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James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
A Life of the Poet, AND
AN ENLARGED HISTORY OF THE STAGE, BY THE LATE EDMOND MALONE.
WITH A NEW GLOSSARIAL INDEX.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
This play was entered at Stationers' Hall, August 23, 1600.
Steevens. The Second Part of King Henry IV. I suppose to have been
written in 1598. See An Attempt to ascertain the Order of Shakspeare's
Plays, vol. ii.
Malone. Mr. Upton thinks these two plays improperly called The First
and Second Parts of Henry the Fourth. The first play ends, he
says, with the peaceful settlement of Henry in the kingdom by the
defeat of the rebels. This is hardly true; for the rebels are not
yet finally suppressed. The second, he tells us, shows Henry the
Fifth in the various lights of a good-natured rake, till, on his father's
death, he assumes a more manly character. This is true; but
this representation gives us no idea of a dramatick action. These
two plays will appear to every reader, who shall peruse them without
ambition of critical discoveries, to be so connected, that the
second is merely a sequel to the first; to be two only because they
are too long to be one.
Johnson. Of this play there are two quartos, in Mr. Malone's Collection,
both printed in the same year, 1600; but it is doubtful whether
they are different editions, or only the one a corrected impression
of the other, from some omissions having passed in the first.
See them more particularly described in the list of quartos, vol. ii. Mr. Steevens in a subsequent note, speaks of a third, but I
have never seen it. I have referred to that which Mr. Malone
supposed to be the first by the letter A. to the other, by letter B.
Boswell.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
SECOND PART OF KING HENRY IV.
INDUCTION.
Warkworth. Before Northumberland's Castle.
Enter
Enter
| |||
note
Volume 17: King Henry the Fifth
PRELIMINARY REMARKS.
The transactions comprised in this historical play commence
about the latter end of the first, and terminate in the eighth year
of this king's reign: when he married Katharine princess of
France, and closed up the differences betwixt England and that crown.
Theobald. This play, in the quarto edition, 1608, is styled The Chronicle
History of Henry, &c. which seems to have been the title anciently
appropriated to all Shakspeare's historical dramas. So,
in The Antipodes, a comedy, by R. Brome, 1638: The players likewise, in the folio edition, 1623, rank these
pieces under the title of Histories. It is evident that a play on this subject had been performed
before the year 1592. Nash, in Pierce Penniless his Supplication
to the Devil, dated 1592, says: “&lblank; what a glorious thing it is
to have Henry the Fift represented on the stage, leading the
French king prisoner, and forcing both him and the Dolphin to
sweare fealtie.” Perhaps this is the same play as was thus entered in the books
of the Stationers' company: “Tho. Strode] May 2, 1594. A
booke entituled The famous Victories of Henry the Fift, containing
the honorable Battle of Agincourt.” There are two
more entries of a play of Henry V. viz. between 1596 and 1615,
and one August 14th, 1600. I have two copies of it in my
possession; one without date, (which seems much the elder of
the two,) and another, (apparently printed from it,) dated 1617,
though printed by Bernard Alsop, (who was printer of the other
edition,) and sold by the same person, and at the same place.
Alsop appears to have been a printer before the year 1600, and
was afterwards one of the twenty appointed by decree of the
Star-chamber to print for this kingdom. I believe, however, this
piece to have been prior to that of Shakspeare, for several reasons.
First, because it is highly probable that it is the very “displeasing
play” alluded to in the epilogue to The Second Part of
King Henry IV.—“for Oldcastle died a martyr.” Oldcastle is
the Falstaff of the piece, which is despicable, and full of ribaldry
and impiety from the first scene to the last.—Secondly, because
Shakspeare seems to have taken not a few hints from it; for it
comprehends, in some measure, the story of the two parts of
Henry IV. as well as of Henry V. and no ignorance, I think,
could debase the gold of Shakspeare into such dross; though no
chemistry but that of Shakspeare could exalt such base metal
into gold.—When the Prince of Wales, in Henry IV. calls
Falstaff “my old lad of the Castle,” it is probably but a sneering
allusion to the deserved fate which this performance met with;
for there is no proof that our poet was ever obliged to change the
name of Oldcastle into that of Falstaff, though there is an absolute
certainty that this piece must have been condemned by any
audience before whom it was ever represented.—Lastly, because
it appears (as Dr. Farmer has observed) from the Jests of the
famous comedian, Tarlton, 4to. 1611, that he had been particularly
celebrated in the part of the Clown* note, in Henry V. and
though this character does not exist in our play, we find it in the
other, which, for the reasons already enumerated, I suppose to
have been prior to this. This anonymous play of Henry V. is neither divided into Acts
or scenes, is uncommonly short, and has all the appearance of
having been imperfectly taken down during the representation.
As much of it appears to have been omitted, we may suppose
that the author did not think it convenient for his reputation to
publish a more ample copy. There is, indeed, a play called Sir John Oldcastle, published
in 1600, with the name of William Shakspeare prefixed to it.
The prologue being very short, I shall quote it, as it serves to
prove that a former piece, in which the character of Oldcastle
was introduced, had given great offence:
The piece to which Nash alludes is the old anonymous play
of King Henry V. which had been exhibited before the year
1588. Tarlton, the comedian, who performed in it both the
parts of the Chief Justice and the Clown, having died in that
year. It was entered on the Stationers' books in 1594, and, I
believe, printed in that year, though I have not met with a copy
of that date. An edition of it, printed in 1598, is in my collection.
See also the notes at the end of Henry IV. Part I.
vol. xvi. p. 410. The play before us appears to have been written in the middle
of the year 1599. See An Attempt to ascertain the Order of
Shakspeare's Plays, vol. ii. The old King Henry V. may be found among Six old Plays
on which Shakspeare founded, &c. printed by S. Leacroft, 1778.
