Gower.

Here he comes, and the Scots captain, captain Jamy with him.

Flu.

Captain Jamy is a marvellous valorous gentleman, that is certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in the ancient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu, he will maintain his argument, as well as any military man in the world.

Jamy.

I say, gudday, Captain Fluellen.

Flu.

Godden to your worship, good captain James.

Gower.

How now, captain Mackmorris, have you quitted the mines? Have the pioneers given o'er?

Mack.

By Chrish law, tish ill done; the work ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over. I wou'd have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, law, in an hour. O, tish ill done, tish ill done! by my hand, tish ill done.

Flu.

Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you vouchsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching, or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look

you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline; that is the point.

Jamy.

It sall be very gud, gud feith, gud captens bath, and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry.

Mack.

It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me.* ^note The day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the king, and the duke; it is not time to discourse, the town is beseech'd, and the trumpet calls us to the breach, and we talk, and by Chrish do nothing; 'tis shame for us all. So God sa' me, 'tis shame to stand still, it is shame, by my hand; and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done, and there ish nothing done; so Chrish sa' me, law.

Jamy.

By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, aile do gud service, or aile ligge i'th' ground for it; ay, or go to death; and aile pay it as valourously as I may.

Flu.

Captain Mackmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation—

Mack.

Of my nation! What ish my nation? ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation?

Flu.

Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, captain Mackmorris, peradventure, I shall think you do not use me with that affability, as in discretion you ought to use me, look you, being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities.

Mack.

I do not know you so good a man as myself; so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.

Gower.

Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.

Jamy.

Au, that's a foul fault.

Gower.

The town sounds a parley.

Flu.

Captain Mackmorris, when there is more petter opportunity to be requir'd, look you, I'll be so

bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of war; and there's an end.

K. Henry.
How yet resolves the governor of the town?
As I am a soldier,
(A name, that in my thoughts, becomes me best)
If I begin the batt'ry once again,
I will not leave the half atchiev'd Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up.
Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town, and of your people,
While yet my soldiers are in my command.
If not; why in a moment look to see
The blind and bloody soldier, with foul hand,
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters:
Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls.
What say you? Will you yield, and this prevent?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?

Gov.
Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, of whom succours we entreated,
Returns us, that his pow'rs are not yet ready,
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great 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.

K. Henry.
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 we will be your guest,
To-morrow, for the march.* ^note [Flourish, and enter into the town. Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, Duke of Burgundy, the Constable of France, and others.

Fr. King.
'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme.

Con.
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 barb'rous people.

Daup.
Shall a few sprays of us,
(The emptying of our father's luxury)
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
Sprout up so suddenly into the clouds,
And overlook their grafters?

Burg.
Normans, but bastard Normans; Norman bastards.
Mort de ma vie, if thus they march along,
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
To buy a foggy and a dirty farm,
In that nook shotten† ^note isle of Albion.

Const.
Why, whence have they this mettle?‡ ^note
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull?
On whom, as in despight, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns?
Oh! for the honour of our land,
Let us not hang, like frozen icicles,
Upon our house-tops, while more frosty people,
Sweat drops of gallant blood, in our rich fields.

Daup.
By faith and honour,
Our maidens mock at us;
They bid us to the English dancing-schools,
And teach La Volta's high, and swift Coranto's;
Saying, our grace is only in our heels,
And that we are most lofty run-aways.

Fr. King.
Where is Mountjoy, the herald? Speed him hence,
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
Up, princes, and with spirit of honour edg'd,
Yet sharper than your swords, hie to the field.
For your great seats now quit you of great shames;
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land,
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.
Go down upon him, you have pow'r enough,
And in a captive chariot into Roan,
Bring him, our prisoner.

Daup.
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 atchievement offer us his ransom.

Fr. King.
Therefore, lord constable, haste on Mountjoy,
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 Roan.

Daup.
Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

Fr. King.
Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
Now forth, lord constable, and princes all;
And quickly bring us word of victory. [Exeunt. Enter Gower and Fluellen.* ^note

Gower.
How now, Captain Fluellen, come you from the bridge?

Flu.

I assure you, there is very excellent services committed at the pridge.

Gower.

Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

Flu.

The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon, and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermost power. He is not, Heav'n be praised and plessed, any hurt in the world. He is maintain the pridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an ancient lieutenant there, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world; but I did see him do gallant services.

