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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare The Life of King Henry the Fifth

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DAUPHIN. 'Le chien est retourne a son propre vomissement, et la
truie lavee au bourbier.' Thou mak'st use of anything.
CONSTABLE. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any
such
proverb so little kin to the purpose.
RAMBURES. My Lord Constable, the armour that I saw in your tent
to-night- are those stars or suns upon it?
CONSTABLE. Stars, my lord.
DAUPHIN. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.
CONSTABLE. And yet my sky shall not want.
DAUPHIN. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and
'twere
more honour some were away.
CONSTABLE. Ev'n as your horse bears your praises, who would
trot as
well were some of your brags dismounted.
DAUPHIN. Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will it
never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall
be
paved with English faces.
CONSTABLE. I will not say so, for fear I should be fac'd out of
my
way; but I would it were morning, for I would fain be about
the
ears of the English.
RAMBURES. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?
CONSTABLE. You must first go yourself to hazard ere you have
them.
DAUPHIN. 'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself. Exit
ORLEANS. The Dauphin longs for morning.
RAMBURES. He longs to eat the English.
CONSTABLE. I think he will eat all he kills.
ORLEANS. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant prince.
CONSTABLE. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath.
ORLEANS. He is simply the most active gentleman of France.
CONSTABLE. Doing is activity, and he will still be doing.
ORLEANS. He never did harm that I heard of.
CONSTABLE. Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep that good
name
still.
ORLEANS. I know him to be valiant.
CONSTABLE. I was told that by one that knows him better than
you.
ORLEANS. What's he?
CONSTABLE. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said he car'd
not
who knew it.
ORLEANS. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.
CONSTABLE. By my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it
but
his lackey.
'Tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate.
ORLEANS. Ill-wind never said well.
CONSTABLE. I will cap that proverb with 'There is flattery in
friendship.'
ORLEANS. And I will take up that with 'Give the devil his due.'
CONSTABLE. Well plac'd! There stands your friend for the devil;
have at the very eye of that proverb with 'A pox of the
devil!'
ORLEANS. You are the better at proverbs by how much 'A fool's
bolt
is soon shot.'
CONSTABLE. You have shot over.
ORLEANS. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. My Lord High Constable, the English lie within
fifteen
hundred paces of your tents.
CONSTABLE. Who hath measur'd the ground?
MESSENGER. The Lord Grandpre.
CONSTABLE. A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were
day!
Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for the dawning as
we
do.
ORLEANS. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this King of
England, to mope with his fat-brain'd followers so far out of
his
knowledge!
CONSTABLE. If the English had any apprehension, they would run
away.
ORLEANS. That they lack; for if their heads had any
intellectual
armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces.
RAMBURES. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures;
their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
ORLEANS. Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a
Russian
bear, and have their heads crush'd like rotten apples! You
may as
well say that's a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on
the
lip of a lion.
CONSTABLE. Just, just! and the men do sympathise with the
mastiffs
in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with
their
wives; and then give them great meals of beef and iron and
steel;
they will eat like wolves and fight like devils.
ORLEANS. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.
CONSTABLE. Then shall we find to-morrow they have only stomachs
to
eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we
about it?
ORLEANS. It is now two o'clock; but let me see- by ten
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. Exeunt

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ACT IV. PROLOGUE.

Enter CHORUS

CHORUS. Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch.
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face;
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
The armourers accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do ton,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night
Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently and inly ruminate
The morning's danger; and their gesture sad
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold
The royal captain of this ruin'd band
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'
For forth he goes and visits all his host;
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,
And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note
How dread an army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night;
But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;
That every wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks;
A largess universal, like the sun,
His liberal eye doth give to every one,
Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all
Behold, as may unworthiness define,
A little touch of Harry in the night.
And so our scene must to the battle fly;
Where- O for pity!- we shall much disgrace
With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
Right ill-dispos'd in brawl ridiculous,
The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
Minding true things by what their mock'ries be. Exit

SCENE I.
France. The English camp at Agincourt

Enter the KING, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER

KING HENRY. Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger;
The greater therefore should our courage be.
Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out;
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful and good husbandry.
Besides, they are our outward consciences
And preachers to us all, admonishing
That we should dress us fairly for our end.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.

Enter ERPINGHAM

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.
ERPINGHAM. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better,
Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.'
KING HENRY. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains
Upon example; so the spirit is eased;
And when the mind is quick'ned, out of doubt
The organs, though defunct and dead before,
Break up their drowsy grave and newly move
With casted slough and fresh legerity.
Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp;
Do my good morrow to them, and anon
Desire them all to my pavilion.
GLOUCESTER. We shall, my liege.
ERPINGHAM. Shall I attend your Grace?
KING HENRY. No, my good knight:
Go with my brothers to my lords of England;
I and my bosom must debate awhile,
And then I would no other company.
ERPINGHAM. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
Exeunt all but the KING
KING HENRY. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.

