Chor.
Now entertain conjecture of a time,
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,
Fills the wide vessel of the universe6note
.
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds7note
,
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch8note:
-- 384 --
Fire answers fire9note; and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face1note
:
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear2note
; and from the tents3note
,
-- 385 --
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up3note
,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name4note
.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty5note French
Do the low-rated English play at dice6note
;
-- 386 --
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English7note
,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger; and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks8note
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 one1note
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,3note by what their mockeries be.
[Exit.SCENE I.The English Camp at Agincourt.Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloster.
K. Hen.
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 end4note
.
-- 389 --
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.
Enter Erpingham.
Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham5note
:
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.
Erp.
Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better,
Since I may say—now lie I like a king.
K. Hen.
'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 legerity6note
.
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.
-- 390 --
Glo.
We shall, my liege. [Exeunt Gloster and Bedford.
Erp.
Shall I attend your grace?
K. Hen.
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.
Erp.
The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
[Exit Erpingham.
K. Hen.
God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speakest cheerfully. Enter Pistol.
Pist. Qui va lá?
K. Hen.
A friend.
Pist.
Discuss unto me; Art thou officer?
Or art thou base, common, and popular?
Pist.
The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame8note;
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?
K. Hen.
Harry le Roy.
Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?
-- 391 --
K. Hen.
No, I am a Welshman.
Pist.
Knowest thou Fluellen?
K. Hen.
Yes.
Pist.
Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate,
Upon Saint Davy's day.
K. Hen.
Do not you wear your dagger in your
cap that day, lest he knock that about yours.
So! in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak
lower1note
. It is the greatest admiration in the universal
-- 392 --
'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes
and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would
take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey
the Great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there
is no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble, in Pompey's
camp; I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies
of the wars2note, and the cares of it, and the forms
of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it,
to be otherwise.
Gow.
Why, the enemy is loud; you heard him
all night.
Flu.
If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a
prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we
should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a
prating coxcomb; in your own conscience now?
Gow.
I will speak lower.
Flu.
I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. [Exeunt Gower and Fluellen.
K. Hen.
Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
-- 393 --
Enter Bates, Court, and Williams.
Court.
Brother John Bates, is not that the morning
which breaks yonder?
Bates.
I think it be: but we have no great
cause to desire the approach of day.
Will.
We see yonder the beginning of the day,
but, I think, we shall never see the end of it.—
Who goes there?
K. Hen.
A friend.
Will.
Under what captain serve you?
K. Hen.
Under sir Thomas Erpingham.
Will.
A good old commander, and a most kind
gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our
estate?
K. Hen.
Even as men wrecked upon a sand,
that look to be washed off the next tide.
Bates.
He hath not told his thought to the
king?
K. Hen.
No; nor it is not meet he should. For,
though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a
man, as I am: the violet smells to him, as it doth
to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me;
all his senses have but human conditions3note: his ceremonies
laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a
man; and though his affections are higher mounted
than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the
like wing4note
; therefore when he sees reason of fears,
-- 394 --
as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same
relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should
possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by
showing it, should dishearten his army.
Bates.
He may show what outward courage he
will: but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could
wish himself in the Thames up to the neck; and
so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures,
so we were quit here.
K. Hen.
By my troth, I will speak my conscience
of the king; I think, he would not wish himself any
where but where he is.
Bates.
Then 'would he were here alone; so
should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor
men's lives saved.
K. Hen.
I dare say, you love him not so ill, to
wish him here alone; howsoever you speak this, to
feel other men's minds: Methinks, I could not die
any where so contented, as in the king's company;
his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable5note.
Will.
That's more than we know.
Bates.
Ay, or more than we should seek after6note;
for we know enough, if we know we are the king's
-- 395 --
subjects; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to
the king wipes the crime of it out of us.
Will.
But, if the cause be not good, the king
himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all
those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a
battle, shall join together at the latter day7note, and
cry all—We died at such a place; some, swearing;
some, crying for a surgeon; some, upon their wives
left poor behind them; some, upon the debts they
owe; some, upon their children rawly left8note
. I am
afeard there are few die well, that die in battle; for
how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when
blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not
die well, it will be a black matter for the king that
led them to it; whom to disobey, were against all
proportion of subjection.