Gower.

What do you call him?

Flu.

He is call'd ancient Pistol.

Gower.

I know him not.

Flu.

Here is the man.

Pist.
Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours
The duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Flu.

I, I praise Heav'n, and I have merited some love at his hands.

Pist.
Bardolph, a soldier firm, and sound of heart,
And buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate,
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel,
That goddess blind, that stands upon the rolling restless stone—

Flu.

By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is painted plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to signify to you, that fortune is plind; and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutabilities and variations; and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls. In good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it. Fortune is an excellent moral.

Pist.
Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;

For he hath stoln a Pix,* ^note and hanged must a' be: damned death!
Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free,
And let not hemp his wind-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.

Flu.
Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.

Pist.
Why then, rejoice, therefore.

Flu.

Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice at; for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the duke to use his good pleasure, and put him to executions; for disciplines ought to be used.

Pist.

Die and be damn'd, and figo for thy friendship.

Flu.

It is well.

Pist.

The fig of Spain—

Flu.

Very good.

Gower.

Why this is an arrant counterfeit rascal, I remember him, now; a bawd, a cut-purse.

Flu.

I'll assure you, he utter'd as prave words, at the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day. But, it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve.

Gower.

Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his return to London, under the form of a soldier. Such fellows are perfect in the great commanders' names, and they will learn you by rote, where services were done; at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy. But you must learn to know such slanders† ^note of the age, or else you may be marvellously mistook.

Flu.

I tell you what, Captain Gower; I do perceive he is not the man he would gladly make shew to the world he is; if I find a hole in his coat, I will tell him my mind. Hear you, the king is coming, and I must speak with him.

Flu.

Cot pless your majesty.

K. Henry.

How now, Fluellen; cam'st thou from the bridge?

Flu.

I, so please your majesty. The Duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintain'd the pridge; the French is gone off, look you, and there is gallant and most prave passages; marry th' athversary was have possession of the pridge, but he is inforced to retire, and the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge. I can tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man.

K. Henry.

What men have you lost, Fluellen?

Flu.

The perdition of th' athversary, hath been very great, very reasonable great. Marry, for my part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church; one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man; his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire, and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red; but his nose is executed, and his fire's out.

K. Henry.
We would have such offenders so cut off,
And give express charge, that in all our march,
There shall be nothing taken from the villages,
But shall be paid for, and no French upbraided,
Or yet abused in disdainful language.
When lenity and cruelty play for kingdoms,* ^note
The gentler gamester is the soonest winner.

Tucket sounds. Enter Mountjoy.

Mount.

You know me, by my habit.

K. Henry.

Well then, I know thee. What shall I know of thee?

Mount.

My master's mind.

K. Henry.

Unfold it.

Mount.
Thus says my king; say thou to Harry England,
Although we seemed dead, we did but sleep:
Advantage is a better soldier than rashness.
Tell him we could at Harfleur have rebuk'd him,
But that we thought not good to bruise an injury,
Till it were ripe. Now speak we on our cue,
With voice imperial: England shall repent
His folly, his weakness, and admire
Our suff'rance. Bid him therefore to consider
What must the ransom be, which must proportion
The losses we have born, the subjects we
Have lost, and the disgrace we have digested;
To answer which his pettiness would bow under.
First, for our loss, too poor is his exchequer;
For the effusion of our blood, his army
Too faint a number; and for our disgrace,
Ev'n his own person, kneeling at our feet,
A weak and worthless satisfaction.
To this, defiance add; and for conclusion,
Tell him he hath betray'd his followers,
Whose condemnation is pronounc'd. So far
My king and master; and so much my office.

K. Henry.
Thou do'st 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 impediment.
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, Heav'n,
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, Heav'n before, tell him we will come on,
Though France himself, and such another neighbour,
Stand in our way.
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
Discolour.
The sum of all our answer is but this;
We would not seek a battle, as we are,
Yet as we are, we say we will not shun it:
So tell your master.

Mount.
I shall deliver so. [Exit.

Glou.
I hope they will not come upon us, now.

K. Henry.
We are in Heav'n's hand, brother, not in theirs:
March to the bridge, it now draws toward night;
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves,
And on the morrow bid them march away. [Exeunt.

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