Enter PISTOL

PISTOL. Qui va la?
KING HENRY. A friend.
PISTOL. Discuss unto me: art thou officer,
Or art thou base, common, and popular?
KING HENRY. I am a gentleman of a company.
PISTOL. Trail'st thou the puissant pike?
KING HENRY. Even so. What are you?
PISTOL. As good a gentleman as the Emperor.
KING HENRY. Then you are a better than the King.
PISTOL. 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?
KING HENRY. Harry le Roy.
PISTOL. Le Roy! a Cornish name; art thou of Cornish crew?
KING HENRY. No, I am a Welshman.
PISTOL. Know'st thou Fluellen?
KING HENRY. Yes.
PISTOL. Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate
Upon Saint Davy's day.
KING HENRY. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day,
lest
he knock that about yours.
PISTOL. Art thou his friend?
KING HENRY. And his kinsman too.
PISTOL. The figo for thee, then!
KING HENRY. I thank you; God be with you!
PISTOL. My name is Pistol call'd. Exit
KING HENRY. It sorts well with your fierceness.

Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER

GOWER. Captain Fluellen!
FLUELLEN. So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak fewer. It is
the
greatest admiration in the universal world, when the true and

aunchient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if
you
would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the
Great,
you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle-taddle
nor
pibble-pabble in Pompey's camp; I warrant you, you shall find
the
ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of
it,
and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be
otherwise.
GOWER. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.
FLUELLEN. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating
coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look
you, be
an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb? In your own
conscience, now?
GOWER. I will speak lower.
FLUELLEN. I pray you and beseech you that you will.
Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN
KING HENRY. Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.

Enter three soldiers: JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT,
and MICHAEL WILLIAMS

COURT. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks
yonder?
BATES. I think it be; but we have no great cause to desire the
approach of day.
WILLIAMS. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think
we
shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?
KING HENRY. A friend.
WILLIAMS. Under what captain serve you?
KING HENRY. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.
WILLIAMS. A good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I
pray
you, what thinks he of our estate?
KING HENRY. Even as men wreck'd upon a sand, that look to be
wash'd
off the next tide.
BATES. He hath not told his thought to the King?
KING HENRY. No; nor it is not meet he should. For though I
speak it
to you, I think the King is but a man as I am: the violet
smells
to him as it doth to me; the element shows to him as it doth
to
me; all his senses have but human conditions; his ceremonies
laid
by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his
affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they
stoop,
they stoop with the like wing. Therefore, when he sees reason
of
fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same
relish
as ours are; yet, in reason, no man should possess him with
any
appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten
his
army.
BATES. He may show what outward courage he will; but I believe,
as
cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in Thames up to
the
neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all
adventures, so
we were quit here.
KING HENRY. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the
King: I
think he would not wish himself anywhere but where he is.
BATES. Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to
be
ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.
KING HENRY. I dare say you love him not so ill to wish him here
alone, howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's minds;
methinks I could not die anywhere so contented as in the
King's
company, his cause being just and his quarrel honourable.
WILLIAMS. That's more than we know.
BATES. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know
enough if
we know we are the King's subjects. If his cause be wrong,
our
obedience to the King wipes the crime of it out of us.
WILLIAMS. But if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a
heavy reckoning to make when all those legs and arms and
heads,
chopp'd off in a battle, shall join together at the latter
day
and cry all 'We died at such a place'- some swearing, some
crying
for a surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind them,
some
upon the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left.
I
am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle; for
how
can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their
argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a
black
matter for the King that led them to it; who to disobey were
against all proportion of subjection.
KING HENRY. So, if a son that is by his father sent about
merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation
of
his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his
father
that sent him; or if a servant, under his master's command
transporting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die
in
many irreconcil'd iniquities, you may call the business of
the
master the author of the servant's damnation. But this is not
so:
the King is not bound to answer the particular endings of his

soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his
servant;
for they purpose not their death when they purpose their
services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so
spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it
out
with all unspotted soldiers: some peradventure have on them
the
guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of
beguiling
virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making the
wars
their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of
peace
with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the
law
and outrun native punishment, though they can outstrip men
they
have no wings to fly from God: war is His beadle, war is His
vengeance; so that here men are punish'd for before-breach of
the
King's laws in now the King's quarrel. Where they feared the
death they have borne life away; and where they would be safe
they perish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the King
guilty of their damnation than he was before guilty of those
impieties for the which they are now visited. Every subject's
duty is the King's; but every subject's soul is his own.
Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick
man
in his bed- wash every mote out of his conscience; and dying
so,
death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was
blessedly
lost wherein such preparation was gained; and in him that
escapes
it were not sin to think that, making God so free an offer,
He
let him outlive that day to see His greatness, and to teach
others how they should prepare.
WILLIAMS. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon
his
own head- the King is not to answer for it.
BATES. I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I
determine
to fight lustily for him.
KING HENRY. I myself heard the King say he would not be
ransom'd.
WILLIAMS. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when
our
throats are cut he may be ransom'd, and we ne'er the wiser.
KING HENRY. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word
after.
WILLIAMS. You pay him then! That's a perilous shot out of an
elder-gun, that a poor and a private displeasure can do
against a
monarch! You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice with
fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never
trust
his word after! Come, 'tis a foolish saying.
KING HENRY. Your reproof is something too round; I should be
angry
with you, if the time were convenient.
WILLIAMS. Let it be a quarrel between us if you live.
KING HENRY. I embrace it.
WILLIAMS. How shall I know thee again?
KING HENRY. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my
bonnet; then if ever thou dar'st acknowledge it, I will make
it
my quarrel.
WILLIAMS. Here's my glove; give me another of thine.
KING HENRY. There.
WILLIAMS. This will I also wear in my cap; if ever thou come to
me
and say, after to-morrow, 'This is my glove,' by this hand I
will
take thee a box on the ear.
KING HENRY. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
WILLIAMS. Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.
KING HENRY. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the
King's
company.
WILLIAMS. Keep thy word. Fare thee well.
BATES. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have
French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.
KING HENRY. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to
one
they will beat us, for they bear them on their shoulders; but
it
is no English treason to cut French crowns, and to-morrow the
King himself will be a clipper.
Exeunt soldiers
Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives,
Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
We must bear all. O hard condition,
Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath
Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel
But his own wringing! What infinite heart's ease
Must kings neglect that private men enjoy!
And what have kings that privates have not too,
Save ceremony- save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in?
O Ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is thy soul of adoration?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
Thinks thou the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose.
I am a king that find thee; and I know
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farced tide running fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world-
No, not all these, thrice gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave
Who, with a body fill'd and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell;
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
Sweats in the eye of Pheebus, and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labour, to his grave.
And but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
The slave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots
What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