Malone. Of this play there were three quarto editions in our author's lifetime,
1600, 1602, and 1608. In all of them the choruses are
omitted, and the play commences with the fourth speech of the
second scene.
Boswell.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
KING HENRY V.
CHORUS.
Enter
Enter Ambassadors of France.
Enter the Boy.
Enter Macmorris and Jamy, at a distance.
8 note
Tucket sounds. Enter Montjoy1 note.
Enter Bates, Court, and Williams.
Enter Erpingham.
Enter Gloster.
Enter King Henry.
Enter Montjoy.
Enter the French King and Queen, Burgundy,
Bedford, Gloster, Exeter, Westmoreland,
and other French and English Lords.
[Epilogue]
Next section
This play was writ (as appears from a passage in the chorus to
the fifth Act) at the time of the Earl of Essex's commanding the
forces in Ireland in the reign of Queeh Elizabeth, and not till
after Henry the Sixth had been played, as may be seen by the
conclusion of this play.
Pope.
“These lads can act the emperors' lives all over,
“And Shakspeare's Chronicled Histories to boot.”
“The doubtful title (gentlemen) prefixt
“Upon the argument we have in hand,
“May breed suspense, and wrongfully disturbe
“The peaceful quiet of your settled thoughts.
“To stop which scruple, let this breefe suffice:
“It is no pamper'd glutton we present,
“Nor aged councellour to youthful sinne;
“But one, whose vertue shone above the rest,
“A valiant martyr, and a vertuous peere;
“In whose true faith and loyalty exprest
“Unto his soveraigne, and his countries weale,
“We strive to pay that tribute of our love
“Your favours merit: let faire truth be grac'd,
“Since forg'd invention former time defac'd.”
Steevens.
King Henry the Fifth.
Duke of Gloster [Duke of Gloucester], Brother to the King.
Duke of Bedford, Brother to the King.
Duke of Exeter, Uncle to the King.
Duke of York, Cousin to the King.
Earl of Salisbury,
Earl of Wesmoreland,
Earl of Warwick.
Archbishop of Canterbury.
Bishop of Ely.
Earl of Cambridge, Conspirator against the King.
Lord Scroop, Conspirator against the King.
Sir Thomas Grey, Conspirator against the King.
Sir Thomas Erpingham, Officer in King Henry's Army.
Gower, Officer in King Henry's Army.
Fluellen, Officer in King Henry's Army.
Macmorris, Officer in King Henry's Army.
Jamy, Officer in King Henry's Army.
Bates, Soldier in the same.
Court, Soldier in the same.
Williams, Soldier in the same.
Nym, formerly Servant to Falstaff, now Soldier in the same.
Bardolph, formerly Servant to Falstaff, now Soldier in the same.
Pistol, formerly Servant to Falstaff, now Soldier in the same.
Boy, Servant to them.
A Herald.
Chorus.
Charles the Sixth, King of France.
Lewis, the Dauphin.
Duke of Burgundy,
Duke of Orleans,
Duke of Bourbon.
The Constable of France.
Rambures, French Lord.
Grandpree [Grandpre], French Lord.
Governor of Harfleur.
Montjoy, a French Herald.
Ambassadors to the King of England.
Isabel, Queen of France.
Katharine, Daughter of Charles and Isabel.
Alice, a Lady attending on the Princess Katharine.
Quickly [Mrs. Quickly], Pistol's Wife, an Hostess.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants.
[Messenger], [French Soldier]
The SCENE, at the Beginning of the Play, lies in
England; but afterwards, wholly in France.
O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention1 note
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,
And monarchs to behold2 note
the swelling scene!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the port of Mars; and, at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire,
Crouch for employment3 note
The flat unraised spirit4 note that hath dar'd,
On this unworthy scaffold,to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O5 note
That did affright the air at Agincourt7 note
?
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
Attest, in little place, a million;
And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,
On your imaginary forces8 note work:
Suppose, within the girdle of these walls
Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies,
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous, narrow ocean parts asunder9 note
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
Into a thousand parts divide one man1 note,
And make imaginary puissance2 note
:
Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth:
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there3 note
;
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass; For the which supply,
Admit me chorus to this history;
Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.
My lord, I'll tell you,—that self bill is urg'd,
Which in the eleventh year o' the last king's reign
Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd,
But that the scambling and unquiet time9 note
Did push it out of further question1 note
.
But how, my lord, shall we resist it now?
It must be thought on. If it pass against us,
We lose the better half of our possession:
For all the temporal lands, which men devout
By testament have given to the church,
Would they strip from us; being valued thus,—
As much as would maintain, to the king's honour,
Full fifteen earls, and fifteen hundred knights;
Six thousand and two hundred good esquires;
And, to relief of lazars, and weak age,
Of indigent faint souls, past corporal toil,
A hundred alms-houses, right well supplied;
And to the coffers of the king beside,
A thousand pounds by the year2 note: Thus runs the bill.
This would drink deep.
'Twould drink the cup and all.
But what prevention?
The king is full of grace, and fair regard.
And a true lover of the holy church.
The courses of his youth promis'd it not.
The breath no sooner left his father's body,
But that his wildness, mortified in him,
Seem'd to die too3 note
: yea, at that very moment,
Consideration like an angel came4 note
And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him;
Leaving his body as a paradise,
To envelop and contain celestial spirits.
Never was such a sudden scholar made:
Never came reformation in a flood5 note,
With such a heady current6 note, scouring faults;
Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness
So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,
As in this king.
We are blessed in the change.
