Archbishop of Canterbury.
My lord, I tell you—That self bill is urg'd,
Which, in the eleventh year o'th' last king's reign,
Was like, and had indeed against us past,
But that the scrambling and unquiet time
Did put it out of farther question.

Ely.
But how, my lord, shall we resist it now?

Cant.
It must be thought on: if it pass against us,
We lose the better part of our possession;
For all the temporal lands, which men devout
By testament have given to the church,
Would they strip from us;
Thus runs the bill.

Ely.
But what prevention?

Cant.
The king is full of grace and fair regard.

Ely.
And a true lover of the holy church.

Cant.
The courses of his youth promis'd it not:
The breath no sooner left his father's body,
But that his wildness, mortify'd in him,
Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment,
Consideration, like an angel, came,
And whipt th' offending Adam out of him,* ^note
Leaving his body, as a paradise,
T'invellope and contain celestial spirits.
Never was such a sudden scholar made:
Never came a reformation in a flood,
With such a heady current, scow'ring faults;
Nor ever hydra-headed wilfulness
So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,
As in this king.

Ely.
We're blessed in the change.

Cant.
Hear him but reason in divinity,
And all admiring, with an inward wish,
You would desire the king were made a prelate.
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
You'd 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. When he speaks,
The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,† ^note
And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,
To steal his sweet and honied sentences:
So that the art and practic part of life
Must be the mistress to this theoric.
Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it,
Since his addiction was to courses vain,
His companies 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 popularity.‡ ^note

Ely.
But, my good lord,
How now, for mitigation of this bill,
Urg'd by the commons? Doth his majesty
Incline to it, or no?

Cant.
He seems indifferent;
Or rather swaying more upon our part,
Than cherishing th' 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.

Ely.
How did this offer seem receiv'd, my lord?

Cant.
With good acceptance of his majesty;
Save that there was not time to hear,
(As I perceiv'd his grace would fain have done)
The several and unhidden passages,
Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms,
And generally to the crown of France,
Deriv'd from Edward, his great grandfather.

Ely.
What was the impediment that broke this off?

Cant.
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?

Ely.
It is.

Cant.
Then go we in, to know his embassy.

Ely.
I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it. [Exeunt. Enter King Henry, Gloucester, Bedford, Westmoreland, and Exeter.

K. Henry.
Where is my gracious lord of Canterbury?

Exe.
Not here, in presence.

K. Henry.
Send for him, good uncle.

West.
Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?

K. Henry.
Not yet, my cousin; we would be resolv'd,
Before we hear him, of some things of weight,
That task our thoughts, concerning us and France.* ^note Enter the Archbishop of Canterbury, and Bishop of Ely.

Cant.
Heav'n and his angels guard your sacred throne,
And make you long become it.

K. Henry.
We thank you.
My learned lord, we pray you to proceed,
And justly, and religiously unfold,
Why, the law Salic, that they have in France,
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim.
And, Heav'n forbid, my dear and faithful lord,
That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,
Or nicely charge your understanding soul,
With opening titles, miscreate,‡ ^note whose right
Suits not in native colours with the truth.† ^note
For Heav'n doth know, how many now in health
Shall drop their blood, in approbation
Of what your reverence shall incite us to.

Therefore, take heed how you impawn our person,
How you awake nor sleeping sword of war,
We charge you, in the name of Heav'n, take heed.
Under which conjuration, speak, my lord.

Cant.
Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,* ^note
That owe your lives, your faith, and services,
To this imperial throne. There is no bar
To make against your highness' claim to France,
But this, which they produce from Pharamond,
No woman shall succeed in Salic land:
Which Salic land the French unjustly gloze
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 Salic, lies in Germany,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elve;
Where Charles the great, having subdu'd the Saxons,
There left behind, and settled certain French;
Who holding in disdain the German women,
For some dishonest manners of their life,
Establisht then this law; to wit, no female
Should be inheretrix in Salic land,
Nor did the French possess the Salic land,
Until four hundred one and twenty years,
After defunction of king Pharamond,
(Idly suppos'd the founder of this law.)
Besides, their writers say,
King Pepin, who deposed Childerick,
Did hold in right and title of the female.
So do the kings of France unto this day.

Howbeit, they would hold up this Salic law,
To bar your highness claiming from the female.