Enter ERPINGHAM

ERPINGHAM. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
Seek through your camp to find you.
KING. Good old knight,
Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.
ERPINGHAM. I shall do't, my lord. Exit
KING. O God of battles, steel my soldiers' hearts,
Possess them not with fear! Take from them now
The sense of reck'ning, if th' opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them! Not to-day, O Lord,
O, not to-day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown!
I Richard's body have interred new,
And on it have bestowed more contrite tears
Than from it issued forced drops of blood;
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;
Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.

Enter GLOUCESTER

GLOUCESTER. My liege!
KING HENRY. My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay;
I know thy errand, I will go with thee;
The day, my friends, and all things, stay for me. Exeunt

SCENE II.
The French camp

Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others

ORLEANS. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!
DAUPHIN. Montez a cheval! My horse! Varlet, laquais! Ha!
ORLEANS. O brave spirit!
DAUPHIN. Via! Les eaux et la terre-
ORLEANS. Rien puis? L'air et le feu.
DAUPHIN. Ciel! cousin Orleans.

Enter CONSTABLE

Now, my Lord Constable!
CONSTABLE. Hark how our steeds for present service neigh!
DAUPHIN. Mount them, and make incision in their hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!
RAMBURES. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears?

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. The English are embattl'd, you French peers.
CONSTABLE. To horse, you gallant Princes! straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtle-axe a stain
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,
And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants-
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle- were enow
To purge this field of, such a hilding foe;
Though we upon this mountain's basis by
Took stand for idle speculation-
But that our honours must not. What's to say?
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonance and the note to mount;
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall couch down in fear and yield.

Enter GRANDPRE

GRANDPRE. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favouredly become the morning field;
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully;
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks
With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal'd bit
Lies foul with chaw'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
CONSTABLE. They have said their prayers and they stay for
death.
DAUPHIN. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?
CONSTABLE. I stay but for my guidon. To the field!
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. Exeunt

SCENE III.
The English camp

Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with all his host;
SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND

GLOUCESTER. Where is the King?
BEDFORD. The King himself is rode to view their battle.
WESTMORELAND. Of fighting men they have full three-score
thousand.
EXETER. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
SALISBURY. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds.
God bye you, Princes all; I'll to my charge.
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
Then joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
And my kind kinsman- warriors all, adieu!
BEDFORD. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!
EXETER. Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly to-day;
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.
Exit SALISBURY
BEDFORD. He is as full of valour as of kindness;
Princely in both.

Enter the KING

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!
KING. What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse;
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words-
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-
Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered-
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now-a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Re-enter SALISBURY

SALISBURY. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
The French are bravely in their battles set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
KING HENRY. All things are ready, if our minds be so.
WESTMORELAND. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!
KING HENRY. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?
WESTMORELAND. God's will, my liege! would you and I alone,
Without more help, could fight this royal battle!
KING HENRY. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men;
Which likes me better than to wish us one.
You know your places. God be with you all!

Tucket. Enter MONTJOY

MONTJOY. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured overthrow;
For certainly thou art so near the gulf
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
The constable desires thee thou wilt mind
Thy followers of repentance, that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies
Must lie and fester.
KING HENRY. Who hath sent thee now?
MONTJOY. The Constable of France.
KING HENRY. I pray thee bear my former answer back:
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones.
Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?
The man that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast liv'd was kill'd with hunting him.
A many of our bodies shall no doubt
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work.
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven,
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then abounding valour in our English,
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing
Break out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.
Let me speak proudly: tell the Constable
We are but warriors for the working-day;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host-
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly-
And time hath worn us into slovenry.
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;
And my poor soldiers tell me yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads
And turn them out of service. If they do this-
As, if God please, they shall- my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald;
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;
Which if they have, as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.
MONTJOY. I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well:
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. Exit
KING HENRY. I fear thou wilt once more come again for a ransom.

