Gloucester; Soldiers, with scaling ladders.
King Henry.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with the English dead.
In peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the Tyger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry thro' the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon: let the brow o'erwhelm it,
As fearfully, as doth a galled rock
O'er-hang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wastful ocean.
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height. Now on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fetcht from fathers of war-proof;
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest,
That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you.
-- 40 --
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war; and you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, shew us here
The mettle of your pasture: let us swear
That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not:
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes;
I see you stand like Greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's a-foot:
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge,
Cry, God for Harry! England! and St. George!
[Exeunt King, and Train.
[Alarm, and Cannon go off.
Enter Nim, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy.
Bard.
On, on, on, on, on, to the breach, to the
breach.
Nim.
'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are too
hot; and for mine own part, I have not a case of lives:
the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain song
of it.
Pist.
The plain song is most just; for humours do abound;
Knocks go and come: God's vassals drop and die;
And sword and shield, in bloody field, doth win immortal fame.
Boy.
Wou'd I were in an ale-house in London, I would
give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.
Pist.
And I; if wishes would prevail,
I wou'd not stay, but thither would I hye.
Enter Fluellen.
Flu.
Up to the breach, you dogs; avaunt, you cullions.
Pist.
Be merciful, great Duke, to men of mould,
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage;
Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck.
Nim.
These be good humours; your honour wins bad
humours.
[Exeunt.
Boy.
As young as I am, I have observ'd these three
swashers. I am boy to them all three; but all they
-- 41 --
three, though they would serve me, could not be man
to me; for, indeed, three such Anticks do not amount
to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-liver'd and red-fac'd;
by the means whereof he faces it out, but fights
not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet
sword; by the means whereof he breaks words, and
keeps whole weapons. For Nim, he hath heard, that
men of few words are the best men; and therefore he
scorns to say his prayers, lest he should be thought a
coward; but his few bad words are match'd with as few
good deeds, for he never broke any man's head but his
own, and that was against a post when he was drunk.
They will steal any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph
stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it
for three half-pence. Nim and Bardolph are sworn brothers
in filching; and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel.
I knew, by that piece of service, the men would carry
coals. They would have me as familiar with mens
pockets, as their gloves or their hand-kerchers; which
makes much against my manhood; for if I would take
from another's pocket to put into mine, it is plain
pocketting up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek
some better service; their villany goes against my weak
stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.
[Exit Boy.
Enter Gower, and Fluellen.
Gower.
Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to
the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with
you.
Flu.
To the mines? tell you the Duke, it is not so
good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines
are not according to the disciplines of the war; the concavities
of it is not sufficient; for, look you, th' athversary
(you may discuss unto the Duke, look you) is digt
himself four yards under the countermines; by Cheshu,
I think, a' will plow up all, if there is not petter directions.
Gower.
The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of
the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irish man,
a very valiant gentleman, i' faith.
-- 42 --
Flu.
It is captain Mackmorrice, is it not?
Gower.
I think, it be.
Flu.
By Cheshu, he is an Ass, as is in the world; I will
verifie as much in his beard; he has no more directions
in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman
disciplines, than is a Puppy-dog.
Enter Mackmorris, and Capt. Jamy.
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 antient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his
directions; by Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as
well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines
of the pristine wars of the Romans.
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 would 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 Mackmorrice, 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 captains
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:
the day is hot, and the weather and the wars, and the
King and the Duke; it is not time to discourse, the town
-- 43 --
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
valorously as I may, that sal I surely do, the breff and
the long; marry, I wad full fain heard some question
'tween you tway.
Flu.
Captain Mackmorrice, 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 Mackmorrice, 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 your self, 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 my self;
so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.
Gower.
Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.
Jamy.
A, that's a foul fault.
[A Parley sounded.
Gower.
The town sounds a parley.
Flu.
Captain Mackmorris, when there is more better
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.
[Exeunt.