Hear him but reason in divinity7 note
And, all-admiring, with an inward wish
You would desire, the king were made a prelate:
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
You would say,—it hath been all-in-all his study:
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
A fearful battle render'd you in musick:
Turn him to any cause of policy,
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,
Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks,
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still8 note
,
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences;
So that the art and practick part of life9 note
Must be the mistress to this theorick1 note
Which is a wonder, how his grace should glean it,
Since his addiction was to courses vain:
His companies2 note unletter'd, rude, and shallow;
His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports;
And never noted in him any study,
Any retirement, any sequestration
From open haunts and popularity3 note
.
The strawberry grows underneath the nettle4 note:
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best,
Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality:
And so the prince obscur'd his contemplation
Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt,
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night,
Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty5 note
.
It must be so: for miracles are ceas'd;
And therefore we must needs admit the means,
How things are perfected.
But, my good lord,
How now for mitigation of this bill
Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty
Incline to it, or no?
He seems in indifferent;
Or, rather, swaying more upon our part6 note
,
Than cherishing the exhibiters against us:
For I have made an offer to his majesty,—
Upon our spiritual convocation;
And in regard of causes now in hand,
Which I have open'd to his grace at large,
As touching France,—to give a greater sum
Than ever at one time the clergy yet
Did to his predecessors part withal.
How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord?
With good acceptance of his majesty;
Save, that there was not time enough to hear
(As, I perceiv'd, his grace would fain have done,)
The severals, and unhidden passages7 note
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms;
And, generally, to the crown and seat of France,
Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather.
What was the impediment that broke this off?
The French ambassador, upon that instant,
Crav'd audience: and the hour, I think, is come,
To give him hearing: Is it four o'clock?
It is.
Then go we in, to know his embassy;
Which I could, with a ready guess, declare,
Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.
I'll wait upon you; and I long to hear it.
Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury?
Not here in presence.
Send for him, good uncle8 note
Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege9 note?
Not yet, my cousin; we would be resolv'd,
Before we hear him, of some things of weight,
That task1 note our thoughts, concerning us and France.
God, and his angels, guard your sacred throne,
And make you long become it!
Sure, we thank you.
My learned lord, we pray you to proceed:
And justly and religiously unfold,
Why the law Salique, that they have in France,
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim.
And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord,
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,
Or nicely charge your understanding soul2 note
With opening titles miscreate3 note, whose right
Suits not in native colours with the truth;
For God doth know, how many, now in health,
Shall drop their blood in approbation4 note
Of what your reverence shall incite us to:
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person5 note
How you awake the sleeping sword of war;
We charge you in the name of God, take heed:
For never two such kingdoms did contend,
Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint,
'Gainst him, whose wrongs give edge unto the swords
That make such waste in brief mortality6 note
.
Under this conjuration7 note
, speak, my lord:
And we will hear, note, and believe in heart,
That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd
As pure as sin with baptism.
Then hear me, gracious sovereign,—and you peers,
That owe your lives, your faith, and services* note,
To this imperial throne;—There is no bar8 note
To make against your highness' claim to France,
But this, which they produce from Pharamond,—
In terram Salicam mulieres nè succedant,
No woman shall succeed in Salique land:
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze9 note
,
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
The founder of this law and female bar.
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm,
That the land Salique lies in Germany,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe:
Where Charles the great, having subdued the Saxons,
There left behind and settled certain French;
Who, holding in disdain the German women,
For some dishonest manners of their life,
Establish'd there this law,—to wit, no female
Should be inheritrix in Salique land;
Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,
Is at this day in Germany call'd—Meisen.
Thus doth it well appear, the Salique law
Was not devised for the realm of France:
Nor did the French possess the Salique land
Until four hundred one and twenty years
After defunction of king Pharamond,
Idly suppos'd the founder of this law;
Who died within the year of our redemption
Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the great
Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French
Beyond the river Sala, in the year
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,
King Pepin, which deposed Childerick,
Did, as heir general, being descended
Of Blithild, which was daughter to king Clothair,
Make claim and title to the crown of France.
Hugh Capet also,—that usurp'd the crown
Of Charles the duke of Lorain, sole heir male
Of the true line and stock of Charles the great,—
To fine his title with some show of truth1 note
(Though, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,)
Convey'd himself2 note as heir to the lady Lingare,
Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son
To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son
Of Charles the great3 note
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,
Could not keep quiet in his conscience,
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied
That fair queen Isabel, his grandmother,
Was lineal of the lady Ermengare,
Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorain:
By the which marriage, the line of Charles the great
Was-reunited to the crown of France.
So that, as clear as is the summer's sun,
King Pepin's title, and Hugh Capet's claim,
King Lewis his satisfaction5 note, all appear
To hold in right and title of the female:
So do the kings of France unto this day;
Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law,
To bar your highness claiming from the female;
And rather choose to hide them in a net,
Than amply to imbare their crooked titles6 note
Usurp'd from you and your progenitors.
May I, with right and conscience, make this claim?
The sin upon my head, dread sovereign!
For in the book of Numbers is it writ,—
When the son dies, let the inheritance
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord,
Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag;
Look back unto your mighty ancestors:
Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb* note,
From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit,
And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince;
Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy,
Making defeat on the full power of France;
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp
Forage in blood of French nobility7 note
.
O noble English, that could entertain
With half their forces the full pride† note of France;
And let another half stand laughing by,
All out of work, and cold for action8 note
!
Awake remembrance of these valiant dead,
And with your puissant arm renew their feats:
You are their heir, you sit upon their throne;
The blood and courage, that renowned them,
Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege
Is in the very May-morn of his youth,
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprizes.
Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth
Do all expect that you should rouse yourself,
As did the former lions of your blood.
They know, your grace hath cause, and means, and might;
So hath your highness9 note
Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects;
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England,
And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France.