Enter the DUKE OF YORK

YORK. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.
KING HENRY. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away;
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! Exeunt

SCENE IV.
The field of battle

Alarum. Excursions. Enter FRENCH SOLDIER, PISTOL, and BOY

PISTOL. Yield, cur!
FRENCH SOLDIER. Je pense que vous etes le gentilhomme de bonne
qualite.
PISTOL. Cality! Calen o custure me! Art thou a gentleman?
What is thy name? Discuss.
FRENCH SOLDIER. O Seigneur Dieu!
PISTOL. 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.
FRENCH SOLDIER. O, prenez misericorde; ayez pitie de moi!
PISTOL. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys;
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
In drops of crimson blood.
FRENCH SOLDIER. Est-il impossible d'echapper la force de ton
bras?
PISTOL. Brass, cur?
Thou damned and luxurious mountain-goat,
Offer'st me brass?
FRENCH SOLDIER. O, pardonnez-moi!
PISTOL. Say'st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys?
Come hither, boy; ask me this slave in French
What is his name.
BOY. Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?
FRENCH SOLDIER. Monsieur le Fer.
BOY. He says his name is Master Fer.
PISTOL. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him-
discuss the same in French unto him.
BOY. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.
PISTOL. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.
FRENCH SOLDIER. Que dit-il, monsieur?
BOY. Il me commande a vous dire que vous faites vous pret; car
ce
soldat ici est dispose tout a cette heure de couper votre
gorge.
PISTOL. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy!
Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.
FRENCH SOLDIER. O, je vous supplie, pour l'amour de Dieu, me
pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison. Gardez ma
vie, et
je vous donnerai deux cents ecus.
PISTOL. What are his words?
BOY. He prays you to save his life; he is a gentleman of a good
house, and for his ransom he will give you two hundred
crowns.
PISTOL. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I
The crowns will take.
FRENCH SOLDIER. Petit monsieur, que dit-il?
BOY. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun
prisonnier, neamnoins, pour les ecus que vous l'avez promis,
il
est content a vous donner la liberte, le franchisement.
FRENCH SOLDIER. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens;
et
je m'estime heureux que je suis tombe entre les mains d'un
chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et tres
distingue
seigneur d'Angleterre.
PISTOL. Expound unto me, boy.
BOY. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he
esteems himself happy that he hath fall'n into the hands of
one-
as he thinks- the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy
signieur of England.
PISTOL. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.
Follow me. Exit
BOY. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. Exit FRENCH SOLDIER
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart;
but
the saying is true- the empty vessel makes the greatest
sound.
Bardolph and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring
devil i' th' old play, that every one may pare his nails with
a
wooden dagger; and they are both hang'd; and so would this
be, if
he durst steal anything adventurously. I must stay with the
lackeys, with the luggage of our camp. The French might have
a
good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard
it
but boys. Exit

SCENE V.
Another part of the field of battle

Enter CONSTABLE, ORLEANS, BOURBON, DAUPHIN, and RAMBURES

CONSTABLE. O diable!
ORLEANS. O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!
DAUPHIN. Mort Dieu, ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes. [A short alarum]
O mechante fortune! Do not run away.
CONSTABLE. Why, an our ranks are broke.
DAUPHIN. O perdurable shame! Let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
ORLEANS. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?
BOURBON. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us die in honour: once more back again;
And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence and, with his cap in hand
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door
Whilst by a slave, no gender than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.
CONSTABLE. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.
ORLEANS. We are enow yet living in the field
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.
BOURBON. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng.
Let life be short, else shame will be too long. Exeunt

SCENE VI.
Another part of the field

Alarum. Enter the KING and his train, with prisoners; EXETER, and
others

KING HENRY. Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen;
But all's not done- yet keep the French the field.
EXETER. The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.
KING HENRY. Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting;
From helmet to the spur all blood he was.
EXETER. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped,
And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,
He cries aloud 'Tarry, my cousin Suffolk.
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven;
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast;
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry.'
Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up;
He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand,
And, with a feeble grip, says 'Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign.'
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;
And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd;
But I had not so much of man in me,
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears.
KING HENRY. I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. [Alarum]
But hark! what new alarum is this same?
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men.
Then every soldier kill his prisoners;
Give the word through. Exeunt

SCENE VII.
Another part of the field

Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER

FLUELLEN. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'Tis expressly against
the
law of arms; 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now,
as
can be offert; in your conscience, now, is it not?
GOWER. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; and the
cowardly
rascals that ran from the battle ha' done this slaughter;
besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in
the
King's tent; wherefore the King most worthily hath caus'd
every
soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant King!
FLUELLEN. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call
you
the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born?
GOWER. Alexander the Great.
FLUELLEN. Why, I pray you, is not 'pig' great? The pig, or
great,
or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one
reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations.
GOWER. I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon; his
father
was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.
FLUELLEN. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I
tell
you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant
you
sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth,
that
the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in
Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth; it
is
call'd Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is
the
name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my
fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If
you
mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come
after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all
things.
Alexander- God knows, and you know- in his rages, and his
furies,
and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his
displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little
intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers,
look
you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.
GOWER. Our king is not like him in that: he never kill'd any of
his
friends.
FLUELLEN. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales
out
of my mouth ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the
figures and comparisons of it; as Alexander kill'd his friend
Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups, so also Harry
Monmouth,
being in his right wits and his good judgments, turn'd away
the
fat knight with the great belly doublet; he was full of
jests,
and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name.
GOWER. Sir John Falstaff.
FLUELLEN. That is he. I'll tell you there is good men porn at
Monmouth.
GOWER. Here comes his Majesty.

Alarum. Enter the KING, WARWICK, GLOUCESTER,
EXETER, and others, with prisoners. Flourish

KING HENRY. I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald,
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill;
If they will fight with us, bid them come down
Or void the field; they do offend our sight.
If they'll do neither, we will come to them
And make them skirr away as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings;
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have,
And not a man of them that we shall take
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.