K. Hen.
So, if a son, that is by his father sent
about merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the
sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule,
should be imposed upon his father that sent him:
or if a servant, under his master's command, transporting
a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and
die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call
the business of the master the author of the servant's
damnation:—But this is not so: the king is
not bound to answer the particular endings of his
soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his
servant; for they purpose not their death, when
they purpose their services. Besides, there is no
king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to
-- 396 --
the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all
unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on
them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder;
some, of beguiling virgins with the broken
seals of perjury9note
; some, making the wars their bulwark,
that have before gored the gentle bosom of
peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these
men have defeated the law, and outrun native
punishment1note
, though they can outstrip men, they
have no wings to fly from God: war is his beadle,
war is his vengeance; so that here men are punished,
for before-breach of the king's laws, in now the
king's quarrel: where they feared the death, they
have borne life away; and where they would be
safe, they perish: Then if they die unprovided, no
more is the king guilty of their damnation, than he
was before guilty of those impieties for the which
they are now visited. Every subject's duty2note is the
king's; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore
should every soldier in the wars do as every
sick man in his bed, wash every mote3note out of his
conscience: and dying so, death is to him advantage;
-- 397 --
or not dying, the time was blessedly lost,
wherein such preparation was gained: and, in him
that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making
God so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to
see his greatness, and to teach others how they
should prepare.
Will.
'Tis certain4note, every man that dies ill, the
ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer
for it.
Bates.
I do not desire he should answer for me;
and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.
K. Hen.
I myself heard the king say, he would
not be ransomed.
Will.
Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully:
but, when our throats are cut, he may be
ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser.
K. Hen.
If I live to see it, I will never trust his
word after.
perilous shot out of an elder gun6note, that a poor and
private displeasure can do against a monarch! you
may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with
fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll
never trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying.
K. Hen.
Your reproof is something too round* note7note
;
I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.
Will.
Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.
K. Hen.
I embrace it.
Will.
How shall I know thee again?
K. Hen.
Give me any gage of thine, and I will
wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest
acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.
Will.
Here's my glove; give me another of thine.
K. Hen.
There.
Will.
This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou
come to me and say, after to-morrow, This is myglove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear.
K. Hen.
If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
Will.
Thou darest as well be hanged.
K. Hen.
Well, I will do it, though I take thee
in the king's company.
Will.
Keep thy word: fare thee well.
Bates.
Be friends, you English fools, be friends;
we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell
how to reckon.
K. Hen.
Indeed, the French may lay twenty
French crowns8note
to one, they will beat us; for they
-- 399 --
bear them on their shoulders: But it is no English
treason, to cut French crowns; and, to-morrow,
the king himself will be a clipper.
! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and
Our sins, lay on the king;—we must bear all.
O hard condition! twin-born with greatness,
Subjécted to the breath1note
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 adoration2note
?
-- 400 --
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 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 slave4note;
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 advantages5note
.
-- 402 --
Enter Erpingham.
Erp.
My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence
Seek through your camp to find you.
K. Hen.
Good old knight,
Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.
Erp.
I shall do't, my lord. [Exit.
K. Hen.
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 them6note
!—Not to-day, O Lord,
-- 403 --
O not to-day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown!
-- 404 --
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 chantries7note, 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 pardon8note
.
-- 405 --
Enter Gloster.
Glo.
My liege!
K. Hen.
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. [Exeunt.SCENE II.The French Camp.Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and Others.
Orl.
The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords.
-- 406 --
Dau. Montez a cheval:—My horse! valet! lacquay! ha!
Ram.
What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears? Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
The English are embattled, you French peers.
Con.
To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls2note
,
-- 408 --
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 battle3note
,—were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe4note
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-sonuance6note
, and the note to mount:
-- 409 --
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Grandpre.
Grand.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions7note
, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose8note
,
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 hand9note
[unresolved image link]
: and their poor jades
-- 410 --
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips;
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes;
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows2note,
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 lifeless3note
as it shows itself.
Con.
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.
Dau.
Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day.
[Exeunt.
-- 413 --
SCENE III.The English Camp.Enter the English Host; Gloster, Bedford,
Exeter, Salisbury5note, and Westmoreland.
Glo.
Where is the king?
Bed.
The king himself is rode to view their battle.
West.
Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.
Exe.
There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
Sal.
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 kinsman6note,—warriors all, adieu!
-- 414 --
Bed.
Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!
Exe.
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 valour7note
. [Exit Salisbury.
Bed.
He is as full of valour, as of kindness8note
;
Princely in both.
