Gloucester.
K. Henry.
Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger;
The greater, therefore, should our courage be.
-- 48 --
Good-morrow, brother Bedford.
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out.
For our bad neighbour make us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry.
Enter Erpingham.
Good-morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham;
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. Henry.
Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas: brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp:
-- 49 --
And anon,
Desire them all to my pavilion.
Glou.
We shall, my liege.
Erp.
Shall I attend your grace?
K. Henry.
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.
[Exeunt.
K. Henry.
God a-mercy, old heart, thou speak'st chearfully.
Enter Pistol.* note
Pist.
Qui va là?
K. Henry.
A friend.
Pist.
Discuss unto me, art thou officer,
Or art thou base, common and popular?
K. Henry.
I am a gentleman of a company.
Pist.
Trail'st thou the puissant pike?
K. Henry.
Ev'n so; what are you?
Pist.
As good a gentleman as the emperor.
K. Henry.
Then you are better than the king.
Pist.
The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame
Of parents good, of fist most valiant:
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-string,
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
K. Henry.
Harry le Roy.
Pist.
Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish
crew?
K. Henry.
No, I am a Welchman.
Pist.
Know'st thou Fluellin?
K. Henry.
Yes.
Pist.
Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate,
Upon St. David's day.
-- 50 --
K. Henry.
Do not you wear your dagger in your
cap, that day; lest he knock that about yours.
Pist.
Art thou his friend?
K. Henry.
And his kinsman, too.
Pist.
The figo for thee, then.
My name is Pistol call'd.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
It sorts well with your fierceness.
[Manet King Henry.
Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Gow.
Captain Fluellen.
Flu.
So: speak fewer, I pray you. It is the greatest
admiration in the universal orld, when the true and
ancient 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, nor pribble pabble in Pompey's
camp: I warrant you, you shall find the forms of it,
and the sobrieties of it, and the modesty of it, to be
otherwise.
Gow.
Why the enemy is loud, you hear 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?
Gower.
I will speak lower.
Flu.
I pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
[Exeunt.
K. Henry.
Tho' it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welchman.
Enter two Soldiers, John Bates, and Michael Williams.
Williams.
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.
Williams.
We see yonder the beginning of the day,
-- 51 --
but I think we shall never see the end of it. Who goes
there?
K. Henry.
A friend.
Will.
Under what captain serve you?
K. Henry.
Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.
Will.
A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman:
I pray you what thinks he of our estate?
K. Henry.
Even as men wreck'd upon a sand, that
look to be wash'd off, the next tide.
Bates.
He hath not told his thought to the king!
K. Henry.
No; nor is it meet he should: for tho' 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
shews to him as it doth to me; all his senses have but
human conditions: therefore, when he sees reason of
fears, 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 shewing
it, should dishearten his army.
Bates.
He may shew 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. Henry.
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 many poor men's lives
saved.
K. Henry.
I dare say you love him not so ill, to
wish him here alone; howsoever you speak this, to feel
other mens mind's. Methinks I could not die any
where so contented, as in the king's company; his
cause being just, and his quarrel honourable.
Will.
That's more than we know.
Bates.
Ay, or more than we should seek after; for
we know enough, if we know we are the king's subjects;
if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the
king wipes the crime of it, out of us.
-- 52 --
Will.
But if his cause be not good, the king himself
hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs
and arms and heads chop'd off in a battle, shall join all
together at the latter day, and cry all, We dy'd 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 left.
I am afear'd 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. Henry.
So if a son, that is sent by his father about
merchandize, do fall into some lewd action, and miscarry,
the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule,
should be imposed upon his father, that sent him; but
this is not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular
endings of his soldiers, nor the father of his son;
for they purpose not their death, when they crave
their services. Every subject's duty 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 moth out of his conscience: and dying
so, death is to him advantage: or not dying, the
time was well spent, wherein such preparation was
gained.* note
Will.
'Tis certain 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. Henry.
I myself heard the king say he would not
be ransom'd.
Will.
Ay, he said so, to make us fight chearfully:
but when our throats are cut, he may be ransom'd, and
we ne'er the wiser.
-- 53 --
K. Henry.
If I live to see it, I will never trust his
word, after.
Will.
That's a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that
a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch!
You'll never trust his word, after! Come, tis a foolish
saying.
K. Henry.
Your reproof is something too round; I
should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.
Will.
Let it be a quarrel between us, if we live.
K. Henry.
I embrace it.
Will.