O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege,
With blood1 note
In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum,
As never did the clergy at one time
Bring in to any of your ancestors.
We must not only arm to invade the French;
But lay down our proportions to defend
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us
With all advantages.
They of those marches2 note
, gracious sovereign,
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend
Our inland from the pilfering borderers.
We do not mean the coursing snatchers* note only,
But fear the main intendment of the Scot3 note
Who hath been still a giddy neighbour4 note to us;
For you shall read, that my great grandfather
Never went with his forces into France5 note
,
But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom
Came pouring, like the tide into a breach,
With ample and brim fulness of his force;
Galling the gleaned land with hot essays;
Girding with grievous siege, castles and towns;
That England, being empty of defence,
Hath shook, and trembled at the bruit thereof* note.
She hath been then more fear'd6 note
than harm'd, my liege:
For hear her but exampled by herself,—
When all her chivalry hath been in France,
And she a mourning widow of her nobles,
She hath herself not only well defended,
But taken, and impounded as a stray,
The king of Scots; whom she did send to France* note,
To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings;
And make your chronicle as rich with praise8 note
As is the ooze and bottom of the sea
With sunken wreck and sumless treasuries9 note
.
But there's a saying, very old and true1 note
If that you will France win,
Then with Scotland first begin2 note
For once the eagle England being in prey,
To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot
Comes sneaking, and so sucks her princely eggs;
Playing the mouse in absence of the cat,
To spoil and havock more than she can eat3 note.
It follows then, the cat must stay at home:
Yet that is but a curs'd necessity4 note
Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries,
And pretty traps5 note
to catch the petty thieves,
While that the armed hand doth fight abroad,
The advised head defends itself at home:
For government, though high, and low, and lower6 note,
Put into parts, doth keep in one concent7 note
;
Congruing8 note
in a full and natural close,
Like musick.
True: therefore doth heaven divide
The state of man in divers functions,
Setting endeavour in continual motion;
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,
Obedience9 note
: for so work the honey bees;
Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach
The act of order1 note
They have a king2 note
, and officers of sorts3 note
Where some, like magistrates, correct at home;
Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad4 note;
Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;
Which pillage they with merry march bring home
To the tent-royal of their emperor:
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
The singing masons5 note building roofs of gold;
The civil6 note citizens kneading up the honey7 note
The poor mechanick porters crouding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;
The sad-ey'd justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering up to éxecutors8 note
pale
The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,—
That many things, having full reference
To one concent, may work contrariously;
As many arrows, loosed several ways,
Fly to one mark;
As many several ways meet in one town;
As many fresh streams run in one self sea;
As many lines close in the dial's center;
So may a thousand actions, once afoot,
End in one purpose, and be all well borne
Without defeat9 note
. Therefore to France, my liege.
Divide your happy England into four;
Whereof take you one quarter into France,
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.
If we, with thrice that power left at home,
Cannot defend our own door from the dog,
Let us be worried; and our nation lose
The name of hardiness, and policy.
Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.
[Exit an Attendant. The King ascends his Throne.
Now are we well resolv'd: and,—by God's help;
And yours, the noble sinews of our power,—
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe,
Or break it all to pieces: Or there we'll sit,
Ruling in large and ample empery1 note
,
O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms;
Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn,
Tombless, with no remembrance over them:
Either our history shall, with full mouth,
Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave,
Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,
Not worship'd with a paper epitaph2 note
Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure
Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for, we hear,
Your greeting is from him, not from the king.
May it please your majesty, to give us leave
Freely to render what we have in charge;
Or shall we sparingly show you far off,
The Dauphin's meaning* note, and our embassy?
We are no tyrant, but a Christian king;
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject,
As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons:
Therefore, with frank and with uncurbed plainness,
Tell us the Dauphin's mind.
Thus then, in few.
Your highness, lately sending into France,
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right
Of your great predecessor, king Edward the third.
In answer of which claim, the prince our master
Says,—that you savour too much of your youth;
And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France,
That can be with a nimble galliard won3 note
You cannot revel into dukedoms there:
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,
This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this,
Desires you, let the dukedoms, that you claim,
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.
What treasure, uncle?
Tennis-balls, my liege4 note.
We are glad, the Dauphin is so pleasant with us5 note
;
His present, and your pains, we thank you for:
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls,
We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set,
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard:
Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler,
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
With chaces6 note
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valu'd this poor seat of England7 note
;
And therefore, living hence8 note
To barbarous license; As 'tis ever common,
That men are merriest when they are from home.
But tell the Dauphin,—I will keep my state;
Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness,
When I do rouse me in my throne of France:
For that I have laid by9 note
And plodded like a man for working days;
But I will rise there with so full a glory,
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant prince,—this mock of his
Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones1 note
Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands;
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;
And some are yet ungotten, and unborn,
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.
But this lies all within the will of God,
To whom I do appeal; And in whose name,
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on,
To venge me as I may, and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
So, get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin,
His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.—
Convey them with safe conduct.—Fare you well.
This was a merry message.
We hope to make the sender blush at it.
[Descends from his Throne.
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour,
That may give furtherance to our expedition:
For we have now no thought in us but France;
Save those to God, that run before our business.
Therefore, let our proportions for these wars
Be soon collected; and all things thought upon,
That may, with reasonable swiftness, add
More feathers to our wings2 note
; for, God before,
We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door.
Therefore, let every man now task his thought3 note
That this fair action may on foot be brought.
Now all the youth of England4 note are on fire,
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man:
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse;
Following the mirror of all Christian kings,
With winged heels, as English Mercuries.
For now sits Expectation in the air;
And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point,
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets5 note
Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.
The French, advis'd by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation,
Shake in their fear; and with pale policy
Seek to divert the English purposes.