Enter MONTJOY

EXETER. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
GLOUCESTER. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
KING HENRY. How now! What means this, herald? know'st thou not
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ransom?
MONTJOY. No, great King;
I come to thee for charitable licence,
That we may wander o'er this bloody field
To book our dead, and then to bury them;
To sort our nobles from our common men;
For many of our princes- woe the while!-
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies!
KING HENRY. I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o'er the field.
MONTJOY. The day is yours.
KING HENRY. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?
MONTJOY. They call it Agincourt.
KING HENRY. Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
FLUELLEN. Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your
Majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of
Wales,
as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle
here
in France.
KING HENRY. They did, Fluellen.
FLUELLEN. Your Majesty says very true; if your Majesties is
rememb'red of it, the Welshmen did good service in garden
where
leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which
your
Majesty know to this hour is an honourable badge of the
service;
and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek
upon Saint Tavy's day.
KING HENRY. I wear it for a memorable honour;
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
FLUELLEN. All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty's Welsh
plood out of your pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and
preserve it as long as it pleases his Grace and his Majesty
too!
KING HENRY. Thanks, good my countryman.
FLUELLEN. By Jeshu, I am your Majesty's countryman, care not
who
know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld: I need not be
asham'd of your Majesty, praised be Got, so long as your
Majesty
is an honest man.

Enter WILLIAMS

KING HENRY. God keep me so! Our heralds go with him:
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.
Exeunt heralds with MONTJOY
EXETER. Soldier, you must come to the King.
KING HENRY. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap?
WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, 'tis the gage of one that I
should fight withal, if he be alive.
KING HENRY. An Englishman?
WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger'd
with me
last night; who, if 'a live and ever dare to challenge this
glove, I have sworn to take him a box o' th' ear; or if I can
see
my glove in his cap- which he swore, as he was a soldier, he
would wear if alive- I will strike it out soundly.
KING HENRY. What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this
soldier keep his oath?
FLUELLEN. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your
Majesty, in my conscience.
KING HENRY. It may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort,
quite
from the answer of his degree.
FLUELLEN. Though he be as good a gentleman as the Devil is, as
Lucifier and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your
Grace,
that he keep his vow and his oath; if he be perjur'd, see you
now, his reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jacksauce as
ever his black shoe trod upon God's ground and his earth, in
my
conscience, la.
KING HENRY. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st the
fellow.
WILLIAMS. So I Will, my liege, as I live.
KING HENRY. Who serv'st thou under?
WILLIAMS. Under Captain Gower, my liege.
FLUELLEN. Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and
literatured in the wars.
KING HENRY. Call him hither to me, soldier.
WILLIAMS. I will, my liege. Exit
KING HENRY. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me, and
stick
it in thy cap; when Alencon and myself were down together, I
pluck'd this glove from his helm. If any man challenge this,
he
is a friend to Alencon and an enemy to our person; if thou
encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.
FLUELLEN. Your Grace does me as great honours as can be desir'd
in
the hearts of his subjects. I would fain see the man that has
but
two legs that shall find himself aggrief'd at this glove,
that is
all; but I would fain see it once, an please God of his grace
that I might see.
KING HENRY. Know'st thou Gower?
FLUELLEN. He is my dear friend, an please you.
KING HENRY. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.
FLUELLEN. I will fetch him. Exit
KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick and my brother Gloucester,
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels;
The glove which I have given him for a favour
May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear.
It is the soldier's: I, by bargain, should
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick;
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,
Some sudden mischief may arise of it;
For I do know Fluellen valiant,
And touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder,
And quickly will return an injury;
Follow, and see there be no harm between them.
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. Exeunt

SCENE VIII.
Before KING HENRY'S PAVILION

Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS

WILLIAMS. I warrant it is to knight you, Captain.

Enter FLUELLEN

FLUELLEN. God's will and his pleasure, Captain, I beseech you
now,
come apace to the King: there is more good toward you
peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of.
WILLIAMS. Sir, know you this glove?
FLUELLEN. Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove.
WILLIAMS. I know this; and thus I challenge it. [Strikes him]
FLUELLEN. 'Sblood, an arrant traitor as any's in the universal
world, or in France, or in England!
GOWER. How now, sir! you villain!
WILLIAMS. Do you think I'll be forsworn?
FLUELLEN. Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his
payment into plows, I warrant you.
WILLIAMS. I am no traitor.
FLUELLEN. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his
Majesty's
name, apprehend him: he's a friend of the Duke Alencon's.

Enter WARWICK and GLOUCESTER

WARWICK. How now! how now! what's the matter?
FLUELLEN. My Lord of Warwick, here is- praised be God for it!-
a
most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall
desire in a summer's day. Here is his Majesty.

