The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (page 19)

And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts. Think you not that the pow’rs we bear with us Will cut their passage through the force of France, Doing the execution and the act
For which we have in head assembled them? SCROOP. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best. KING HENRY. I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded We carry not a heart with us from hence That grows not in a fair consent with ours; Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish Success and conquest to attend on us.
CAMBRIDGE. Never was monarch better fear’d and lov’d Than is your Majesty. There’s not, I think, a subject That sits in heart-grief and uneasines Under the sweet shade of your government. GREY. True: those that were your father’s enemies Have steep’d their galls in honey, and do serve you With hearts create of duty and of zeal. KING HENRY. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness, And shall forget the office of our hand Sooner than quittance of desert and merit According to the weight and worthiness. SCROOP. So service shall with steeled sinews toil, And labour shall refresh itself with hope, To do your Grace incessant services.
KING HENRY. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter, Enlarge the man committed yesterday
That rail’d against our person. We consider It was excess of wine that set him on; And on his more advice we pardon him.
SCROOP. That’s mercy, but too much security. Let him be punish’d, sovereign, lest example Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind. KING HENRY. O, let us yet be merciful!
CAMBRIDGE. So may your Highness, and yet punish too. GREY. Sir,
You show great mercy if you give him life, After the taste of much correction.
KING HENRY. Alas, your too much love and care of me Are heavy orisons ‘gainst this poor wretch! If little faults proceeding on distemper Shall not be wink’d at, how shall we stretch our eye When capital crimes, chew’d, swallow’d, and digested, Appear before us? We’ll yet enlarge that man, Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care And tender preservation of our person, Would have him punish’d. And now to our French causes: Who are the late commissioners?
CAMBRIDGE. I one, my lord.
Your Highness bade me ask for it to-day. SCROOP. So did you me, my liege.
GREY. And I, my royal sovereign.
KING HENRY. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours; There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, Sir Knight, Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours. Read them, and know I know your worthiness. My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter, We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, gentlemen? What see you in those papers, that you lose So much complexion? Look ye how they change! Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there That have so cowarded and chas’d your blood Out of appearance?
CAMBRIDGE. I do confess my fault,
And do submit me to your Highness’ mercy. GREY, SCROOP. To which we all appeal.
KING HENRY. The mercy that was quick in us but late By your own counsel is suppress’d and kill’d. You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy; For your own reasons turn into your bosoms As dogs upon their masters, worrying you. See you, my princes and my noble peers, These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here- You know how apt our love was to accord To furnish him with an appertinents
Belonging to his honour; and this man Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir’d, And sworn unto the practices of France To kill us here in Hampton; to the which This knight, no less for bounty bound to us Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O, What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop, thou cruel, Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature? Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels, That knew’st the very bottom of my soul, That almost mightst have coin’d me into gold, Wouldst thou have practis’d on me for thy use- May it be possible that foreign hire
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil That might annoy my finger? ‘Tis so strange That, though the truth of it stands off as gross As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it. Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either’s purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause
That admiration did not whoop at them; But thou, ‘gainst all proportion, didst bring in Wonder to wait on treason and on murder; And whatsoever cunning fiend it was
That wrought upon thee so preposterously Hath got the voice in hell for excellence; And other devils that suggest by treasons Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colours, and with forms, being fetch’d From glist’ring semblances of piety;
But he that temper’d thee bade thee stand up, Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason, Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor. If that same demon that hath gull’d thee thus Should with his lion gait walk the whole world, He might return to vasty Tartar back,
And tell the legions ‘I can never win A soul so easy as that Englishman’s.’
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful? Why, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned? Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family? Why, so didst thou. Seem they religious? Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet, Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger, Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood, Garnish’d and deck’d in modest complement, Not working with the eye without the ear, And but in purged judgment trusting neither? Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem; And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot To mark the full-fraught man and best indued With some suspicion. I will weep for thee; For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like Another fall of man. Their faults are open. Arrest them to the answer of the law;
And God acquit them of their practices! EXETER. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl of Cambridge.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland.
SCROOP. Our purposes God justly hath discover’d, And I repent my fault more than my death; Which I beseech your Highness to forgive, Although my body pay the price of it.
CAMBRIDGE. For me, the gold of France did not seduce, Although I did admit it as a motive
The sooner to effect what I intended; But God be thanked for prevention,
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice, Beseeching God and you to pardon me.
GREY. Never did faithful subject more rejoice At the discovery of most dangerous treason Than I do at this hour joy o’er myself, Prevented from a damned enterprise.
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign. KING HENRY. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence. You have conspir’d against our royal person, Join’d with an enemy proclaim’d, and from his coffers Receiv’d the golden earnest of our death; Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter, His princes and his peers to servitude, His subjects to oppression and contempt, And his whole kingdom into desolation. Touching our person seek we no revenge; But we our kingdom’s safety must so tender, Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence, Poor miserable wretches, to your death; The taste whereof God of his mercy give You patience to endure, and true repentance Of all your dear offences. Bear them hence. Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP, and GREY, guarded Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof Shall be to you as us like glorious.
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war, Since God so graciously hath brought to light This dangerous treason, lurking in our way To hinder our beginnings; we doubt not now But every rub is smoothed on our way.
Then, forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver Our puissance into the hand of God,
Putting it straight in expedition. Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance; No king of England, if not king of France! Flourish. Exeunt