O England!—model to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart,—
What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do,
Were all thy children kind and natural!
But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills6 note
With treacherous crowns: and three corrupted men,—
One, Richard earl of Cambridge7 note; and the second,
Henry lord Scroop8 note of Marsham; and the third,
Sir Thomas Grey knight of Northumberland,—
Have, for the gilt of France9 note
, (O guilt, indeed!)
Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France;
And by their hands this grace of kings1 note
must die,
(If hell and treason hold their promises,)
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.
Linger your patience on; and well digest2 note
The abuse of distance, while we force a play3 note.
The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;
The king is set from London; and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton:
There is the playhouse now4 note
And thence to France shall we convey you safe,
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas5 note
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may,
We'll not offend one stomach6 note with our play.
But, till the king come forth7 note
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.
;—but
Base tike6 note
Now, by this hand I swear, I scorn the term;
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.
! thou prick-eared
? I would have you
Solus, egregious dog? O viper vile!
The solus in thy most marvellous face;
The solus in thy teeth, and in thy throat,
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy3 note
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth4 note
!
I do retort the solus in thy bowels:
For I can take5 note
And flashing fire will follow.
O braggard vile, and damned furious wight!
The grave doth gape, and doting death is near7 note;
Therefore exhale8 note
.
An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give;
Thy spirits are most tall.
Coupe le gorge, that's the word?—I thee defy again.
O hound of Crete9 note
No; to the spital go;
And from the powdering tub of infamy
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind1 note
,
Doll Tear-sheet she by name, and her espouse:
I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she; and—Pauca, there's enough2 note.
.
A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
And liquor likewise will I give to thee,
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood:
I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me;—
Is not this just?—for I shall sutler be
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
Give me thy hand.
of a burning quotidian tertian, that it is
Nym, thou hast spoke the right;
His heart is fracted, and corroborate.
'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors.
They shall be apprehended by and by.
How smooth and even they do bear themselves!
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,
Crowned with faith, and constant loyalty.
The king hath note of all that they intend,
By interception which they dream not of.
Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow7 note
Whom he hath cloy'd and grac'd8 note with princely favours.—
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
His sovereign's life to death and treachery9 note
!
Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.
My lord of Cambridge,—and my kind lord of Masham,—
And you, my gentle knight,—give me your thoughts:
Think you not, that the powers 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 them1 note
No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
I doubt not that: since we are well persuaded,
We carry not a heart with us from hence,
That grows not in a fair concent with ours2 note
Nor leave not one behind, that doth not wish
Success and conquest to attend on us.
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 uneasiness
Under the sweet shade of your government.
Even those, that were your father's enemies,
Have steep'd their galls in honey; and do serve you
With hearts create3 note of duty and of zeal.
We therefore have great cause of thankfulness;
And shall forget the office of our hand4 note,
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit,
According to the weight and worthiness.
So service shall with steeled sinews toil;
And labour shall refresh itself with hope,
To do your grace incessant services.
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 advice5 note
That's mercy, but too much security:
Let him be punish'd, sovereign; lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
O, let us yet be merciful.
So may your highness, and yet punish too.
Sir, you show great mercy, if you give him life,
After the taste of much correction.
Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch.
If little faults, proceeding on distemper6 note
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye7 note,
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 commissioners8 note?
I one, my lord;
Your highness bade me ask for it to-day.
So did you me, my liege.
And me, my royal sovereign.
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 hath so cowarded and chas'd your blood
Out of appearance?
I do confess my fault;
And do submit me to your highness' mercy.
To which we all appeal.
The mercy that was quick9 note 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 them* note.—
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 him1 note with all 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 might'st have coin'd me into gold,
Would'st 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 from white1 note
, my eye will scarcely see it.
Treason, and murder, ever kept together,
As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,
Working so grossly3 note in a natural cause,
That admiration did not whoop at them2 note:
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 glistering semblances of piety:
But he, that temper'd thee4 note
Gave thee no instance why thou should'st do treason,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
If that same dæmon, that hath gull'd thee thus,
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vasty Tartar5 note
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 affiance6 note
! 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 complement7 note
Not working with the eye without the ear8 note,
And, but in purged judgment trusting neither?
Such and so finely bolted, didst thou seem9 note
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,
To mark the full-fraught man, and best indued1 note
,
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!
, of Masham.
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.
For me,—the gold of France did not seduce3 note;
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 rejoice4 note,
Beseeching God and you to pardon me.
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 enterprize:
My fault5 note
God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.
You have conspir'd against our royal person,
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd6 note, 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 three sought, that to her laws
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence7 note,
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 Conspirators, guarded.
Now, lords, for France; the enterprize 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 advance8 note
:
No king of England, if not king of France9 note
.
.
No; for my manly heart doth yearn.—
Bardolph, be blithe;—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;
Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
And we must yearn therefore.
Come, let's away.—My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattels, and my moveables:
Let senses rule4 note
Trust none;
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
And hold-fast is the only dog6 note, my duck;
Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor7 note
Go, clear thy chrystals8 note
.—Yoke-fellows in arms,
Let us to France! like horse-leeches, my boys;
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!
And that is but unwholesome food, they say,
Touch her soft mouth, and march.
Let housewifery appear; keep close9 note
Thus come the English with full power upon us;
And more than carefully it us concerns1 note,
To answer royally in our defences.
Therefore the dukes of Berry, and of Bretagne,
Of Brabant, and of Orleans, shall make forth,—
And you, prince Dauphin,—with all swift despatch,
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 gulph.
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.
My most redoubted father,
It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe:
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom2 note
,
(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 busied3 note with a Whitsun morris dance:
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd4 note
,
Her scepter so fantastically borne
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,
That fear attends her not.