Enter the KING and EXETER

KING HENRY. How now! what's the matter?
FLUELLEN. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look
your Grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take
out
of the helmet of Alencon.
WILLIAMS. My liege, this was my glove: here is the fellow of
it;
and he that I gave it to in change promis'd to wear it in his
cap; I promis'd to strike him if he did; I met this man with
my
glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word.
FLUELLEN. Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood,
what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is; I hope
your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will
avouchment, that this is the glove of Alencon that your
Majesty
is give me; in your conscience, now.
KING HENRY. Give me thy glove, soldier; look, here is the
fellow of
it.
'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike,
And thou hast given me most bitter terms.
FLUELLEN. An please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it,
if
there is any martial law in the world.
KING HENRY. How canst thou make me satisfaction?
WILLIAMS. All offences, my lord, come from the heart; never
came
any from mine that might offend your Majesty.
KING HENRY. It was ourself thou didst abuse.
WILLIAMS. Your Majesty came not like yourself: you appear'd to
me
but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your
lowliness; and what your Highness suffer'd under that shape I
beseech you take it for your own fault, and not mine; for had
you
been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I
beseech
your Highness pardon me.
KING HENRY. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;
And wear it for an honour in thy cap
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns;
And, Captain, you must needs be friends with him.
FLUELLEN. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle
enough
in his belly: hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray
you
to serve God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and
quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the
better
for you.
WILLIAMS. I will none of your money.
FLUELLEN. It is with a good will; I can tell you it will serve
you
to mend your shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful?
Your shoes is not so good. 'Tis a good silling, I warrant
you, or
I will change it.

Enter an ENGLISH HERALD

KING HENRY. Now, herald, are the dead numb'red?
HERALD. Here is the number of the slaught'red French.
[Gives a paper]
KING HENRY. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
EXETER. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt;
Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
KING HENRY. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
That in the field lie slain; of princes in this number,
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead
One hundred twenty-six; added to these,
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights.
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;
Jaques of Chatillon, Admiral of France;
The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures;
Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin;
John Duke of Alencon; Antony Duke of Brabant,
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy;
And Edward Duke of Bar. Of lusty earls,
Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix,
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrake.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!
Where is the number of our English dead?
[HERALD presents another paper]
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Kikely, Davy Gam, Esquire;
None else of name; and of all other men
But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here!
And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
Ascribe we all. When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock and even play of battle,
Was ever known so great and little los
On one part and on th' other? Take it, God,
For it is none but thine.
EXETER. 'Tis wonderful!
KING HENRY. Come, go we in procession to the village;
And be it death proclaimed through our host
To boast of this or take that praise from God
Which is his only.
FLUELLEN. Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how
many is kill'd?
KING HENRY. Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment,
That God fought for us.
FLUELLEN. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.
KING HENRY. Do we all holy rites:
Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum';
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay-
And then to Calais; and to England then;
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. Exeunt

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ACT V. PROLOGUE.

Enter CHORUS

CHORUS. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story
That I may prompt them; and of such as have,
I humbly pray them to admit th' excuse
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the King
Toward Calais. Grant him there. There seen,
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys,
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea,
Which, like a mighty whiffler, fore the King
Seems to prepare his way. So let him land,
And solemnly see him set on to London.
So swift a pace hath thought that even now
You may imagine him upon Blackheath;
Where that his lords desire him to have borne
His bruised helmet and his bended sword
Before him through the city. He forbids it,
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent,
Quite from himself to God. But now behold
In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens!
The mayor and all his brethren in best sort-
Like to the senators of th' antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels-
Go forth and fetch their conqu'ring Caesar in;
As, by a lower but loving likelihood,
Were now the General of our gracious Empress-
As in good time he may- from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,
How many would the peaceful city quit
To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause,
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him-
As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the King of England's stay at home;
The Emperor's coming in behalf of France
To order peace between them; and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd,
Till Harry's back-return again to France.
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
The interim, by rememb'ring you 'tis past.
Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance,
After your thoughts, straight back again to France. Exit

SCENE I.
France. The English camp

Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER

GOWER. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day?
Saint
Davy's day is past.
FLUELLEN. 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.

Enter PISTOL

GOWER. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.
FLUELLEN. 'Tis no matter for his swellings nor his
turkey-cocks.
God pless you, Aunchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God

pless you!
PISTOL. 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.
FLUELLEN. 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.
PISTOL. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.
FLUELLEN. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him] Will you
be so
good, scald knave, as eat it?
PISTOL. Base Troyan, thou shalt die.
FLUELLEN. 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.
GOWER. Enough, Captain, you have astonish'd him.
FLUELLEN. I say I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I
will
peat his pate four days. Bite, I pray you, it is good for
your
green wound and your ploody coxcomb.
PISTOL. Must I bite?
FLUELLEN. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and out of question
too, and ambiguides.
PISTOL. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge- I eat and
eat,
I swear-
FLUELLEN. Eat, I pray you; will you have some more sauce to
your
leek? There is not enough leek to swear by.
PISTOL. Quiet thy cudgel: thou dost see I eat.
FLUELLEN. 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.
PISTOL. Good.
FLUELLEN. Ay, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal
your pate.
PISTOL. Me a groat!
FLUELLEN. Yes, verily and in truth, you shall take it; or I
have
another leek in my pocket which you shall eat.
PISTOL. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.
FLUELLEN. If I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels; you
shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God
bye
you, and keep you, and heal your pate.
Exit
PISTOL. All hell shall stir for this.
GOWER. 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. Exit
PISTOL. 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. Exit

SCENE II.
France. The FRENCH KING'S palace

Enter at one door, KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER,
WARWICK,
WESTMORELAND, and other LORDS; at another, the FRENCH KING, QUEEN
ISABEL,
the PRINCESS KATHERINE, ALICE, and other LADIES; the DUKE OF
BURGUNDY,
and his train