SCENE III.
Eastcheap. Before the Boar’s Head tavern

Enter PISTOL, HOSTESS, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy

HOSTESS. Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.
PISTOL. No; for my manly heart doth earn. Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins; Boy, bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff he is dead, And we must earn therefore.
BARDOLPH. Would I were with him, wheresome’er he is, either in heaven or in hell!
HOSTESS. Nay, sure, he’s not in hell: he’s in Arthur’s bosom, if ever man went to Arthur’s bosom. ‘A made a finer end, and went away an it had been any christom child; ‘a parted ev’n just between twelve and one, ev’n at the turning o’ th’ tide; for after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers’ end, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and ‘a babbl’d of green fields. ‘How now, Sir John!’ quoth I ‘What, man, be o’ good cheer.’ So ‘a cried out ‘God, God, God!’ three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him ‘a should not think of God; I hop’d there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So ‘a bade me lay more clothes on his feet; I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.
NYM. They say he cried out of sack. HOSTESS. Ay, that ‘a did.
BARDOLPH. And of women.
HOSTESS. Nay, that ‘a did not.
BOY. Yes, that ‘a did, and said they were devils incarnate. HOSTESS. ‘A could never abide carnation; ’twas a colour he never liked.
BOY. ‘A said once the devil would have him about women. HOSTESS. ‘A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was rheumatic, and talk’d of the Whore of Babylon. BOY. Do you not remember ‘a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph’s nose, and ‘a said it was a black soul burning in hell? BARDOLPH. Well, the fuel is gone that maintain’d that fire: that’s all the riches I got in his service.
NYM. Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton. PISTOL. Come, let’s away. My love, give me thy lips. Look to my chattles and my moveables;
Let senses rule. The word is ‘Pitch and Pay.’ Trust none;
For oaths are straws, men’s faiths are wafer-cakes, And Holdfast 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. BOY. And that’s but unwholesome food, they say. PISTOL. Touch her soft mouth and march. BARDOLPH. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her] NYM. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu. PISTOL. Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee command. HOSTESS. Farewell; adieu. Exeunt

SCENE IV.
France. The KING’S palace

Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES OF BERRI and BRITAINE, the CONSTABLE, and others