O peace, prince Dauphin!
You are too much mistaken in this king5 note:
Question your grace the late ambassadors,—
With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied with noble counsellors,
How modest in exception6 note, 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 folly7 note
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring, and be most delicate.
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 projection8 note
Doth like a miser, spoil his coat, with scanting
A little cloth.
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 strain9 note
,
That haunted us1 note in our familiar paths:
Witness our too much memorable shame,
When Cressy battle fatally was struck2 note
And all our princes captiv'd, by the hand
Of that black name, Edward black prince of Wales;
Whiles that his mountain sire,—on mountain standing3 note
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun4 note
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 stem
Of that victorious stock; and let us fear
The native mightiness and fate of him5 note
.
Ambassadors from Henry King of England
Do crave admittance to your majesty.
We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them.
[Exeunt Mess. and certain Lords.
You see, this chase is hotly follow'd, friends.
Turn head, and stop pursuit: for coward dogs
Most spend their mouths6 note, 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.
From our brother England* note?
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 borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven,
By law of nature, and of nations, 'long
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 aukward 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 line7 note,
[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.
Or else what follows?
Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:
And therefore8 note 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
Turns he9 note the widows' tears, the orphans' cries,
The dead men's blood1 note
For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,
That shall be swallow'd 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.
For us, we will consider of this further:
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother England.
For the Dauphin,
I stand here for him; What to him from England?
Scorn, and defiance; slight regard, contempt,
And any thing that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
Thus says my king: and, 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* note an answer for it,
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trespass2 note
, and return your mock
In second accent of his ordnance3 note.
Say, if my father render fair reply,
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 those Paris balls.
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 now4 note
Even to the utmost grain; which you shall read5 note
In your own losses, if he stay in France.
To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.
Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king
Come here himself to question our delay;
For he is footed in this land already.
You shall be soon despatch'd, with fair conditions:
A night is but small breath, and little pause,
To answer matters of this consequence.
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-appointed6 note
king at Hampton pier
Embark his royalty7 note
With silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning8 note
:
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'd9 note
: behold the threaden sails,
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,
Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think,
You stand upon the rivage1 note
, and behold
A city on the inconstant billows dancing;
For so appears this fleet majestical,
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow!
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy2 note
;
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, the ambassador from the French comes back;
Tells Harry—that the king doth offer him
Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry,
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
With linstock3 note
And down goes all before them. Still be kind,
And eke5 note
out our performance with your mind.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall6 note
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 tiger7 note
;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood8 note,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspéct;
Let it pry through the portage of the head9 note
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it,
As fearfully, as doth a galled rock
O'erhand and jutty1 note
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean3 note
.
Now set the teeth4 note
, and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit5 note
To his full height!—On, on, you noble English6 note,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof7 note
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,
Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument8 note,
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 slips9 note,
Straining upon the start1 note. The game's afoot;
Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge,
Cry—God for Harry! England! and Saint George!
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.
If wishes would prevail with me4 note,
My purpose should not fail with me,
But thither would I hie.
Be merciful, great duke8 note
!
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage!
Abate thy rage, great duke!
Good bawcock, bate thy rage! use lenity, sweet chuck!
How yet resolves the governour 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 soldier9 note,
(A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best,)
If I begin the battery 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 up1 note
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 flowering 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 desolation2 note
?
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 wickedness,
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon the 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 clouds3 note
Of deadly murder4 note
, spoil, and villainy.
If not, why, in a moment, look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters5 note
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?
Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated6 note,
Returns us—that his powers are not yet ready
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread 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.
Open your gates.—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'll retire to Calais.
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest;
To-morrow for the march are we addrest7 note
.
'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river Somme.
And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France; let us quit all,
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us,—
The emptying of our father's luxury2 note
,
Our scions, put in wild and savage3 note stock,
Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,
And overlook their grafters?
Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!
Mort de ma vie! if they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion4 note
Dieu de battailes! where have they this mettle?
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull?
On whom, as in despite* note, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-rein'd jades5 note
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 people6 note
Sweat drops of gallant youth7 note in our rich fields;
Poor—we may call them8 note, in their native lords.
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.
They bid us—to the English dancing-schools,
And teach lavoltas high9 note
Saying, our grace is only in our heels,
And that we are most lofty runaways.
Where is Mountjóy, the herald; speed him hence;
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.—
Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd,
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France1 note
You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
Jaques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconberg,
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights2 note
,
For your great seats, now quit you of great shames.
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
With pennons3 note
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow4 note
Upon the vallies; whose low vassal seat
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon5 note
:
Go down upon him,—you have power enough,—
And in a captive chariot, into Roüen
Bring him our prisoner.
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 ransom6 note
.
Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjóy;
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 Roüen7 note.
Not so, I do beseech your majesty.
Be patient, for you shall remain with us.—
Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all;
And quickly bring us word of England's fall.
Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,
Of buxom valour1 note
, hath,—by cruel fate,
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel,
That goddess blind,
That stands upon the rolling restless stone2 note
,—
: And she is
Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;
For he hath stol'n a pix5 note
A damned death!
Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free,
And let not hemp his wine-pipe suffocate:
But Exeter hath given the doom of death,
For pix 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.
.
!
.
, and a horrid suit of the camp3 note
.
; Advantage is a better soldier, than rashness.
What is thy name? I know thy quality.
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 impeachment6 note
(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 before7 note
Through 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 hinder'd,
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolour8 note
: 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.
I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness.
[Exit Montjoy.
I hope, they will not come upon us now.
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.
, or suns,
.
!—Alas, poor Harry of England!
, and iron and steel, they
It is now two o'clock: but, let me see,—by ten,
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.