Enter King Henry.
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to-day!
K. Hen.
What's he, that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland1note?—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 Jove2note
, I am not covetous for gold;
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not3note, 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 more4note:
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host
That he, which hath no stomach to this fight,
-- 416 --
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 Crispian5note:
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 age6note
,
Will yearly on the vigil7note 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 day8note.
Old men forget; yet all9note shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages1note,
-- 417 --
What feats he did that day: Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths2note 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 ending3note 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 condition4note
:
-- 418 --
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 day5note.
Enter Salisbury.
Sal.
My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
The French are bravely6note
in their battles set,
And will with all expedience7note
charge on us.
K. Hen.
All things are ready, if our minds be so.
West.
Perish the man, whose mind is backward now!
K. Hen.
Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin?
West.
God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone,
Without more help, might fight this battle out8note
!
K. Hen.
Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men9note
;
-- 419 --
Which likes me better, than to wish us one.—
You know your places: God be with you all!
Tucket. Enter Montjoy.
Mont.
Once more I come to know of thee, king Harry,
-- 420 --
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 mind1note
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.
K. Hen.
Who hath sent thee now?
Mont.
The Constable of France.
K. Hen.
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 many2note of our bodies shall, no doubt,
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass3note 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 English4note
;
-- 421 --
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
, 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.
Mont.
I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well:
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit.
K. Hen.
I fear, thou'lt once more come again for ransom. Enter the Duke of York8note.
York.
My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.
-- 424 --
K. Hen.
Take it, brave York.—Now, soldiers, march away:—
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [Exeunt.SCENE IV.The Field of Battle.Alarums: Excursions. Enter French Soldier, Pistol, and Boy.
Pist.
Yield, cur.
Fr. Sol.
Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhommede bonne qualité.
Pist.
Quality? Callino, castore me! art thou a
gentleman9note
,
and ferret him:—discuss the same in French unto
him.
Boy.
I do not know the French for fer, and ferret,
and firk.
-- 431 --
Pist.
Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
Fr. Sol.
Que dit-il, monsieur?
Boy.
Il me commande de vous dire que vous faitesvous prest; car ce soldat icy est disposé tout à cetteheure de couper vostre gorge.
Pist.
Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant,
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.
Fr. Sol.
O, je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu,me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison;gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux centsescus.
Pist.
What are his words?
Boy.
He prays you to save his life: he is a gentleman
of a good house; and, for his ransom, he
will give you two hundred crowns.
Pist.
Tell him,—my fury shall abate, and I
The crowns will take.
Fr. Sol.
Petit monsieur, que dit-il?
Boy.
Encore qu'il est contre son jurement, depardonner aucun prisonnier; neantmoins, pour lesescus que vous l'avez promis, il est content de vousdonner la liberté, le franchisement.
Fr. Sol.
Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remerciemens:et je m'estime heureux que je suistombé entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, leplus brave, valiant, et tres distingué seigneurd'Angleterre.
Pist.
Expound unto me, boy.
Boy.
He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand
thanks: and he esteems himself happy that he hath
fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most
brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.
Pist.
As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.—
Follow me, cur.
[Exit Pistol.
Boy.
Suivez vous le grand capitaine.
[Exit French Soldier.
-- 432 --
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty
a heart: but the saying is true,—The empty vessel
makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and Nym,
had ten times more valour than this roaring devil
i' the old play9note
, that every one may pare his nails
with a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged;
and so would this be, if he durst steal any thing
-- 433 --
adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with
the luggage of our camp: the French might have
a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none
to guard it, but boys.
[Exit.SCENE V.Another Part of the Field of Battle.Alarums. Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, Constable, Rambures, and Others.
Con. O diable?
Orl. O seigneur!—le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!
Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.—O meschante fortune!—
Do not run away. [A short Alarum.
Con.
Why all our ranks are broke.
Dau.
O perdurable shame1note
!—let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
Orl.
Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?
Bour.
Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us die in fight: Once more back again2note
;
-- 434 --
And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand,
Like a base pander3note
, hold the chamber-door,
Whilst by a slave, no gentler4note than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminate5note.
Con.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
-- 435 --
Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives
Unto these English, or else die with fame6note.
Orl.
We are enough, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.
Bour.
The devil take order now! I'll to the throng;
Let life be short; else, shame will be too long. [Exeunt.SCENE VI.Another Part of the Field.Alarums. Enter King Henry and Forces; Exeter, and Others.