FRENCH KING. Thus comes the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns To answer royally in our defences.
Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Britaine, Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth, And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch, To line and new repair our towns of war With men of courage and with means defendant; For England his approaches makes as fierce As waters to the sucking of a gulf.
It fits us, then, to be as provident As fear may teach us, out of late examples Left by the fatal and neglected English Upon our fields.
DAUPHIN. My most redoubted father, It is most meet we arm us ‘gainst the foe; For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom, Though war nor no known quarrel were in question, But that defences, musters, preparations, Should be maintain’d, assembled, and collected, As were a war in expectation.
Therefore, I say, ’tis meet we all go forth To view the sick and feeble parts of France; And let us do it with no show of fear- No, with no more than if we heard that England Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance; For, my good liege, she is so idly king’d, Her sceptre so fantastically borne
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not.
CONSTABLE. O peace, Prince Dauphin! You are too much mistaken in this king. Question your Grace the late ambassadors With what great state he heard their embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception, and withal
How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find his vanities forespent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly; As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots That shall first spring and be most delicate. DAUPHIN. Well, ’tis not so, my Lord High Constable; But though we think it so, it is no matter. In cases of defence ’tis best to weigh The enemy more mighty than he seems;
So the proportions of defence are fill’d; Which of a weak and niggardly projection Doth like a miser spoil his coat with scanting A little cloth.
FRENCH KING. Think we King Harry strong; And, Princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh’d upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain That haunted us in our familiar paths. Witness our too much memorable shame
When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes capdv’d by the hand Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire- on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown’d with the golden sun- Saw his heroical seed, and smil’d to see him, Mangle the work of nature, and deface
The patterns that by God and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stern Of that victorious stock; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. Ambassadors from Harry King of England Do crave admittance to your Majesty.
FRENCH KING. We’ll give them present audience. Go and bring them. Exeunt MESSENGER and certain LORDS You see this chase is hotly followed, friends. DAUPHIN. Turn head and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten Runs far before them. Good my sovereign, Take up the English short, and let them know Of what a monarchy you are the head.
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin As self-neglecting.

Re-enter LORDS, with EXETER and train

FRENCH KING. From our brother of England? EXETER. From him, and thus he greets your Majesty: He wills you, in the name of God Almighty, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrowed glories that by gift of heaven, By law of nature and of nations, ‘longs To him and to his heirs- namely, the crown, And all wide-stretched honours that pertain, By custom and the ordinance of times,
Unto the crown of France. That you may know ‘Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, Pick’d from the worm-holes of long-vanish’d days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak’d, He sends you this most memorable line, [Gives a paper] In every branch truly demonstrative;
Willing you overlook this pedigree. And when you find him evenly deriv’d
From his most fam’d of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him, the native and true challenger. FRENCH KING. Or else what follows?
EXETER. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it. Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming, In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove, That if requiring fail, he will compel; And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord, Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy On the poor souls for whom this hungry war Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries, The dead men’s blood, the privy maidens’ groans, For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers, That shall be swallowed in this controversy. This is his claim, his threat’ning, and my message; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too. FRENCH KING. For us, we will consider of this further; To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother of England.
DAUPHIN. For the Dauphin:
I stand here for him. What to him from England? EXETER. Scorn and defiance, slight regard, contempt, And anything that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king: an if your father’s Highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty, He’ll call you to so hot an answer of it That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass and return your mock In second accent of his ordinance.
DAUPHIN. Say, if my father render fair return, It is against my will; for I desire
Nothing but odds with England. To that end, As matching to his youth and vanity,
I did present him with the Paris balls. EXETER. He’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe; And be assur’d you’ll find a difference, As we his subjects have in wonder found, Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now. Now he weighs time Even to the utmost grain; that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. FRENCH KING. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. EXETER. Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. FRENCH KING. You shall be soon dispatch’d with fair conditions. A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt

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ACT III. PROLOGUE.