-- 44 --
Scene 2
SCENE, before the Gates of Harfleur.
Enter King Henry and his train.
K. Henry.
How yet resolves the Governor of the town?
This is the latest parle we will admit:
Therefore to our best mercy give your selves,
Or, like to men proud of destruction,
Defie us to our worst; as I'm 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-atchieved Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up;
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
Your fresh fair virgins, and your flow'ring infants.
What is it then to me, if impious war,
Array'd in flames like to the Prince of fiends,
Do with his smircht complexion all fell feats,
Enlinkt to waste and desolation?
What is't to me, when you your selves are cause,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation?
What rein can hold licentious wickedness,
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may, as bootless, spend our vain command
Upon th' enraged soldiers in their spoil,
As send our precepts to th' Leviathan
To come a-shoar. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town and of your people,
While yet my soldiers are in my command;
While yet the cool and temp'rate wind of grace
O'er-blows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of heady murther, spoil and villany.
If not; why, in a moment, look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
-- 45 --
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
And their most reverend heads dasht to the walls;
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
While the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
Do break the clouds; as did the wives of Jewry,
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughter-men.
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?
Enter Governor, upon the Walls.
Gov.
Our expectation hath this day and end:
The Dauphin, of whom succours we entreated,
Returns us, that his pow'rs are yet not 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 we are addrest.
[Flourish, and enter the town.
Scene 3
SCENE, the French Court.
Enter Catharine, and an old gentlewoman.
Cath.
Alice, tu as esté en Angleterre, & tu parlois
bien le language.(22) note
Alice.
Un peu, madame.
-- 46 --
Cath.
Je te prie de m'enseigner; il faut, que j' apprenne
à parler. Comment appellez vous la main en Anglois?
Alice.
La main, il est appellé, de hand.
Cath.
De hand. Et le doyt?
Alice.
Le doyt? ma foy, je oublie le doyt; mais je me
souviendra le doyt; je pense, qu'ils ont appellé des fingres; ouy,
de fingres.
Cath.
La main, de hand; le doit, le fingres. Je pense,
que je suis le bon escolier. J' ay gaigné deuz mots d' Anglois
vistement; comment appellez vous les ongles?
Alice.
Les ongles, les appellons de nayles.
Cath.
De nayles. Escoutez: dites moy, si je parle bien:
de hand, de fingres, de nayles.
Alice.
C' est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois.
Cath.
Dites moy en Anglois, le bras.
Alice.
De arme, madame.
Cath.
Et le coude.
Alice.
D' elbow.
Cath.
D' elbow: je m'en faitz la repetition de tous les
mots, que vous m' avez apprins dès a present.
Alice.
Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.
Cath.
Excuse moy, Alice; escoutez; d' hand, de fingre,
de nayles, d' arme, de bilbow.
Alice.
D' elbow, madame.
Cath.
O Signeur Dieu! je m'en oublie d' elbow; comment
appellez vous le col?
Alice.
De neck, madame.
Cath.
De neck; & le menton?
Alice.
De chin.
Cath.
De sin; le col, de neck: le menton, de sin.
Alice.
Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur, en verité, vous prononciés
les mots aussi droict, que les natifs d' Angleterre.
Cath.
Je ne doute point d' apprendre par la grace de
Dieu, & en peu de temps.
-- 47 --
Alice.
N' avez vous pas deja oublié ce que je vous ay
enseigné?
Cath.
Non, je reciteray à vous promptement; d' hand,
de fingre, de mayles, de arme.
Alice.
De nayles, madame.
Cath.
De nayles, de arme, de ilbow.
Alice.
Sauf vostre honneur, d' elbow.
Cath.
Ainsi de-je d' elbow, de neck, de sin: comment
appellez vous les pieds & de robe.
Alice.
Le foot, madame, & le coun.
Cath.