How shall I know thee, again?
K. Henry.
Give me any gage of thine, and I will
wear it in my hat, and if ever thou dar'st acknowledge
it, I will make it my quarrel.
Will.
Here's my glove; give me another, of thine.
K. Henry.
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 give thee a box on the ear.
K. Henry.
If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
Will.
Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.
K. Henry.
Well, I will do it, though I take thee in
the king's company.
Will.
Keep thy word, and fare thee well.
Bates.
Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we
have French quarrels enow, if you could but tell how
to reckon.
[Exeunt Soldiers.
K. Henry.
Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and† note
Our sins, lay on the king; he must bear all.
O hard condition, and twin-born with greatness.
What infinite heart-ease must kings neglect,
That private men enjoy? and what have kings,
That privates have not too, save ceremony?
-- 54 --
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
Art thou ought 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 flatt'ry? O be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure.
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
'Tis not the balm, the scepter and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
No, not all these thrice-gorgeous ceremonies,* note
Not all these laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly, as the wretched slave,
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 lacquey, 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,
Hath the fore-hand, and vantage of a king† note
Enter Erpingham.
Erp.
My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
Seek through your camp to find you.
-- 55 --
K. Henry.
Good old knight,
Collect them all together at my tent.
Erp.
I shall, my lord.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
O God of battles!* note
steel my soldiers hearts;
Possess them not with fear; take from them now,
The sense of reck'ning of th' opposed numbers,
Which stand before them.
[Exit.
Scene
SCENE, the French Camp.
Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, and Constable.
Orl.
The sun doth gild our armour up, my lords.
Con.
To horse, you gallant princes, straight to horse,
Do but behold yon poor, and starved band,
And your fair shew shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shells and husks of men.
Then let the trumpets sound,
The tucket sonance, and the note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall crouch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Burgundy.
Burg.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?† note
Yon island carrions, desp'rate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field;
-- 56 --
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
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 hand; and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, drooping the hide and hips:
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words,
To demonstrate the life of such a battle,
In life so liveless, as it shews itself.
Con.
They've said their prayers, and they stay for death.
Daup.
Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,* note
And, after, fight with them?
Con.
I stay but for my guard. On, to the field;
Come, come away?
The sun is high, and we out-wear the day.
[Exeunt.
Scene
SCENE, King Henry's Tent.
Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Salisbury, and Westmoreland.
Glou.
Where is the king?
Bed.
The king himself is rode to view their battle.
West.
Of fighting men, they have full threescore thousand.
Exe.
That's five to one; besides, they are all fresh.
Sal.
Heav'n's arm strike with us, 'tis a fearful odds.
Heav'n be wi'you, princes all; I'll to my charge.
-- 57 --
If we no more meet, till we meet in Heav'n,
Then joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford,
My dear lord Glo'ster, and my good lord Exeter,
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!
Exe.
Farewel, kind lord: fight valiantly to-day.
And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it,
For thou art made of the firm truth of valour.
[Exit Salisbury.
Bed.
He is as full of valour as of kindness;
Princely in both.
Enter King Henry.
West.
O, that we now had here,
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work, to-day.
K. Henry.
What's he, that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my good cousin,† note
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow,
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
I am not, cousin, covetous of gold;
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my lord, wish not a man from England;
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he who hath no stomach to this fight,
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,
Who fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that out-lives this day, and comes safe home,
-- 58 --
Will yearly on the vigil, feast his neighbours,
And say, to-morrow is Saint Crispian.
Then will he strip his sleeve, and shew his scars:
Old men forget; yet shall not all forget,
What feats they did, that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as houshold words,
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury, and Glo'ster,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
Enter Salisbury.
Sal.
My sov'reign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
The French are bravely in their battles set,
And will, with all expedience, charge on us.
K. Henry.
All things are ready, if our minds are so.
West.
Perish the man, whose mind is backward now.
K. Henry.
Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin?
West.
Heav'n's will, my liege. Would you and I alone,
Without more help, could fight this royal battle.
K. Henry.
Why, now, thou hast unwish'd, ten thousand men:
Which likes me better, than to wish us one.
You know your places. Heav'n be with you all.
A Tucket sounds. Enter Mountjoy.
Mount.
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. Thus, in mercy,
The constable desires thee thou wilt mind
-- 59 --
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. Henry.
Who hath sent thee, now?
Mount.
The Constable of France.
K. Henry.
I pray thee, bear my former answer back.
Bid them atchieve me, and then sell my bones.