Flourish. Enter CHORUS

CHORUS. Thus with imagin’d wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed King at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phorbus fanning. Play with your fancies; and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confus’d; behold the threaden sails, Borne with th’ invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea, Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think You stand upon the rivage and behold
A city on th’ inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical,
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy And leave your England as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, Either past or not arriv’d to pith and puissance; For who is he whose chin is but enrich’d With one appearing hair that will not follow These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose th’ ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry that the King doth offer him Katherine his daughter, and with her to dowry Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not; and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, [Alarum, and chambers go off] And down goes an before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit

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SCENE I.
France. Before Harfleur

Alarum. Enter the KING, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers with scaling-ladders

KING. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead. In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon: let the brow o’erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof- Fathers that like so many Alexanders
Have in these parts from morn till even fought, And sheath’d their swords for lack of argument. Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you. Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding- which I doubt not; For there is none of you so mean and base That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot: Follow your spirit; and upon this charge Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’ [Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off]

SCENE II.
Before Harfleur

Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and BOY

BARDOLPH. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! NYM. Pray thee, Corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot, and for mine own part I have not a case of lives. The humour of it is too hot; that is the very plain-song of it. PISTOL. 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.

BOY. Would I were in an alehouse in London! I wouid give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
PISTOL. And I:

If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie.

BOY. As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough.

Enter FLUELLEN

FLUELLEN. Up to the breach, you dogs! Avaunt, you cullions! [Driving them forward] PISTOL. 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. NYM. These be good humours. Your honour wins bad humours. Exeunt all but BOY BOY. As young as I am, I have observ’d 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-liver’d and red-fac’d; 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 match’d 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 anything, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. 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 villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit

Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following

GOWER. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you. FLUELLEN. To the mines! Tell you the Duke it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not sufficient. For, look you, th’ athversary- you may discuss unto the Duke, look you- is digt himself four yard under the countermines; by Cheshu, I think ‘a will plow up all, if there is not better directions.
GOWER. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman- a very vallant gentleman, i’ faith.
FLUELLEN. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not? GOWER. I think it be.
FLUELLEN. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify as much in his beard; he has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.

Enter MACMORRIS and CAPTAIN JAMY
GOWER. Here ‘a comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him.
FLUELLEN. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th’ aunchient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans. JAMY. I say gud day, Captain Fluellen.
FLUELLEN. God-den to your worship, good Captain James. GOWER. How now, Captain Macmorris! Have you quit the mines? Have the pioneers given o’er?
MACMORRIS. By Chrish, la, tish ill done! The work ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father’s soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over; I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done! FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline, that is the point.
JAMY. It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath; and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry.
MACMORRIS. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the King, and the Dukes; it is no time to discourse. The town is beseech’d, and the trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk and, be Chrish, do nothing. ‘Tis shame for us all, so God sa’ me, ’tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand; and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa’ me, la.
JAMY. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay’ll de gud service, or I’ll lig i’ th’ grund for it; ay, or go to death. And I’ll pay’t as valorously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard some question ‘tween you tway. FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation- MACMORRIS. Of my nation? What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation?
FLUELLEN. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you; being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities.
MACMORRIS. I do not know you so good a man as myself; so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. GOWER. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other. JAMY. Ah! that’s a foul fault. [A parley sounded] GOWER. The town sounds a parley.
FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war; and there is an end. Exeunt

SCENE III.
Before the gates of Harfleur

Enter the GOVERNOR and some citizens on the walls. Enter the KING and all his train before the gates