Le foot, & le coun! O Seignieur Dieu! ces sont
des mots mauvais, corruptibles & impudiques, & non pour les
dames d' honneur d' user: je ne voudrois prononcer cets mots
devant les Seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde! il faut le
foot, & le coun, neant-moins. Je reciteray un autrefois
ma leçon ensemble; d' hand, de fingre, de nayles, d' arme,
d' elbow, de neck, de sin, de foot, de coun.
Alice.
Excellent, madame.
Cath.
C' est assez pour une fois, allons nous en disner.
[Exeunt.
Scene 4
SCENE, Presence-Chamber in the French Court.
Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, Duke of Bourbon, the Constable of France, and others.
Fr. King.
'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river Some.
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.
Dau.
O dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us,
(The emptying of our fathers luxury,)
Our Syens, put in wild and savage stock,
Sprout up so suddenly into the clouds,
And over-look their grafters?
Bour.
Normans, but bastard Normans; Norman bastards.
Mort de ma vie! if thus they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my Dukedom,
-- 48 --
To buy a foggy and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten Isle of Albion.(23) note
Con.
Dieu de Batailles! why whence have they this mettle?
Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull?
On whom, as in despight, the Sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns? can sodden water,
A drench for sur-reyn'd jades, their barly-broth,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
Seem frosty? Oh! for honour of our land,
Let us not hang like frozen Isicles
Upon our house-tops, while more frosty people
Sweat drops of gallant blood in our rich fields:
Poor, we may call them, in their native Lords.(24) note
Dau.
By faith and honour,
Our madams mock at us, and plainly say,
Our mettle is bred out; and they will give
-- 49 --
Their bodies to the lust of English youth,
To new-store France with bastard warriors.
Bour.
They bid us to the English dancing Schools,
And teach Lavolta's high, and swift Curranto's;
Saying, our grace is only in our heels;
And that we are most lofty run-aways.
Fr. King.
Where is Montjoy, 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:
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;
You, Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
Alanson, Brabant, Bar and Burgundy,
Jaques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpree, Roussie, and Faulconbridge,
Loys, Lestraile, Bouciqualt, and Charaloys,
High Dukes, great Princes, Barons, Lords and Knights;(25) note
For your great seats now quit you of great shames:
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
With penons painted in the blood of Harfleur:
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow
Upon the vallies; whose low vassal seat
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon.
Go down upon him, (you have pow'r enough,)
And in a captive chariot into Roan
Bring him our prisoner.
Con.
This becomes the great.
Sorry am I, his numbers are so few,
His soldiers sick, and famisht 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
-- 50 --
To know what willing ransom he will give.
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roan.
Dau.
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 England's fall.
[Exeunt.
Scene 5
SCENE, the English Camp.
Enter Gower and Fluellen.
Gow.
How now, captain Fluellen, come you from
the bridge?
Flu.
I assure you, there is very excellent services committed
at the pridge.
Gow.
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,
God be praised and plessed, any hurt in the world; he is
maintain the pridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline.
There is an Antient lieutenant there at the pridge,
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.
Gow.
What do you call him?
Flu.
He is call'd Antient Pistol.
Gow.
I know him not.
Enter Pistol.
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 God, 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,
-- 51 --
That Goddess blind that stands upon the rolling restless stone—
Flu.
By your patience, Antient Pistol: Fortune is painted
plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to signifie to you
that fortune is plind; and she is painted also with a
wheel, to signifie 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 rowles, and rowles, and rowles; 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, and hanged must a' be; damned death!(26) note
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
-- 52 --
With edge of penny-cord, and vile reproach.
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.
Flu.
Antient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.
Pist.
Why then rejoice therefore.
Flu.
Certainly, Antient, 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—
[Exit Pist.
Flu.
Very good.
Gow.
Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal, I remember
him now; a bawd, a cut-purse.
Flu.
I'll assure you, he utt'red 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.
Gow.
