Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day? Saint
Davy's day is past.
There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all
things. I will tell you, ass my friend, Captain Gower: the
rascally, scald, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol- which
you and yourself and all the world know to be no petter than a
fellow, look you now, of no merits- he is come to me, and prings
me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek; it
was in a place where I could not breed no contendon with him; but
I will be so bold 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.
Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.
'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks.
God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God
Ha! art thou bedlam? Dost thou thirst, base Troyan,
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.
I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy knave, at my
desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you,
this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your
affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not
agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.
You say very true, scald knave- when God's will is. I
will desire you to live in the meantime, and eat your victuals;
come, there is sauce for it. [Striking him again] You call'd me
yesterday mountain-squire; but I will make you to-day a squire of
low degree. I pray you fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can
eat a leek.
Much good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you
throw none away; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When
you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at
'em; that is all.
Go, go: you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock
at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and
worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not
avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking
and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought,
because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could
not therefore handle an English cudgel; you find it otherwise,
and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English
condition. Fare ye well.
Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
News have I that my Nell is dead i' th' spital
Of malady of France;
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd I'll turn,
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal;
And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars,
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.