KING HENRY. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!
Unto our brother France, and to our sister,
Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes
To our most fair and princely cousin Katherine.
And, as a branch and member of this royalty,
By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,
We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy.
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!
FRENCH KING. Right joyous are we to behold your face,
Most worthy brother England; fairly met!
So are you, princes English, every one.
QUEEN ISABEL. So happy be the issue, brother England,
Of this good day and of this gracious meeting
As we are now glad to behold your eyes-
Your eyes, which hitherto have home in them,
Against the French that met them in their bent,
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks;
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,
Have lost their quality; and that this day
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.
KING HENRY. To cry amen to that, thus we appear.
QUEEN ISABEL. You English princes an, I do salute you.
BURGUNDY. My duty to you both, on equal love,
Great Kings of France and England! That I have labour'd
With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,
To bring your most imperial Majesties
Unto this bar and royal interview,
Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd
That face to face and royal eye to eye
You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me
If I demand, before this royal view,
What rub or what impediment there is
Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace,
Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births,
Should not in this best garden of the world,
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
Alas, she hath from France too long been chas'd!
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
Corrupting in it own fertility.
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd,
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,
Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory,
Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts
That should deracinate such savagery;
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
Losing both beauty and utility.
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness;
Even so our houses and ourselves and children
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,
The sciences that should become our country;
But grow, like savages- as soldiers will,
That nothing do but meditate on blood-
To swearing and stern looks, diffus'd attire,
And everything that seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favout
You are assembled; and my speech entreats
That I may know the let why gentle Peace
Should not expel these inconveniences
And bless us with her former qualities.
KING HENRY. If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace
Whose want gives growth to th' imperfections
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace
With full accord to all our just demands;
Whose tenours and particular effects
You have, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands.
BURGUNDY. The King hath heard them; to the which as yet
There is no answer made.
KING HENRY. Well then, the peace,
Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer.
FRENCH KING. I have but with a cursorary eye
O'erglanced the articles; pleaseth your Grace
To appoint some of your council presently
To sit with us once more, with better heed
To re-survey them, we will suddenly
Pass our accept and peremptory answer.
KING HENRY. Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,
And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,
Warwick, and Huntington, go with the King;
And take with you free power to ratify,
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
Shall see advantageable for our dignity,
Any thing in or out of our demands;
And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,
Go with the princes or stay here with us?
QUEEN ISABEL. Our gracious brother, I will go with them;
Haply a woman's voice may do some good,
When articles too nicely urg'd be stood on.
KING HENRY. Yet leave our cousin Katherine here with us;
She is our capital demand, compris'd
Within the fore-rank of our articles.
QUEEN ISABEL. She hath good leave.
Exeunt all but the KING, KATHERINE, and ALICE
KING HENRY. Fair Katherine, and most fair,
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
Such as will enter at a lady's ear,
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
KATHERINE. Your Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your
England.
KING HENRY. O fair Katherine, if you will love me soundly with
your
French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly
with
your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?
KATHERINE. Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is like me.
KING HENRY. An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an
angel.
KATHERINE. Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a les anges?
ALICE. Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.
KING HENRY. I said so, dear Katherine, and I must not blush to