Why 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now and
then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his return into
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;
who came off bravely, who was shot, who disgrac'd,
what terms the enemy stood on; and this they con perfectly
in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-turned
oaths: And what a beard of the general's cut,
and a horrid sute of the camp, will do among foaming
bottles and ale-wash'd wits, is wonderful to be thought
on! But you must learn to know such slanders of the
age, or else you may be marvelously mistook.
Flu.
I tell you what, captain Gower; I do perceive,
he is not the man that 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 from the pridge.(27) note
-- 53 --
Drum and Colours. Enter the King, and his poor soldiers.
Flu.
God 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 enforced 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,
The gentler gamester is the soonest winner.
-- 54 --
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, see 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.
What is thy name? I know thy quality.
Mount.
Mountjoy.
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 impeachment; for, to say the sooth,
(Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage)
My people are with sickness much enfeebled,
My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have,
Almost no better than so many French;
-- 55 --
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, God,
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, God before, tell him we will come on,
Though France himself, and such another neighbour,
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Mountjoy.
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; and so, Mountjoy, fare you well.
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: thanks to your highness.
[Exit.
Glou.
I hope, they will not come upon us now.
K. Henry.
We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs:
March to the bridge; it now draws toward night;
Beyond the river we'll encamp our selves;
And on to morrow bid them march away.
[Exeunt.
Scene 6
SCENE the French Camp near Agincourt.
Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Rambures, Orleans, Dauphin, with others.
Con.
Tut, I have the best armour of the world.
Would, it were day!
Orl.
You have an excellent armour; but let my horse
have his due.
Con.
It is the best horse of Europe.
Orl.
Will it never be morning?
-- 56 --
Dau.
My lord of Orleans, and my lord high Constable,
you talk of horse, and armour,—
Orl.
You are as well provided of both, as any Prince
in the world.
Dau.
What a long night is this! I will not change my
horse with any that treads but on four pasterns; fa, ha!
le Cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les Narines de feu!
he bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs;
when I bestride him, I soar, I am a Hawk; he trots
the air, the earth sings when he touches it; the basest
horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
Orl.
He's of the colour of the nutmeg.
Dau.
And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for
Perseus; he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements
of earth and water never appear in him, but only in
patient stilness while his rider mounts him; he is, indeed,
a horse; and all other jades you may call beasts.
Con.
Indeed, my Lord, it is a most absolute and excellent
horse.
Dau.
It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the
bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces
homage.
Orl.
No more, cousin.
Dau.
Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the
rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved
praise on my palfry; it is a theme as fluent as the
sea: turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse
is argument for them all; 'tis a subject for a Soveraign
to reason on, and for a Soveraign's Soveraign to ride on;
and for the world, familiar to us and unknown, to lay
apart their particular functions and wonder at him. I
once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus, Wonder
of nature.—
Orl.
I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress.
Dau.
Then did they imitate that, which I compos'd to
my courser; for my horse is my mistress.
Orl.
Your mistress bears well.
Dau.
Me, well;—which is the prescript praise, and
perfection, of a good and particular mistress.
-- 57 --
Con.
Methought, yesterday your mistress shrewdly
shook your back.
Dau.
So, perhaps, did yours.
Con.
Mine was not bridled.
Dau.
O, then belike she was old and gentle; and
you rode, like a Kerne of Ireland, your French hose off,
and in your strait Trossers.(28) note
Con.
You have good judgment in horsemanship.
Dau.
Be warn'd by me then; they that ride so and
ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather have my
horse to my mistress.
Con.
I had as lieve have my mistress a jade.
Dau.
I tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears her own
hair.
Con.
I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a
Sow to my mistress.
Dau.
Le chien est retourné à son propre vomissement, &
la truie lavée au bourbier; thou mak'st use of any thing.
Con.
Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress; or
any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose.
Ram.
My lord Constable, the armour, that I saw in
your tent to night, are those stars, or suns upon it?
Con.
Stars, my lord.
Dau.
