As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced; by the means whereof a’ faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a’ breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a’ should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds; for a’ never broke any man’s head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men’s pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another’s pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.
Even though I’m young, I’ve noticed these three tough guys. I serve all three of them: but none of them could be a man to me, even if they wanted to; because honestly, three clowns like them don’t make up one man. Bardolph, for example, is a coward and has a red face; because of that, he puts on a brave face, but doesn’t actually fight. Pistol, he has a sharp tongue but a quiet sword; so he talks a big game but keeps his sword sheathed. As for Nym, he’s heard that men of few words are the best, so he refuses to say his prayers, in case anyone thinks he’s a coward. But his few bad words are matched by just as few good deeds, because he’s never hurt anyone but himself, and that was by crashing into a post while drunk. They’ll steal anything and call it a bargain. Bardolph stole a lute-case, carried it twelve miles, and sold it for three pennies. Nym and Bardolph are partners in crime, and in Calais, they stole a fire-shovel. I knew by that action that they’d steal anything. They want me to be as familiar with people’s pockets as their gloves or their handkerchiefs: which goes against my sense of honor, if I were to take from someone else’s pocket and put it in mine; because it’s just stealing. I have to leave them, and find a better job: their evil ways make me sick, and so I have to get away from them.
Boy · Act 3, Scene 2
The Boy has been watching Bardolph, Nym, and Pistol operate—stealing, boasting, performing loyalty they don't feel. He judges them clearly and finds them hollow, and then makes a choice: he will leave them and seek honest service. The speech lands because a child voices what the audience already suspects, and because his decision to walk away marks the moment the old disorder finally breaks apart. The Boy's integrity, his refusal to steal, shows that Henry's new order has already begun to remake the people around it.
