Pistol: Yield, cur!
French Soldier: Je pense que vous etes gentilhomme de bonne qualite.
Pistol: Qualtitie calmie custure me! Art thou a gentlewoman? What is thy name? Discuss.
French Soldier: O Seigneur Dieu!
Pistol: O, Signieur Dew should be a gentlewoman: perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark; O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, except, O signieur, thou give to me egregious ransom.
French Soldier: O, prenez misericorde! ayez pitie de moi!
Pistol: Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys.
French Soldier: Est-il impossible d'echapper la force de ton bras?
Pistol: Brass, cur! Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, offer'st me brass?
French Soldier: O pardonnez moi!
Pistol: Say'st this? is that a ton of moys? Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French 'What is her name.'
Boy: Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?
French Soldier: Madame le Fer.
Boy: She says her name is Madame le Fer.
Pistol: Madame le Fer! I'll fer her, and firk her, and ferret her: discuss the same in French unto her.
Boy: I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.
Pistol: Bid her prepare; for I will cut her throat.
French Soldier: Que dit-il, monsieur?
Boy: Il me commande de vous dire que vous faites vous pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout a cette heure de couper votre gorge.
Pistol: Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy, Peasant, unless thou offer me crowns, brave crowns; or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.
French Soldier: O, je vous supplie, pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents ecus.
Pistol: What are her words?
Boy: She prays you to save her life: she is a lady of a good house; and for her ransom she will give you two hundred crowns.
Pistol: Tell her my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take.
French Soldier: Petit monsieur, que dit-il?
Boy: Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier, neanmoins, pour les ecus que vous l'avez promis, il est content de vous donner la liberte, le franchisement.
French Soldier: Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens; et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue seigneur d'Angleterre.
Pistol: Expound unto me, boy.
Boy: She gives you, upon her knees, a thousand thanks; and she esteems himself happy that she hath fallen into the hands of one, as she thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.
Pistol: As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me!
Boy: Suivez-vous le grand capitaine.
(Exeunt Pistol, and French Soldier)
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.' Bardolph and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and so would this be, if he durst steal anything adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our camp: the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it but boys.
Constable: O diable!
Orleans: O seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!
Dauphin: Mort de ma vie! All is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame sits mocking in our plumes. O merchante fortune! Do not run away.
(A short alarum)
Constable: Why, all our ranks are broke.
Dauphin: O perdurable shame! let's stab ourselves. Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
Orleans: Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?
Bourbon: Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Let us die with honour: once more back again; and he that will not follow Bourbon now, let him go hence, and with his cap in hand, like a base pander, hold the chamber-door whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, his fairest daughter is contaminated.
Constable: Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.
Orleans: We are enough yet living in the field to smother up the English in our throngs, if any order might be thought upon.
Bourbon: The devil take order now! I'll to the throng: Let life be short; else shame will be too long.