K. Henry.
May I, with right and conscience, make this claim?

Cant.
The sin upon my head, dread sovereign:
For in the book of Numbers, it is writ,
When the son dies, let the inheritance
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord,
Stand for your own, unwind your bloody flag,
Look back into your mighty ancestors.
Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb,
From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit,
And your great uncle, Edward, the Black Prince,
Who, on the French ground play'd a tragedy,
Making defeat on the full pow'r of France:
Whilst his most mighty father, on a hill,
Stood smiling, to behold his lion's whelp
Forage in blood of French nobility.
O, noble English, that could entertain
With half their forces, the full pow'r of France,
And let another half stand laughing by,
All out of work and cold for action!

Ely.
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 enterprises.* ^note

Exe.
Your brother kings, and monarchs of the earth,
Do all expect that you shall rouze yourself,
As did the former lions of your blood.

West.
They know your grace hath cause, and means, and might

So hath you highness; never king of England
Had nobles richer, and more loyal subjects,
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England,
And lie pavilion'd in the field of France.

K. Henry.
We must not only arm t'invade the French,
But lay down our proportions to defend
Against the Scot.
For you shall read, that my great grandfather
Never went with his forces into France,
But that the Scot on his unfurnisht kingdom
Came pouring, like a tide into a breach;
That England, being empty of defence,
Hath shook and trembled at th' ill neighbourhood.

Cant.
She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege;
For hear her but exampled by myself,
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,
To fill king Edward's fame with prisoner kings;
And make his chronicle as rich with praise,
As is the ouzy bottom of the sea
With sunken wreck, and sumless treasuries.

Exe.
While that the armed hand doth fight abroad,
Th' advised head defends itself at home.
For government, though high and low, and lower,
Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,
Congreeing in a full and natural close,
Like music.* ^note

Cant.
Therefore, to France, my liege, without delay.
Divide your happy England into four;
Whereof take you one quarter into France,
And you with that shall make all Gallia shake.
If we, with thrice such powers left at home,
Cannot defend our own doors from the dog,
Let us be worried, and our nation lose
The name of hardiness, and policy.

K. Henry.
Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.
Now are we well resolv'd, and by Heav'n'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.

Enter Ambassadors of France.
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.

Amb.
May't please your majesty to give us leave
ely to render what we have in charge;
Or, shall we sparingly shew you far off,
The Dauphin's meaning, and our embassy?

K. Henry.
We are no tyrant, but a christian king:* ^note
Therefore, with frank, and with uncurbed plainness,
Tell us the Dauphin's mind.

Amb.
Thus, then, in few.
Your highness lately sending into France,
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right
Of your great predecessor, 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 won:
You cannot revel into dukedoms there.
He therefore sends you (meeter for your spirit)
A 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.

K. Henry.
What treasure, uncle?

Exe.
Tennis-balls, my liege.

K. Henry.
We're glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us.
His present, and your pains, we thank you for.
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls,

We will, in France, by Heav'n's grace, play a set
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.
Tell him, h'ath made a match with such a wrangler,
That all the courts of France will be disturb'd
With chaces.* ^note And we understand him well,
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.
But tell the Dauphin, I will keep my state,
Be like a king, and shew my sail of greatness,
When I do rouze me in my throne of France.
And 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.† ^note
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 fare ye well. [Exeunt Ambassadors.

Exe.
This was a merry message.

K. Henry.
We hope to make the sender blush at it,
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour,
That may give furth'rance to our expedition;
For we have now no thoughts in us but France,
Save those to Heav'n, that run before our business.
And now, my lords, for France, and Heav'n before,
We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. [Exeunt. Enter Corporal Nim and Lieutenant Bardolph.‡ ^note

Bard.
Well met, Corporal Nim.

Nim.
Good-morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

Bard.
What, are ancient Pistol and you friends yet?

Nim.

For my part, I care not. I say little; but when time shall serve, there shall be—[smiles.] But that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I will wink, and hold out my iron; it is a simple one, but what though? it will toast cheese, and it will endure cold, as another man's sword will; and there's an end.

Bard.

I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends, and we'll be all three sworn brothers to France. Let it be so, good corporal Nim.

Nim.

Faith I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the rendezvous of it.

Bard.

It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nel Quickly, and certainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her.

Nim.

I cannot tell, things must be as they may; men may sleep, and they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say, knives have edges. It must be as it may; though patience be a tir'd mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I cannot tell.