Good Heav'n! 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.
And many of our bodies, shall, no doubt,
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass, of this day's work.
Let me speak proudly; tell the constable,
We are but warriors for the working-day.
Our gayness, and our gilt are all be-smirch'd,
With rainy marching in the painful field.
But, by the mass, our hearts are in their 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.
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 them,
Shall leave them little: so tell the constable.
Mount.
I shall, King Harry, and so fare thee well.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
Now soldiers, march away.
And how thou pleasest, Heav'n, dispose the day.
[Exeunt.
-- 60 --
Alarm. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French soldier, and Boy.* note
Pist.
Yield, cur.
Fr. Sol.
Je pense que vous estes un gentilhomme de bon
qualité.
Pist.
Quality me. Art thou a gentleman? What
is thy name? discuss.
Fr. Sol.
O, Signeur Dieu!† note
Pist.
Signieur Dewe, should be a gentleman.
Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark;
O Signieur Dewe, thou diest on point of fox,
Except, O Signieur Dewe, thou give to me
Egregious ransom.
Fr. Sol.
O prennez misericorde, ayez pitié de moy.
Pist.
Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys;
or I will fetch thy rym out at thy throat, in drops of
crimson blood.
Fr. Sol.
Est-il impossible d' echapper la force de ton
bras!
Pist.
Brass, cur? thou damned, and luxurious mountain
goat, offer'st me brass?
Fr. Sol.
O pardonnez moy.
Pist.
Say'st thou me so. Is that a ton of moys?
Come hither, boy; ask me this slave, in French,
What is his name.
Boy.
Ecoutez! comment estes vous appellé?
Fr. Sol.
Monsieur le Fer.
Boy.
He says, his name is Mr. Fer.
Pist.
Mr. Fer! I'll fer him, and ferk him, and
ferret him. Discuss the same in French unto him.
-- 61 --
Boy.
I do not know the French for fer, and ferret,
and ferk.
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 vous
teniez prest, car ce soldat icy est disposeé, tout à cette heure,
de couper vostre gorge.
Pist.
Owy, couper gorge, mafoy, peasant. 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, & je vous donneray deux cent ecus.
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, à pardonner
aucun prisonnier, neantmoins, pour les ecus que vous
l'avez promis, il est content de vous donner la liberté, le
franchisement.
Fr. Sol.
Sur mes genoux je vous donne milles remercimens,
& je m'estime heureux, que je suis tombé entre les
mains d' un Chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant,
& tres estimé Seigneur, d' Angleterre.
Pist.
Expound unto me, boy.
Boy.
He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand
thanks, and esteems himself happy, that he hath fall'n
into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave,
valorous, and thrice worthy seigneur of England.
Pist.
And so he has.
As I suck blood, I will some mercy shew.
Follow me, cur.
Boy.
Suivez le grand capitain.
[Exeunt Pist and Fr. Sol.
-- 62 --
Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, and Rambures.
Daup.
Mort de ma vie. All is confounded, all!
Reproach, and everlasting shame
Sit mocking in our plumes.
[A short alarm.
Const.
Why, all our ranks are broke.
Daup.
O, perdurable shame! Let's stab ourselves.
Are these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
Orl.
Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?
Bourb.
Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame.
The man that will not follow Burgundy,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand,
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door,
Whilst, by a slave, no gentler than a dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.
Const.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now?
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.
Orl.
We are enow, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throng,
If any order might be thought upon.
Bourb.
The devil take all order now; I'll to the throng.
Let life be short, else shame will be too long.
[Exeunt.
Alarm. Enter the King, and his train.
K. Henry.
Well have ye done, thrice valiant countrymen;
But all's not done, the French yet keep the field.
Exe.
The duke of York commends him to your majesty.
K. Henry.
Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour,
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting:
From helmet, to the spur, all bleeding o'er.
-- 63 --
Exe.
In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,
Larding the plain; 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,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay ensteep'd,
Kisses the gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,
And cries aloud, tarry, my cousin Suffolk,
My soul shall thine keep company to Heav'n:
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, gave 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 kist his lips,
And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me, which I would have stop'd,
But I had not so much of man in me,
But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.* note
K. Henry.
I blame you not;
For hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.
[Alarm.
But hark. What new alarum is this same?
The French have re-inforc'd their scatter'd men.
Then every soldier kill his prisoners.† note
Give the word through.
[Exeunt.
-- 64 --
Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Flu.
