly, and with all sorts of music.

”And besides the pressure in the standing places, and of men crowding through the streets, and the mult.i.tude of both s.e.xes along the way from the bridge, from one end to the other, that scarcely the hors.e.m.e.n could ride through them. A greater a.s.sembly, or a n.o.bler spectacle, was not recollected to have been ever before in London.”]

ACT V.

SCENE I.--FRANCE IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF TROYES.

_Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER, L.H._

_Gow._ Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek today? Saint Davy's day is past.

_Flu._ There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, Captain Gower: the rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy, pragging knave, Pistol,--he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and pid me eat my leek: it was in a place where I could not preed no contentions with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.

_Enter PISTOL, R.H._

_Gow._ Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-c.o.c.k.

_Flu._ 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-c.o.c.ks.--Heaven pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy, lowsy knave, Heaven pless you!

_Pist._ Ha! art thou Bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?[1]

Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

[_Crosses to L.H._

_Flu._ I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my pet.i.tions, to eat, look you, this leek: because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appet.i.tes, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.

_Pist._ (_crosses to R.H._) Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.

_Flu._ There is one goat for you.

[_Strikes him._

Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it?

_Pist._ Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

_Flu._ You say very true, scald knave, when Heaven's will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals: come, there is sauce for it. (_Striking him again._) You called me yesterday mountain-squire; but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree.[2]

I pray you, fall to: if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

_Gow._ Enough, captain: you have astonished him.[3]

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