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.

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,

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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