Speeches (Lines) for Pistol in "Henry V"
Total: 62
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Act, Scene, Line
(Click to see in context) |
Speech text |
1 |
II,1,537 |
Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand,
I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.
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2 |
II,1,548 |
Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland!
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3 |
II,1,551 |
'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile!
The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face;
The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat,
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy,
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!
I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels;
For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,
And flashing fire will follow.
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4 |
II,1,565 |
O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near;
Therefore exhale.
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5 |
II,1,571 |
An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give:
Thy spirits are most tall.
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6 |
II,1,576 |
'Couple a gorge!'
That is the word. I thee defy again.
O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?
No; to the spital go,
And from the powdering tub of infamy
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse:
I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she; and—pauca, there's enough. Go to.
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7 |
II,1,598 |
Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!
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8 |
II,1,600 |
Base is the slave that pays.
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9 |
II,1,602 |
As manhood shall compound: push home.
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10 |
II,1,606 |
Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.
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11 |
II,1,611 |
A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
And liquor likewise will I give to thee,
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood:
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me;
Is not this just? for I shall sutler be
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
Give me thy hand.
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12 |
II,1,619 |
In cash most justly paid.
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13 |
II,1,628 |
Nym, thou hast spoke the right;
His heart is fracted and corroborate.
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14 |
II,1,632 |
Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live.
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15 |
II,3,834 |
No; for my manly heart doth yearn.
Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins:
Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
And we must yearn therefore.
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16 |
II,3,877 |
Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattels and my movables:
Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:'
Trust none;
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck:
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.
Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,
Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!
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17 |
II,3,888 |
Touch her soft mouth, and march.
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18 |
II,3,892 |
Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.
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19 |
III,2,1133 |
The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound:
Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die;
And sword and shield,
In bloody field,
Doth win immortal fame.
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20 |
III,2,1140 |
And I:
If wishes would prevail with me,
My purpose should not fail with me,
But thither would I hie.
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21 |
III,2,1149 |
Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage,
Abate thy rage, great duke!
Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck!
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22 |
III,6,1482 |
Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours:
The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.
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23 |
III,6,1486 |
Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,
And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate,
And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel,
That goddess blind,
That stands upon the rolling restless stone—
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24 |
III,6,1501 |
Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;
For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be:
A damned death!
Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate:
But Exeter hath given the doom of death
For pax of little price.
Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice:
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut
With edge of penny cord and vile reproach:
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.
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25 |
III,6,1513 |
Why then, rejoice therefore.
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26 |
III,6,1518 |
Die and be damn'd! and figo for thy friendship!
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27 |
III,6,1520 |
The fig of Spain!
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28 |
IV,1,1881 |
Qui va la?
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29 |
IV,1,1883 |
Discuss unto me; art thou officer?
Or art thou base, common and popular?
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30 |
IV,1,1886 |
Trail'st thou the puissant pike?
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31 |
IV,1,1888 |
As good a gentleman as the emperor.
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32 |
IV,1,1890 |
The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame;
Of parents good, of fist most valiant.
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string
I love the lovely bully. What is thy name?
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33 |
IV,1,1896 |
Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?
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34 |
IV,1,1898 |
Know'st thou Fluellen?
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35 |
IV,1,1900 |
Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate
Upon Saint Davy's day.
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36 |
IV,1,1904 |
Art thou his friend?
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37 |
IV,1,1906 |
The figo for thee, then!
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38 |
IV,1,1908 |
My name is Pistol call'd.
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39 |
IV,4,2375 |
Yield, cur!
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40 |
IV,4,2377 |
Qualtitie calmie custure me! Art thou a gentleman?
what is thy name? discuss.
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41 |
IV,4,2380 |
O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman:
Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark;
O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.
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42 |
IV,4,2386 |
Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys;
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
In drops of crimson blood.
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43 |
IV,4,2390 |
Brass, cur!
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,
Offer'st me brass?
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44 |
IV,4,2394 |
Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys?
Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French
What is his name.
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45 |
IV,4,2400 |
Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret
him: discuss the same in French unto him.
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46 |
IV,4,2403 |
Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.
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47 |
IV,4,2408 |
Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy,
Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.
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48 |
IV,4,2414 |
What are his words?
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49 |
IV,4,2418 |
Tell him my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take.
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50 |
IV,4,2428 |
Expound unto me, boy.
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51 |
IV,4,2433 |
As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.
Follow me!
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52 |
V,1,2905 |
Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.
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53 |
V,1,2914 |
Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.
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54 |
V,1,2918 |
Base Trojan, thou shalt die.
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55 |
V,1,2930 |
Must I bite?
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56 |
V,1,2933 |
By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: I eat
and eat, I swear—
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57 |
V,1,2937 |
Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.
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58 |
V,1,2942 |
Good.
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59 |
V,1,2945 |
Me a groat!
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60 |
V,1,2948 |
I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.
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61 |
V,1,2953 |
All hell shall stir for this.
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62 |
V,1,2966 |
Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital
Of malady of France;
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgelled. 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.
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