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 kinsman^{6 note},—warriors all, adieu!

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 valour^{7 note}

Bed.
He is as full of valour, as of kindness^{8 note}
;
Princely in both.

West.
O that we now had here^{9 note}

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 Westmoreland^{1 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 Jove^{2 note}

Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd—the feast of Crispian^{5 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 age^{6 note}

What feats he did that day: Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths^{2 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 ending^{3 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 condition^{4 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 day^{5 note}. Enter Salisbury.

Sal.
My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
The French are bravely^{6 note}

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 out^{8 note}
!

K. Hen.
Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men^{9 note}

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,

If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured overthrow:
For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf,
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
The Constable desires thee—thou wilt mind^{1 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.

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 many^{2 note} of our bodies shall, no doubt,
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass^{3 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 English^{4 note}

That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,

Killing in rélapse of mortality^{5 note}

We are but warriors for the working-day^{6 note}

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 York^{8 note}.

York.
My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.

K. Hen.
Take it, brave York.—Now, soldiers, march away:—
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [Exeunt.

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