Now entertain conjecture of a time,
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,
Fills the wide vessel of the universe6 note
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds7 note
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch8 note:
Fire answers fire9 note; and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face1 note
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear2 note
; and from the tents3 note
,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up3 note
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name4 note
.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty5 note French
Do the low-rated English play at dice6 note
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English7 note
,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger; and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks8 note
, and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them9 note
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 one1 note
,
Thawing cold fear. Then, mean2 note
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 soils,
Right ill dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous,—
The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see;
Minding true things,3 note by what their mockeries be.
Gloster, '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 end4 note
.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.
Enter Erpingham.
Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham5 note
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.
Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better,
Since I may say—now lie I like a king.
'Tis good for men to love their present pains,
Upon example; so the spirit is eased:
And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt,
The organs, though defunct and dead before,
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move
With casted slough and fresh legerity6 note
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.
We shall, my liege.
Shall I attend your grace?
No, my good knight;
Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
I and my bosom must debate a while,
And then I would no other company.
The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
[Exit Erpingham.
God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speakest cheerfully.
Qui va lá?
A friend.
Discuss unto me; Art thou officer?
Or art thou base, common, and popular?
I am a gentleman of a company.
Trailest thou the puissant pike7 note
?
Even so: What are you?
As good a gentleman as the emperor.
Then you are a better than the king.
The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame8 note;
Of parents good, of fist most valiant:
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
Harry le Roy.
Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?
No, I am a Welshman.
Knowest thou Fluellen?
Yes.
Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate,
Upon Saint Davy's day.
well with your fierceness.
I pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
; therefore when he sees reason of fears,
; some, making the wars their bulwark,
;
Upon the king9 note
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,
Subjécted to the breath1 note
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 the soul of adoration2 note
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!
Think'st thou, the firy 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 inter-tissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farced title running 'fore the king3 note
,
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 slave4 note;
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 Phœbus, 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 advantages5 note
My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence
Seek through your camp to find you.
Good old knight,
Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.
I shall do't, my lord.
O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts!
Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them6 note
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 bestow'd 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 chantries7 note, 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 pardon8 note
My liege!
My brother Gloster's voice?—Ay;
I know thy errand, I will go with thee:—
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords.
Montez a cheval:—My horse! valet! lacquay! ha!
O brave spirit!
Via!—les eaux et la terre9 note
Rien puis? l'air et le feu—
Ciel! cousin Orleans.—
Enter Constable.
Now, my lord Constable!
Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh.
Mount them, and make incision in their hides:
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And doubt them1 note
with superfluous courage: Ha!
What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears?
The English are embattled, you French peers.
To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls2 note
,
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-ax a stain,
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,
And sheath 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 battle3 note
,—were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe4 note
;
Though we, upon this mountain's basis by5 note
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-sonuance6 note
, and the note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions7 note
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose8 note
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
With torch-staves in their hand9 note
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 bit1 note
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows2 note,
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words,
To démonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless3 note
as it shows itself.
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.
Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?
I stay but for my guard4 note
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.
Where is the king?
The king himself is rode to view their battle.
Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.
There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds.
God be wi' 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 Gloster,—and my good lord Exeter,—
And my kind kinsman6 note,—warriors all, adieu!
Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!
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 valour7 note
.
He is as full of valour, as of kindness8 note
;
Princely in both.
O that we now had here9 note
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to-day!
What's he, that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland1 note?—No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
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 Jove2 note
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not3 note, 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 more4 note:
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 Crispian5 note:
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 age6 note
Will yearly on the vigil7 note feast his friends,
And say—to-morrow is Saint Crispian:
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,
And say, these wounds I had on Crispin's day8 note.
Old men forget; yet all9 note shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages1 note,
What feats he did that day: Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths2 note as household words,—
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,—
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending3 note 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 condition4 note
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day5 note.
My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
The French are bravely6 note
in their battles set,
And will with all expedience7 note
charge on us.
All things are ready, if our minds be so.
Perish the man, whose mind is backward now!
Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin?
God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone,
Without more help, might fight this battle out8 note
!
Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men9 note
Which likes me better, than to wish us one.—
You know your places: God be with you all!
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 mind1 note
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.
Who hath sent thee now?
The Constable of France.
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 many2 note of our bodies shall, no doubt,
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass3 note 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 English4 note
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in rélapse of mortality5 note
Let me speak proudly;—Tell the Constable,
We are but warriors for the working-day6 note
;
Our gayness and our gilt7 note
, 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 shall 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 to them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.
I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well:
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
I fear, thou'lt once more come again for ransom.
My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.
Take it, brave York.—Now, soldiers, march away:—
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!
.
O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman2 note:—
Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark;—
O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox3 note
,
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.
O, prennez misericorde! ayez pitié de
moy!
Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys;
For I will fetch thy rim4 note
out at thy throat,
In drops of crimson blood.
Brass, cur5 note
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat6 note
,
Offer'st me brass?
O pardonnez moy!
Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys7 note
Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French,
What is his name.
Escoutez; Comment estes vous appellé?
Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant,
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.
Tell him,—my fury shall abate, and I
The crowns will take.
O diable?
O seigneur!—le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!
Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.—O meschante fortune!—
Do not run away.
Why all our ranks are broke.
O perdurable shame1 note
!—let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?
Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us die in fight: Once more back again2 note
And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand,
Like a base pander3 note
, hold the chamber-door,
Whilst by a slave, no gentler4 note than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminate5 note.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives
Unto these English, or else die with fame6 note.
We are enough, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.
The devil take order now! I'll to the throng;
Let life be short; else, shame will be too long.
Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen:
But all's not done, yet keep the French the field.
The duke of York commends him to your majesty.
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.