affirm it.
KATHERINE. O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de
tromperies.
KING HENRY. What says she, fair one? that the tongues of men
are
full of deceits?
ALICE. Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits-
dat is
de Princess.
KING HENRY. The Princess is the better English-woman. I' faith,
Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: I am glad thou
canst speak no better English; for if thou couldst, thou
wouldst
find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold
my
farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but
directly to say 'I love you.' Then, if you urge me farther
than
to say 'Do you in faith?' I wear out my suit. Give me your
answer; i' faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How
say
you, lady?
KATHERINE. Sauf votre honneur, me understand well.
KING HENRY. Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance
for
your sake, Kate, why you undid me; for the one I have neither
words nor measure, and for the other I have no strength in
measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win
a
lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my saddle with my
armour
on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I
should quickly leap into wife. Or if I might buffet for my
love,
or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a
butcher,
and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God,
Kate, I
cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my cloquence, nor I have no
cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never
use
till urg'd, nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a
fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth
sunburning,
that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees
there,
let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain soldier. If
thou
canst love me for this, take me; if not, to say to thee that
I
shall die is true- but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet I
love
thee too. And while thou liv'st, dear Kate, take a fellow of
plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee
right,
because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for
these
fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into
ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again.
What! a speaker is but a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A
good
leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will
turn white; a curl'd pate will grow bald; a fair face will
wither; a full eye will wax hollow. But a good heart, Kate,
is
the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon-
for
it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course
truly.
If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a
soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say'st thou,
then,
to my love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
KATHERINE. Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France?
KING HENRY. No, it is not possible you should love the enemy of
France, Kate, but in loving me you should love the friend of
France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a
village of it; I will have it all mine. And, Kate, when
France is
mine and I am yours, then yours is France and you are mine.
KATHERINE. I cannot tell vat is dat.
KING HENRY. No, Kate? I will tell thee in French, which I am
sure
will hang upon my tongue like a new-married wife about her
husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Je quand sur le
possession de France, et quand vous avez le possession de
moi-
let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!- donc votre
est
France et vous etes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to
conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French: I shall
never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.
KATHERINE. Sauf votre honneur, le Francais que vous parlez, il
est
meilleur que l'Anglais lequel je parle.
KING HENRY. No, faith, is't not, Kate; but thy speaking of my
tongue, and I thine, most truly falsely, must needs be
granted to
be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much
English- Canst thou love me?
KATHERINE. I cannot tell.
KING HENRY. Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask
them.
Come, I know thou lovest me; and at night, when you come into
your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I
know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that
you
love with your heart. But, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the
rather, gentle Princess, because I love thee cruelly. If ever
thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith within me
tells
me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must
therefore
needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I,
between
Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French,
half
English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by
the
beard? Shall we not? What say'st thou, my fair
flower-de-luce?
KATHERINE. I do not know dat.
KING HENRY. No: 'tis hereafter to know, but now to promise; do
but
now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of
such a boy; and for my English moiety take the word of a king
and
a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katherine du monde,
mon
tres cher et divin deesse?
KATHERINE. Your Majestee ave fausse French enough to deceive de
most sage damoiselle dat is en France.
KING HENRY. Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in
true
English, I love thee, Kate; by which honour I dare not swear
thou
lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost,
notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage.
Now
beshrew my father's ambition! He was thinking of civil wars
when
he got me; therefore was I created with a stubborn outside,
with
an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies I fright
them.
But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall
appear:
my comfort is, that old age, that in layer-up of beauty, can
do
no more spoil upon my face; thou hast me, if thou hast me, at
the
worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and
better. And therefore tell me, most fair Katherine, will you
have
me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your
heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand and
say
'Harry of England, I am thine.' Which word thou shalt no
sooner
bless mine ear withal but I will tell thee aloud 'England is
thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry
Plantagenet
is thine'; who, though I speak it before his face, if he be
not
fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the best king of
good
fellows. Come, your answer in broken music- for thy voice is
music and thy English broken; therefore, Queen of all,
Katherine,
break thy mind to me in broken English, wilt thou have me?
KATHERINE. Dat is as it shall please de roi mon pere.
KING HENRY. Nay, it will please him well, Kate- it shall please
him, Kate.
KATHERINE. Den it sall also content me.
KING HENRY. Upon that I kiss your hand, and I can you my queen.
KATHERINE. Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma foi, je
ne
veux point que vous abaissiez votre grandeur en baisant la
main
d'une, notre seigneur, indigne serviteur; excusez-moi, je
vous
supplie, mon tres puissant seigneur.
KING HENRY. Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
KATHERINE. Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant
leur
noces, il n'est pas la coutume de France.
KING HENRY. Madame my interpreter, what says she?
ALICE. Dat it is not be de fashion pour le ladies of France- I
cannot tell vat is baiser en Anglish.
KING HENRY. To kiss.
ALICE. Your Majestee entendre bettre que moi.
KING HENRY. It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss
before they are married, would she say?
ALICE. Oui, vraiment.
KING HENRY. O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear
Kate,
you and I cannot be confin'd within the weak list of a
country's
fashion; we are the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty
that
follows our places stops the mouth of all find-faults- as I
will
do yours for upholding the nice fashion of your country in
denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently and yielding.
[Kissing
her] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more
eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of the

French council; and they should sooner persuade Henry of
England
than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.

Enter the FRENCH POWER and the ENGLISH LORDS

BURGUNDY. God save your Majesty! My royal cousin,
Teach you our princess English?
KING HENRY. I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how
perfectly I
love her; and that is good English.
BURGUNDY. Is she not apt?
KING HENRY. Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not
smooth; so that, having neither the voice nor the heart of
flattery about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of love
in
her that he will appear in his true likeness.
BURGUNDY. Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for
that. If you would conjure in her, you must make a circle; if
conjure up love in her in his true likeness, he must appear
naked
and blind. Can you blame her, then, being a maid yet ros'd
over
with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny the
appearance of
a naked blind boy in her naked seeing self? It were, my lord,
a
hard condition for a maid to consign to.
KING HENRY. Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and
enforces.
BURGUNDY. They are then excus'd, my lord, when they see not
what
they do.
KING HENRY. Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent
winking.
BURGUNDY. I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will
teach
her to know my meaning; for maids well summer'd and warm kept
are
like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their
eyes; and then they will endure handling, which before would
not
abide looking on.
KING HENRY. This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer;
and
so I shall catch the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and
she
must be blind too.
BURGUNDY. As love is, my lord, before it loves.
KING HENRY. It is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for
my
blindness, who cannot see many a fair French city for one
fair
French maid that stands in my way.
FRENCH KING. Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the
cities
turned into a maid; for they are all girdled with maiden
walls
that war hath never ent'red.
KING HENRY. Shall Kate be my wife?
FRENCH KING. So please you.
KING HENRY. I am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may
wait
on her; so the maid that stood in the way for my wish shall
show
me the way to my will.
FRENCH KING. We have consented to all terms of reason.
KING HENRY. Is't so, my lords of England?
WESTMORELAND. The king hath granted every article:
His daughter first; and then in sequel, all,
According to their firm proposed natures.
EXETER. Only he hath not yet subscribed this:
Where your Majesty demands that the King of France, having
any
occasion to write for matter of grant, shall name your
Highness
in this form and with this addition, in French, Notre tres
cher
fils Henri, Roi d'Angleterre, Heritier de France; and thus in
Latin, Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus, Rex Angliae et
Haeres Franciae.
FRENCH KING. Nor this I have not, brother, so denied
But our request shall make me let it pass.
KING HENRY. I pray you, then, in love and dear alliance,
Let that one article rank with the rest;
And thereupon give me your daughter.
FRENCH KING. Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale
With envy of each other's happiness,
May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction
Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.
LORDS. Amen!
KING HENRY. Now, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all,
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Flourish]
QUEEN ISABEL. God, the best maker of all marriages,

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