Pistol strode into the orchard, looking daggers around him. Pistol was in the habit of looking daggers, as I might be in the habit of looking fifty pound notes. The process was by no means a proof that he had one about him to make use of when called upon. He said---- But you shall hear what he said, and what was said to, and about, him, in the dramatic chronicler’s own words, with such unwritten elucidations, or “stage directions,” as your humble servant may consider himself justified in venturing upon. Sik John Falstaff (indifferently).--How now, Pistol? Pistol (with gesticulations of extravagant homage’).--Sir John, God save you, sir. Sir John Falstaff (suspiciously, buttoning his pockets).--What wind blew you hither Pistol? Pistol.--Not the ill wind which blows no man to good. Sweet knight, th’art now one of the greatest men in the realm. Master Silence (dimly reminded of a forgotten ballad, sings’)_“By’r lady, I think ho bo, but goodman Puff of Barson_.” Pistol (at once discerning that Master Silence is a man who may be safely bullied).--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. Sir John Falstaff.--I pr’ythee now, deliver them like a man of this world. Pistol.--A foutra for the world, and worldlings base! I speak of Africa, and golden joys. Sir John Falstaff.--O base Assyrian knight! what is thy news? Let king Cophetua know the truth thereof. Master Silence (sings seraphically).--“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. Master Shallow (rising, with magisterial assumption of sobriety).--Honest gentleman, I know not your breeding. Pistol.--Why then, lament therefore. Master Shallow.--Give me pardon, sir:--if, sir, you come with news from the court, I take it, there is but two ways, either to utter them, or to conceal them. I am, sir, under the king, in some authority. Pistol (drawing a rusty rapier) Under which king, Bezonian? speak, or die. Master Shallow.--Under King Harry. Pistol.--Harry the fourth? or fifth? Master Shallow.--Harry the fourth. Pistol.--A foutra 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. Sir John Falstaff (leaping to his feet like a colt).--What! is the old king dead? Pistol.--As nail in door: the things I speak are just. [Illustration: 256] Sir John “Falstaff (quivering with excitement).--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. Master Bardolph--O joyful day!--I would not take a knighthood for my fortune. (He drinks and exits.)