In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie,
Larding the plain7 note
: 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 insteep'd,
And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his face;
And cries aloud,—Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven:
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast;
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, raught8 note me his hand,
And, with a feeble gripe, 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 love9 note
.
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,
But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears1 note
.
I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With wistful eyes2 note
But, hark! what new alarum is this same3 note
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men:—
Then every soldier kill his prisoners;
Give the word through4 note
.
I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant.—Take a trumpet, herald;
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon 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 away1 note
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have2 note
And not a man of them that we shall take,
Shall taste our mercy:—Go, and tell them so.
Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
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?
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 steeds3 note
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage,
Yerk out their armed heels4 note
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.
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.
The day is yours.
Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!—
What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by?
They call it—Agincourt.
Then call we this—the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
I wear it for a memorable honour:
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
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.
My lord of Warwick,—and my brother Gloster,
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels:
The glove, which I have given him for a favour,
May, haply, purchase him a box o' the 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.
I warrant it is to knight you, captain.
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.
Now, herald; are the dead number'd4 note
?
Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
Charles duke of Orleans5 note
John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt:
Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
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 knights6 note
:
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries7 note
The rest are—princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead,—
Charles De-la-bret8 note, 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 Guischard Dauphin;
John duke of Alençon; Antony duke of Brabant,
The brother to the duke of Burgundy;
And Edward duke of Bar: of lusty earls,
Grandpré, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix,
Beaumont, and Marle, Vaudemont, and Lestrale.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!—
Where is the number of our English dead?
[Herald presents another Paper.
Edward the duke of York9 note, the earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire1 note
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 loss,
On one part and on the other?—Take it, God,
For it is only thine!
'Tis wonderful!
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.
Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment,
That God fought for us.
Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot.
Do we all holy rites2 note
Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum.
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay,
We'll then to Calais; and to England then;
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.
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 the 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 seen3 note
,
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts,
Athwart the sea: Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives4 note, and boys,
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea,
Which, like a mighty whiffler5 note
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 borne6 note
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 trophy7 note, signal, and ostent,
Quite from himself, to God. But now behold,
In the quick forge and workinghouse of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens!
The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort,
Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels,
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Cæsar in:
As, by a lower but by loving likelihood8 note
Were now the general of our gracious empress9 note
(As, in good time, he may,) from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached1 note 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 coming2 note
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 remembering you—'tis past.
Then brook abridgement; and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, straight back again to France.
Ha! art thou Bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web4 note?
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.
Doth fortune play the huswife1 note with me now?
News have I, that my Nell is dead2 note
i'the spital
Of malady of France;
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I 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 scars,
And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars.
Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met5 note
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 Katharine;
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!
Right joyous are we to behold your face,
Most worthy brother England; fairly met:—
So are you, princes English, every one.
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 borne in them
Against the French, that met them in their bent,
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks6 note
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,
Have lost their quality; and that this day
Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love.
To cry amen to that, thus we appear.
You English princes all, I do salute you.
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 bar7 note 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 its own fertility.
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unpruned dies8 note
Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair9 note
Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory,
Doth root upon; while that the coulter1 note rusts,
That should deracinate2 note
such savagery:
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, all3 note uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems,
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
Losing both beauty and utility.
And as our vineyards4 note, fallows, meads, and hedges,
Defective in their natures5 note, 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 attire6 note
And every thing that seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favour7 note
,
You are assembled: and my speech entreats,
That I may know the let, why gentle peace
Should not expel these inconveniencies,
And bless us with her former qualities.
If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,
Whose want gives growth to the 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.
The king hath heard them; to the which, as yet,
There is no answer made.
Well then, the peace,
Which you before so urg'd, lies in his answer.
I have but with a cursorary eye
O'er-glanc'd 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 answer5 note
Brother, we shall.—Go, uncle Exeter,—
And brother Clarence9 note,—and you, brother Gloster,—
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?
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.
Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us;
She is our capital demand, compris'd
Within the fore-rank of our articles.
She hath good leave.
Fair Katharine, and most fair1 note
!
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?
, nor gasp out
: If thou canst
?
of a country's fashion: we
.
We have consented to all terms of reason.
Is't so, my lords of England?
The king hath granted every article:
His daughter, first; and then, in sequel, all3 note,
According to their firm proposed natures.
Nor this I have not, brother, so denied,
But your request shall make me let it pass.
I pray you then, in love and dear alliance,
Let that one article rank with the rest:
And, thereupon, give me your daughter.
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.
Amen!
Now welcome, Kate:—and bear me witness all,
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.
God, the best maker of all marriages,
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!
As man and wife, being two, are one in love,
So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy,
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms5 note,
To make divorce of their incorporate league;
That English may as French, French Englishmen,
Receive each other!—God speak this Amen!
Amen!
Prepare we for our marriage:—on which day6 note
,
My lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath,
And all the peers', for surety of our leagues.—
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!
Thus far, with rough, and all unable pen,
Our bending author7 note has pursu'd the story;
In little room confining mighty men,
Mangling by starts8 note the full course of their glory.
Small time, but, in that small, most greatly liv'd
This star of England: fortune made his sword;
By which the world's best garden9 note
he achiev'd,
And of it left his son imperial lord.
Henry the sixth, in infant bands crown'd king
Of France and England did this king succeed;
Whose state so many had the managing,
That they lost France, and made his England bleed:
Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake,
In your fair minds let this acceptance take. Previous section
James Boswell [1821], The plays and poems of William Shakspeare, with the corrections and illustrations of various commentators: comprehending A Life of the Poet, and an enlarged history of the stage, by the late Edmond Malone. With a new glossarial index (J. Deighton and Sons, Cambridge) [word count] [S10201].