Kill the poys, and the luggage! 'Tis expresly
against the law of arms. 'Tis as arrant a piece
of knavery, mark you now, as can be desired in your
conscience now; is it not?
Gower.
'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive;
and the cowardly rascals that run away from the battle,
ha' done this slaughter: besides, they have burn'd
or carried away, all that was in the king's tent;
wherefore, the king most worthily hath caus'd ev'ry
soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant
king!
Flu.
I, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower.
What call you the town's name, where Alexander
the pig was born?
Gower.
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.
Gower.
I think Alexander the Great, was born in
Macedon, his father was called Philip of Macedon, as
I take it.
Flu.
I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is
porn.* note I tell you, captain, if you look in the maps
of the orld, I warrant that you sall find, in the comparisons
between Macedon and Monmouth, that the
situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river
in Macedon, there is also a river at Monmouth: it is
call'd Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains,
what is the name of the other river. But it is all one,
'tis as like, as my fingers 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,
-- 65 --
Heav'n 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 best friend, Clytus.
Gower.
Our king is not like him in that, he never
kill'd any of his friends.
Flu.
It is not well done, mark you now, to take
the tales out of my mouth, ere it is finished. I speak
but in figures and comparisons. As Alexander kill'd
his friend, Clytus, being in his ales and his cups, so
also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits, and his
good judgments, turn'd away the fat knight, with the
great-pelly; he was full of jests and gypes, and knaveries,
and mockeries. I have forgot his name.
Gower.
Sir John Falstaff.
Flu.
That is he. I tell you, there is good men
porn at Monmouth.
Gower.
Here comes his majesty.
Alarum. Enter King Henry, Lords, and Attendants. Flourish.
K. Henry.
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 sker away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have.* note
Go, and tell them so.
-- 66 --
Enter Mountjoy.
Exe.
Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
Glou.
His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
K. Henry.
How now. What means their herald? know'st thou not
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ransom?
Mount.
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)
Lye drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood:
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes, while their wounded steeds
Fret fet-lock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters.
O give us leave, great king,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies.
K. Henry.
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.
Mount.
The day is yours.
K. Henry.
Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
What is this castle call'd, that stands hard by?
Mount.
They call it Agincourt.
K. Henry.
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. Henry.
They did, Fluellen.
Flu.
Your majesty says very true: if your majesties
is remember'd of it, the Welchmen did good service in a
-- 67 --
garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their
Monmouth caps, which your majesty 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 St. Tavie's day.
K. Henry.
I wear it, for a memorable honour:
For I am Welch, you know, good countryman.
Flu.
All the water in the Wye cannot wash your majesty's
Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you
that: Heav'n preserve it as long as it pleases his grace
and majesty too.* note
K. Henry.
Thanks, good my countryman.
Flu.
I am your majesty's countryman, I care not
who know it: I will confess it to all the orld, I need
not be asham'd of your majesty, praised be Heav'n, so
long as your majesty is an honest man.
K. Henry.
Heav'n keep me so.
Enter Williams.
Our heralds go with him;
[Exeunt Heralds, with Mountjoy.
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead,
On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.
Exe.
Soldier, you must come to the king.
K. Henry.
Soldier, why wear'st thou thy 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. Henry.
An Englishman?
Will.
An't please your majesty, a rascal that swagger'd
with me, last night, who, if alive, and if ever
he dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take
him a box o'th' ear; or if I can see my glove in his
hat, which he swore as he was a soldier he would
wear, if alive, I will strike it out soundly.
K. Henry.
What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it
fit the soldier keep his oath?
-- 68 --
Flu.
He is a craven and a villain else, an't please
your majesty, in my conscience.
K. Henry.
It may be his enemy is a gentleman of
great sort, quite from the answer of his degree.
Flu.
Though he be as good a gentlemen as the devil,
or Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary,
look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath:
if he be perjur'd, see you now, his reputation is as
arrant a villain and a jacksawce, as ever his black shoe
trod upon God's ground and his earth, in my conscience,
law.
K. Henry.
Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou
meet'st the fellow.
Will.
So I will, my liege, as I live.
K. Henry.
Who serv'st thou under?
Will.
Under Captain Gower, my liege.
Flu.
Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge
and literature in the wars.
K. Henry.
Call him hither to me, soldier.
Will.
I will, my liege.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
Here, Fluellen, wear thou this favour
for me, and stick it in thy hat; when Alanson and myself
were down together, I pluck'd this glove from
his helm; if any man challenge this, he is a friend to
Alanson, and an enemy to our person; if thou encounter
any such, apprehend him, if thou dost love me.