KING HENRY. How yet resolves the Governor of the town? This is the latest parle we will admit; Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves Or, like to men proud of destruction,
Defy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier, A name that in my thoughts becomes me best, If I begin the batt’ry once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, And the flesh’d soldier, rough and hard of heart, In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass Your fresh fair virgins and your flow’ring infants. What is it then to me if impious war,
Array’d in flames, like to the prince of fiends, Do, with his smirch’d complexion, all fell feats Enlink’d to waste and desolation?
What is’t to me when you yourselves are cause, If your pure maidens fall into the hand Of hot and forcing violation?
What rein can hold licentious wickednes When down the hill he holds his fierce career? We may as bootless spend our vain command Upon th’ enraged soldiers in their spoil, As send precepts to the Leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town and of your people Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace O’erblows the filthy and contagious clouds Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy.
If not- why, in a moment look to see The blind and bloody with foul hand
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; Your fathers taken by the silver beards, And their most reverend heads dash’d to the walls; Your naked infants spitted upon pikes, Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus’d Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry At Herod’s bloody-hunting slaughtermen. What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid? Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy’d? GOVERNOR. Our expectation hath this day an end: The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated, Returns us that his powers are yet not ready To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great King, We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; For we no longer are defensible.
KING HENRY. Open your gates. [Exit GOVERNOR] Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain, And fortify it strongly ‘gainst the French; Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle, The winter coming on, and sickness growing Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest; To-morrow for the march are we addrest. [Flourish. The KING and his train enter the town]

SCENE IV.
Rouen. The FRENCH KING’S palace

Enter KATHERINE and ALICE

KATHERINE. Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage.
ALICE. Un peu, madame.
KATHERINE. Je te prie, m’enseignez; il faut que j’apprenne a parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglais? ALICE. La main? Elle est appelee de hand. KATHERINE. De hand. Et les doigts?
ALICE. Les doigts? Ma foi, j’oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts? Je pense qu’ils sont appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres.
KATHERINE. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis le bon ecolier; j’ai gagne deux mots d’Anglais vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles?
ALICE. Les ongles? Nous les appelons de nails. KATHERINE. De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi si je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails.
ALICE. C’est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglais. KATHERINE. Dites-moi l’Anglais pour le bras. ALICE. De arm, madame.
KATHERINE. Et le coude?
ALICE. D’elbow.
KATHERINE. D’elbow. Je m’en fais la repetition de tous les mots que vous m’avez appris des a present.
ALICE. Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense. KATHERINE. Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: d’hand, de fingre, de nails, d’arma, de bilbow.
ALICE. D’elbow, madame.
KATHERINE. O Seigneur Dieu, je m’en oublie! D’elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col?
ALICE. De nick, madame.
KATHERINE. De nick. Et le menton?
ALICE. De chin.
KATHERINE. De sin. Le col, de nick; le menton, de sin. ALICE. Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d’Angleterre. KATHERINE. Je ne doute point d’apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps.
ALICE. N’avez-vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne? KATHERINE. Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: d’hand, de fingre, de mails-
ALICE. De nails, madame.
KATHERINE. De nails, de arm, de ilbow. ALICE. Sauf votre honneur, d’elbow.
KATHERINE. Ainsi dis-je; d’elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe?
ALICE. Le foot, madame; et le count. KATHERINE. Le foot et le count. O Seigneur Dieu! ils sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d’honneur d’user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le count! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble: d’hand, de fingre, de nails, d’arm, d’elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, le count.
ALICE. Excellent, madame!
KATHERINE. C’est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner. Exeunt

SCENE V.
The FRENCH KING’S palace

Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, DUKE OF BRITAINE, the CONSTABLE OF FRANCE, and others

FRENCH KING. ‘Tis certain he hath pass’d the river Somme. CONSTABLE. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit an, And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. DAUPHIN. O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers’ luxury,
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,
And overlook their grafters?
BRITAINE. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards! Mort Dieu, ma vie! if they march along Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom To buy a slobb’ry and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion. CONSTABLE. Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle? Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull; On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water, A drench for sur-rein’d jades, their barley-broth, Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat? And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine, Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land, Let us not hang like roping icicles
Upon our houses’ thatch, whiles a more frosty people Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields- Poor we call them in their native lords! DAUPHIN. By faith and honour,
Our madams mock at us and plainly say Our mettle is bred out, and they will give Their bodies to the lust of English youth To new-store France with bastard warriors. BRITAINE. They bid us to the English dancing-schools And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos, Saying our grace is only in our heels
And that we are most lofty runaways. FRENCH KING. Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence; Let him greet England with our sharp defiance. Up, Princes, and, with spirit of honour edged More sharper than your swords, hie to the field: Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri, Alengon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconbridge, Foix, Lestrake, Bouciqualt, and Charolois; High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights, For your great seats now quit you of great shames. Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur. Rush on his host as doth the melted snow Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon; Go down upon him, you have power enough, And in a captive chariot into Rouen
Bring him our prisoner.
CONSTABLE. This becomes the great. Sorry am I his numbers are so few,
His soldiers sick and famish’d in their march; For I am sure, when he shall see our army, He’ll drop his heart into the sink of fear, And for achievement offer us his ransom. FRENCH KING. Therefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy, And let him say to England that we send To know what willing ransom he will give. Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen. DAUPHIN. Not so, I do beseech your Majesty. FRENCH KING. Be patient, for you shall remain with us. Now forth, Lord Constable and Princes all, And quickly bring us word of England’s fall. Exeunt

