SHALLOW. By God’s liggens, I thank thee. The knave will stick by thee, I can assure thee that. He will not out, he. ’Tis true bred. BARDOLPH. And I’ll stick by him, sir. SHALLOW. Why, there spoke a king. Lack nothing! Be merry. [_Knocking within._] Look who’s at door there, ho! Who knocks? [_Exit Davy._] FALSTAFF. [_To Silence, seeing him take off a bumper_.] Why, now you have done me right. SILENCE. [_Singing._] _Do me right, And dub me knight: Samingo._ Is’t not so? FALSTAFF. ’Tis so. SILENCE. Is’t so? Why then, say an old man can do somewhat. Enter Davy. DAVY. An’t please your worship, there’s one Pistol come from the court with news. FALSTAFF. From the court? Let him come in. Enter Pistol. How now, Pistol? PISTOL. Sir John, God save you! FALSTAFF. What wind blew you hither, Pistol? PISTOL. Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight, thou art now one of the greatest men in this realm. SILENCE. By’r lady, I think he be, but goodman Puff of Barson. PISTOL. Puff! Puff in thy teeth, most recreant coward base! Sir John, I am thy Pistol and thy friend, And helter-skelter have I rode to thee, And tidings do I bring and lucky joys, And golden times, and happy news of price. FALSTAFF. I pray thee now, deliver them like a man of this world. PISTOL. A foutre for the world and worldlings base! I speak of Africa and golden joys. FALSTAFF. O base Assyrian knight, what is thy news? Let King Cophetua know the truth thereof. SILENCE. [_Singing_.] _And Robin Hood, Scarlet, and John._ PISTOL. Shall dunghill curs confront the Helicons? And shall good news be baffled? Then, Pistol, lay thy head in Furies’ lap. SHALLOW. Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. PISTOL. Why then, lament therefor. SHALLOW. 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 conceal them. I am, sir, under the King, in some authority. PISTOL. Under which king, Besonian? Speak, or die. SHALLOW. Under King Harry. PISTOL. Harry the Fourth, or Fifth? SHALLOW. Harry the Fourth. PISTOL. 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. FALSTAFF. What, is the old King dead? PISTOL. As nail in door. The things I speak are just. FALSTAFF. 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. BARDOLPH. O joyful day! I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. PISTOL. What! I do bring good news. FALSTAFF. 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! [_Exit Bardolph._]