K. Hen.
Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen:
But all's not done, yet keep the French the field.
Exe.
The duke of York commends him to your majesty.
K. Hen.
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.
Exe.
In which array, (brave soldier,) doth he lie,
Larding the plain7note
: 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,
-- 436 --
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, raught8note 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 love9note
.
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 tears1note
.
-- 437 --
K. Hen.
I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With wistful eyes2note
, or they will issue too.—
[Alarum.
But, hark! what new alarum is this same3note
?—
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men:—
Then every soldier kill his prisoners;
Give the word through4note
. [Exeunt.
5 note. SCENE VIIAnother Part of the Field.Alarums. Enter Fluellen and Gower.
! 'tis expressly
against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a
-- 438 --
piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offered,
in the 'orld: In your conscience now, is it not?
Gow.
'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive;
and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle,
have done this slaughter: besides, they have burned
and carried away all that was in the king's tent;
wherefore the king, most worthily, hath caused
every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a
gallant king!
Flu.
Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain
Gower: What call you the town's name, where
Alexander the pig was born?
Gow.
Alexander the great.
Flu.
Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? The
pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or
the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the
phrase is a little variations.
Gow.
I think, Alexander the great was born in
Macedon; his father was called—Philip of Macedon,
as I take it.
-- 439 --
Flu.
I think, it is in Macedon, where Alexander
is porn. I tell you, captain,—If you look in the
maps of the 'orld, I warrant, you shall find, in the
comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth,
that the situations, look you, is both alike. There
is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover
a river at Monmouth: it is called Wye at Monmouth;
but it is out of my prains, what is the name
of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis so like as my
fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in
both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of
Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well;
for there is figures in all things. Alexander (God
knows, and you know,) in his rages, and his furies,
and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and
his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being
a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and
his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus.
Gow.
Our king is not like him in that; he never
killed any of his friends.
Flu.
It is not well done, mark you now, to take
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made an end and
finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons
of it: As Alexander7note is kill his friend Clytus,
being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth,
being in his right wits and his goot judgments,
is turn away the fat knight8note with the great
-- 440 --
pelly-doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and
knaveries, and mocks; I am forget his name.
Gow.
Sir John Falstaff.
Flu.
That is he: I can tell you, there is goot
men born at Monmouth.
Gow.
Here comes his majesty.
Alarum. Enter King Henry, with a Part of the
English Forces; Warwick9note, Gloster, Exeter,
and Others.
K. Hen.
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 away1note
, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have2note
;
-- 441 --
And not a man of them that we shall take,
Shall taste our mercy:—Go, and tell them so.
-- 442 --
Enter Montjoy.
Exe.
Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
-- 443 --
Glo.
His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
K. Hen.
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?
Mont.
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 steeds3note
-- 444 --
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage,
Yerk out their armed heels4note
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.
K. Hen.
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.
Mont.
The day is yours.
K. Hen.
Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!—
What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by?
Mont.
They call it—Agincourt.
K. Hen.
Then call we this—the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
Flu.
Your grandfather of famous memory, an't
please your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward
the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the
chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in
France.
K. Hen.
They did, Fluellen.
Flu.
Your majesty says very true: If your majesties
is remembered of it, the Welshmen did goot
service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing
leeks in their Monmouth caps5note
; which, your majesty
-- 445 --
knows, to this hour is an honourable padge of
the service; and, I do believe, your majesty takes
no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day.
K. Hen.
I wear it for a memorable honour:
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
Flu.
All the water in Wye cannot wash your
majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell
you that: Got pless it and preserve it as long as it
pleases his grace, and his majesty too!
K. Hen.
Thanks, good my countryman.
Flu.
By Cheshu, I am your majesty's countryman,
I care not who know it; I will confess it to
all the 'orld: I need not to be ashamed of your
majesty, praised be God, so long as your majesty is
an honest man.
K. Hen.
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. [Points to Williams. Exeunt Montjoy and Others.
Exe.
Soldier, you must come to the king.
K. Hen.
Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in
thy cap?
Will.
An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of
one that I should fight withal, if he be alive.
K. Hen.
An Englishman?
Will.
An't please your majesty, a rascal that
swaggered with me last night: who, if 'a live, and
-- 446 --
ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to
take him a box o' the ear: or, if I can see my glove
in his cap, (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he
would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out soundly.
K. Hen.
What think you, captain Fluellen? is
it fit this soldier keep his oath?
