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 conditions3 note: 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 wing4 note
; 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 honourable5 note.
Will.
That's more than we know.
Bates.
Ay, or more than we should seek after6 note;
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 day7 note, 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 left8 note
. 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 perjury9 note
; 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
punishment1 note
, 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 duty2 note 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 mote3 note 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 certain4 note, 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.
Will.
'Mass, you'll pay him then5 note
! That's a
-- 398 --
perilous shot out of an elder gun6 note, 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* note7 note
;
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 my
glove, 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 crowns8 note
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.
[Exeunt soldiers.
Upon the king9 note
! 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 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
?
-- 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,
-- 401 --
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
.
-- 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 them6 note
!—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 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
.
-- 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.
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].