SCENE VI.
The English camp in Picardy

Enter CAPTAINS, English and Welsh, GOWER and FLUELLEN

GOWER. How now, Captain Fluellen! Come you from the bridge? FLUELLEN. I assure you there is very excellent services committed at the bridge.
GOWER. Is the Duke of Exeter safe? FLUELLEN. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my live, and my living, and my uttermost power. He is not- God be praised and blessed!- any hurt in the world, but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient Lieutenant there at the bridge- I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is man of no estimation in the world; but I did see him do as gallant service.
GOWER. What do you call him?
FLUELLEN. He is call’d Aunchient Pistol. GOWER. I know him not.

Enter PISTOL

FLUELLEN. Here is the man.
PISTOL. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours. The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well. FLUELLEN. Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands.
PISTOL. 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- FLUELLEN. By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and variation; and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls. In good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent moral. PISTOL. Fortune is Bardolph’s foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stol’n a pax, and hanged must ‘a be- A damned death!
Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free, And let not hemp his windpipe 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. FLUELLEN. Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning. PISTOL. Why then, rejoice therefore.
FLUELLEN. Certainly, Aunchient, it is not a thing to rejoice at; for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the Duke to use his good pleasure, and put him to execution; for discipline ought to be used.
PISTOL. Die and be damn’d! and figo for thy friendship! FLUELLEN. It is well.
PISTOL. The fig of Spain! Exit FLUELLEN. Very good.
GOWER. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; I remember him now- a bawd, a cutpurse.
FLUELLEN. I’ll assure you, ‘a utt’red as prave words at the pridge as you shall see in a summer’s day. But it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve. GOWER. Why, ’tis a gull a fool a rogue, that now and then goes to the wars to grace himself, at his return into London, under the form of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in the great commanders’ names; and they will learn you by rote where services were done- at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who was shot, who disgrac’d, what terms the enemy stood on; and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-tuned oaths; and what a beard of the General’s cut and a horrid suit of the camp will do among foaming bottles and ale-wash’d wits is wonderful to be thought on. But you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellously mistook. FLUELLEN. I tell you what, Captain Gower, I do perceive he is not the man that he would gladly make show to the world he is; if I find a hole in his coat I will tell him my mind. [Drum within] Hark you, the King is coming; and I must speak with him from the pridge.

Drum and colours. Enter the KING and his poor soldiers, and GLOUCESTER

God pless your Majesty!
KING HENRY. How now, Fluellen! Cam’st thou from the bridge? FLUELLEN. Ay, so please your Majesty. The Duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintain’d the pridge; the French is gone off, look you, and there is gallant and most prave passages. Marry, th’ athversary was have possession of the pridge; but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge; I can tell your Majesty the Duke is a prave man. KING HENRY. What men have you lost, Fluellen! FLUELLEN. The perdition of th’ athversary hath been very great, reasonable great; marry, for my part, I think the Duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church- one Bardolph, if your Majesty know the man; his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames o’ fire; and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue and sometimes red; but his nose is executed and his fire’s out.
KING HENRY. We would have all such offenders so cut off. And we give express charge that in our marches through the country there be nothing compell’d from the villages, nothing taken but paid for, none of the French upbraided or abused in disdainful language; for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom the gentler gamester is the soonest winner.