Flu.
He is a craven and a villain else, an't please
your majesty, in my conscience.
K. Hen.
It may be, his enemy is a gentleman of
great sort6note
Though he be as goot a gentleman as the
tevil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary,
look your grace, that he keep his vow and
his oath: if he be perjured, see you now, his reputation
is as arrant a villain, and a Jack-sauce8note, as
ever his plack shoe trod upon Got's ground and his
earth, in my conscience, la.
K. Hen.
Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou
meet'st the fellow.
Will.
So I will, my liege, as I live.
K. Hen.
Who servest thou under?
Will.
Under captain Gower, my liege.
Flu.
Gower is a goot captain; and is good knowledge
and literature in the wars.
K. Hen.
Call him hither to me, soldier.
Will.
I will, my liege.
[Exit.
K. Hen.
Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour
for me, and stick it in thy cap: When Alençon and
-- 447 --
myself were down together9note, I plucked this glove
from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a
friend to Alençon and an enemy to our person;
if thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou
dost love me.
Flu.
Your grace does me as great honours, as
can be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would
fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall
find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all;
but I would fain see it once; and please Got of his
grace, that I might see it.
K. Hen.
Knowest thou Gower?
Flu.
He is my dear friend, and please you.
K. Hen.
Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him
to my tent.
Flu.
I will fetch him.
[Exit.
K. Hen.
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. [Exeunt.
-- 448 --
SCENE VIII.Before King Henry's Pavilion.Enter Gower and Williams.
Will.
I warrant it is to knight you, captain. Enter Fluellen.
Flu.
Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech
you now, come apace to the king: there is
more goot toward you, peradventure, than is in
your knowledge to dream of.
Will.
Sir, know you this glove?
Flu.
Know the glove? I know, the glove is a
glove.
Will.
I know this; and thus I challenge it.
[Strikes him.
Flu.
'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the
universal 'orld, or in France, or in England.
Gow.
How now, sir? you villain!
Will.
Do you think I'll be forsworn?
Flu.
Stand away, captain Gower; I will give
treason his payment into plows1note
, I warrant you.
Will.
I am no traitor.
Flu.
That's a lie in thy throat.—I charge you in
-- 449 --
his majesty's name, apprehend him; he's a friend
of the duke Alençon's.
Enter Warwick and Gloster.
War.
How now, how now! what's the matter?
Flu.
My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be
Got for it!) a most contagious treason come to
light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's
day. Here is his majesty.
Enter King Henry and Exeter.
K. Hen.
How now! what's the matter?
Flu.
My liege, here is a villain, and a traitor,
that, look your grace, has struck the glove which
your majesty is take out of the helmet of Alençon.
Will.
My liege, this was my glove; here is the
fellow of it: and he that I gave it to in change,
promised to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike
him if he did: I met this man with my glove in
his cap, and I have been as good as my word.
Flu.
Your majesty hear now, (saving your majesty's
manhood,) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly,
lowsy knave it is: I hope, your majesty is pear me
testimony, and witness, and avouchments, that this
is the glove of Alençon, that your majesty is give
me, in your conscience now.
is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st
to strike; and thou hast given me most bitter terms.
Flu.
An please your majesty, let his neck answer
for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld.
K. Hen.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?
Will.
All offences, my liege, come from the
heart: never came any from mine, that might offend
your majesty.
K. Hen.
It was ourself thou didst abuse.
Will.
Your majesty came not like yourself: you
appeared to me but as a common man; witness the
night, your garments, your lowliness; and what
your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech
you, take it for your own fault, and not mine: for
had you been as I took you for, I made no offence;
therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me.
K. Hen.
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.
Flu.
By this day and this light, the fellow has
mettle enough in his pelly:—Hold, there is twelve
pence for you, and I pray you to serve Got, and
keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels,
and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter
for you.
Will.
I will none of your money.
Flu.
It is with a goot will; I can tell you, it
will serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore
should you be so pashful? your shoes is not so
-- 451 --
goot3note: 'tis a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will
change it.
, nephew to the king;
John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt:
Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
K. Hen.
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 knights6note
:
-- 452 --
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries7note
;
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-bret8note, 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 York9note, the earl of Suffolk,
:
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!
Exe.
'Tis wonderful!
K. Hen.
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.
Flu.
Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to
tell how many is killed?
K. Hen.
Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment,
That God fought for us.
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.