Some of them will fall to morrow, I hope.
Con.
And yet my sky shall not want.
Dau.
That may be, for you bear many superfluously;
and 'twere more honour, some were away.
Con.
Ev'n as your horse bears your praises, who would
trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.
-- 58 --
Dau.
Would I were able to load him with his desert.
Will it never be day? I will trot to morrow a mile,
and my way shall be paved with English faces.
Con.
I will not say so, for fear I shou'd be fac'd out
of my way; but I would it were morning, for I would
fain be about the ears of the English.
Ram.
Who will go to hazard with me for twenty
English prisoners?
Con.
You must first go your self to hazard, ere you
have them.
Dau.
'Tis mid-night, I'll go arm my self.
[Exit.
Orl.
The Dauphin longs for morning.
Ram.
He longs to eat the English.
Con.
I think, he will eat all he kills.
Orl.
By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant
Prince.
Con.
Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the
oath.
Orl.
He is simply the most active gentleman of France.
Con.
Doing is activity, and he will still be doing.
Orl.
He never did harm, that I heard of.
Con.
Nor will do none to morrow; he will keep that
good name still.
Orl.
I know him to be valiant.
Con.
I was told that, by one that knows him better
than you.
Orl.
What's he?
Con.
Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he
car'd not who knew it.
Orl.
He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him.
Con.
By my faith, Sir, but it is; never any body saw
it, but his lacquey; 'tis a hooded valour, and when it
appears, it will bate.
Orl.
Ill will never said well.
Con.
I will cap that proverb with, There is flattery in
friendship.
Orl.
And I will take up that with, Give the Devil his
due.
Con.
Well plac'd; there stands your friend for the
devil; have at the very eye of that proverb with, A pox
of the devil.
-- 59 --
Orl.
You are the better at proverbs, by how much
a fool's bolt is soon shot.
Con.
You have shot over.
Orl.
'Tis not the first time you were over-shot.
Enter a Messenger.
Mess.
My Lord high Constable, the English lye within
fifteen hundred paces of your tents.
Con.
Who hath measur'd the ground?
Mess.
The lord Grandpree.
Con.
A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would
it were day! Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not
for the dawning as we do.
Orl.
What a wretched and peevish fellow is this King
of England, to mope with his fat-brain'd followers so far
out of his knowledge?
Con.
If the English had any apprehension, they would
run away.
Orl.
That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual
armour, they could never wear such heavy
head-pieces.
Ram.
That Island of England breeds very valiant
creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
Orl.
Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of
a Russian Bear, and have their heads crush'd like rotten
apples. You may as well say, that's a valiant Flea, that
dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a Lion.
Con.
Just, just; and the men do symphathize with the
mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving
their wits with their wives; and then give them great
meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like
wolves, and fight like devils.
Orl.
Ay; but these English are shreudly out of beef.
Con.
Then shall we find to morrow, they have only
stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to
arm; come, shall we about it?
Orl.
'Tis two a clock; but (let me see) by ten,
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.
[Exeunt.
-- 60 --
Enter Chorus.
Now entertain conjecture of a time,
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds;
That the fixt centinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch.
Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames
Each battel sees the other's umber'd face.
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busie hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll;
And (the third hour of drousie morning nam'd)
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gated night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger: and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
Presented them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts. Who now beholds
The royal captain of this ruin'd band
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry, Praise and glory on his head!
For forth he goes and visits all his host,
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,
And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note,
How dread an army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night:
-- 61 --
But freshly looks and over-bears attaint,
With chearful semblance and sweet majesty:
That ev'ry wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
A largess universal, like the sun,
His lib'ral eye doth give to ev'ry one,
Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle, all
Behold, (as may unworthiness define)(29) note
A little touch of Harry in the night.
And so our scene must to the battel fly:
Where, O for pity! we shall much disgrace,
With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
(Right ill dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous)
The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.
[Exit.
-- 62 --
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