Tucket. Enter MONTJOY

MONTJOY. You know me by my habit.
KING HENRY. Well then, I know thee; what shall I know of thee? MONTJOY. My master’s mind.
KING HENRY. Unfold it.
MONTJOY. Thus says my king. Say thou to Harry of England: Though we seem’d dead we did but sleep; advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him we could have rebuk’d him at Harfleur, but that we thought not good to bruise an injury till it were full ripe. Now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is imperial: England shall repent his folly, see his weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him therefore consider of his ransom, which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which, in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. For our losses his exchequer is too poor; for th’ effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint a number; and for our disgrace, his own person kneeling at our feet but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add defiance; and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is pronounc’d. So far my king and master; so much my office.
KING HENRY. What is thy name? I know thy quality. MONTJOY. Montjoy.
KING HENRY. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back, And tell thy king I do not seek him now, But could be willing to march on to Calais Without impeachment; for, to say the sooth- Though ’tis no wisdom to confess so much Unto an enemy of craft and vantage-
My people are with sickness much enfeebled; My numbers lessen’d; and those few I have Almost no better than so many French;
Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, I thought upon one pair of English legs Did march three Frenchmen. Yet forgive me, God, That I do brag thus; this your air of France Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent. Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am; My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk; My army but a weak and sickly guard;
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, Though France himself and such another neighbour Stand in our way. There’s for thy labour, Montjoy. Go, bid thy master well advise himself. If we may pass, we will; if we be hind’red, We shall your tawny ground with your red blood Discolour; and so, Montjoy, fare you well. The sum of all our answer is but this: We would not seek a battle as we are;
Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it. So tell your master.
MONTJOY. I shall deliver so. Thanks to your Highness. Exit GLOUCESTER. I hope they will not come upon us now. KING HENRY. We are in God’s hand, brother, not in theirs. March to the bridge, it now draws toward night; Beyond the river we’ll encamp ourselves, And on to-morrow bid them march away. Exeunt

SCENE VII.
The French camp near Agincourt

Enter the CONSTABLE OF FRANCE, the LORD RAMBURES, the DUKE OF ORLEANS, the DAUPHIN, with others

CONSTABLE. Tut! I have the best armour of the world. Would it were day!
ORLEANS. You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.
CONSTABLE. It is the best horse of Europe. ORLEANS. Will it never be morning?
DAUPHIN. My Lord of Orleans and my Lord High Constable, you talk of horse and armour?
ORLEANS. You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.
DAUPHIN. What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha! he bounds from the earth as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les narines de feu! When I bestride him I soar, I am a hawk. He trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
ORLEANS. He’s of the colour of the nutmeg. DAUPHIN. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.
CONSTABLE. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.
DAUPHIN. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage. ORLEANS. No more, cousin.
DAUPHIN. Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey. It is a theme as fluent as the sea: turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: ’tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign’s sovereign to ride on; and for the world- familiar to us and unknown- to lay apart their particular functions and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise and began thus: ‘Wonder of nature’-
ORLEANS. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s mistress. DAUPHIN. Then did they imitate that which I compos’d to my courser; for my horse is my mistress.
ORLEANS. Your mistress bears well. DAUPHIN. Me well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and particular mistress.
CONSTABLE. Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly shook your back.
DAUPHIN. So perhaps did yours.
CONSTABLE. Mine was not bridled.
DAUPHIN. O, then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode like a kern of Ireland, your French hose off and in your strait strossers.
CONSTABLE. You have good judgment in horsemanship. DAUPHIN. Be warn’d by me, then: they that ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have my horse to my mistress.
CONSTABLE. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. DAUPHIN. I tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears his own hair. CONSTABLE. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress.
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

<>

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