Flu.
Your grace does me as great honour 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
agriev'd at this glove.
K. Henry.
Know'st thou Gower?
Flu.
He is my dear friend, and please you.
K. Henry.
I pray thee go seek him, and bring him to my tent.
Flu.
I will fetch him.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
Brother Glo'ster,
Follow Fluellen, closely at the heels.
The glove, which I have given him for a favour,
May haply purchase him a box o'th' ear.
It is the soldier's: I by bargain should
-- 69 --
Wear it myself.
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,
Some sudden mischief may arise from it:
For I do know Fluellen valiant,
And touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder,
Follow, and see there be no harm between them.
Come you with me, uncle of Exeter.
[Exeunt.
Enter Gower and Williams.
Will.
I warrant it is to knight you, captain.
Enter Fluellen.
Flu.
Captain, I beseech you now, come apace to the
king: there is more good toward you, peradventure,
than is in your knowlege 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.
'Sbud, an arrant traitor as any's in the universal
orld.
Gower.
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 plows, I warrant you.
Will.
I am no traitor.
Flu.
That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you, in
his majesty's name, apprehend him, he's a friend of
the Duke of Alanson's.
Enter Gloucester.
Glou.
How now, how now, what's the matter?
Flu.
My Lord of Gloucester, here is, praised be
Heav'n for it, a most contagious treason come to light,
look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day.
-- 70 --
Enter King Henry and Exeter.
K. Henry.
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 Alanson.
Will.
My liege, this was my glove, here is the fellow
of it; and he that I gave it to in change, promis'd
to wear it in his hat; I promis'd to strike him, if he
did; I met this man with my glove in his hat, and I
have been as good as my word.
Flu.
Your majesty hears now, saving your majesty's
manhood, what an arrant rascally, beggarly, lowsy
knave it is; I hope your majesty is pear me testimonies,
and witnesses, and avouchments, that this is the
glove of Alanson, that your majesty is give me, in your
conscience now.
K. Henry.
Give me thy glove, soldier; look, nere
is the fellow of it: 'twas me, 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. Henry.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?
Will.
All offences, my lord, come from the heart;
never came, any from mine, that might offend your
majesty.
K. Henry.
It was ourself thou didst abuse.
Will.
Your majesty came not like yourself; you appear'd
to me but as a common man;* note witness the
night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your
highness suffer'd under that shape, I beseech you, take
it for your fault, and not mine; for had you been as
I took you for, I made no offence; therefore I beseech
your highness pardon me.
-- 71 --
K. Henry.
Here, uncle Exeter, fill the glove with crowns,† note
And give it to the soldier. 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 light, the fellow has mettle in
his pody; hold, there is twelve-pence for you; and
I pray you to serve Heav'n, and keep you out of prawls
and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissentions, and I
warrant you it is the better for you.
Will.
I will none of your money.
Flu.
It is with a good will; I can tell you it will
serve you to mend your shoes; come, wherefore
should you be so pashful: your shoes are not so good;
'tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.
Will.
Psha!
[Exit.
Enter Herald.
K. Henry.
Now, herald, are the dead number'd?
Her.
Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.
K. Henry.
Read them, good uncle.
Exe.
Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the king;
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouchiqualt:
Of other lords and barons, knights and 'squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
K. Henry.
Here was a royal fellowship of death.
Where is the number of our English dead?
Exe.
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketley, David Gam, Esquire;
None else of name; and of all other men,
But five and twenty.
K. Henry.
O Heav'n, thy arm was here!
-- 72 --
Come, go we in procession to the village:
And be it death proclaimed throughout our host,
To boast of this, or take that praise from God,
Which is his only.
Flu.
Is it not lawful, and please your majesty, to tell
how many is kill'd?
K. Henry.
Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgement,
That Heav'n fought for us.
Flu.
Yes, o' my conscience, he did us great good.
K. Henry.
Do we all holy rites; and be
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay.
And then to Calais, and to England then,
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.
[Exeunt.† note
End of the Fourth Act.
note
John Bell [1774], Bell's Edition of Shakespeare's Plays, As they are now performed at the Theatres Royal in London; Regulated from the Prompt Books of each House By Permission; with Notes Critical and Illustrative; By the Authors of the Dramatic Censor (Printed for John Bell... and C. Etherington [etc.], York) [word count] [S10401].
