Gloucester.
King Henry.
Glou'ster, 'tis true, that we are in great danger;
The greater therefore shou'd our courage be.
Good morrow, brother Bedford: God Almighty!
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out.
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers;
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry.
Besides, they are our outward consciences,
And preachers to us all; admonishing,
That we should dress us fairly for our end.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.
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.
Erping.
Not so, my Liege; this lodging likes me better;
Since I may say, now lye I like a King.
K. Henry.
'Tis good for men to love their present pain
Upon example; so the spirit is eased:
And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt,
The organs, though defunct and dead before,
Break up their drowsie grave, and newly move
With casted slough and fresh legerity.
Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas: brothers both,
-- 63 --
Commend me to the Princes in our camp:
Do my good morrow to them, and anon
Desire them all to my pavillion.
Glou.
We shall, my Liege.
Erping.
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.
Erping.
The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
[Exeunt.
K. Henry.
God-a-mercy, old heart, thou speak'st chearfully.
Enter Pistol.
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.
Even so: what are you?
Pist.
As good a gentleman as the Emperor.
K. Henry.
Then you are a 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 Welshman.
Pist.
Know'st thou Fluellen?
K. Henry.
Yes.
Pist.
Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate,
Upon St. David's day.
K. Henry.
Do not you wear your dagger in your cap
that day, left he knock that about yours.
Pist.
Art thou his friend?
-- 64 --
K. Henry.
And his kinsman too.
Pist.
The Figo for thee then!—
K. Henry.
I thank you: God be with you.
Pist.
My name is Pistol call'd.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
It sorts well with your fierceness.
[Manet King Henry.
Enter Fluellen, and Gower, severally.
Gow.
Captain Fluellen.—
Flu.
So; in the name of Jesu Christ, speak fewer; it
is the greatest admiration in the universal world, when
the true and auncient 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 pibble pabble, in Pompey's
camp: I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies
of the wars, and the cares of it, and 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?
Gow.
I will speak lower.
Flu.
I pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
[Exeunt.
K. Henry.
Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
Enter three Soldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court, and Michael Williams.
Court.
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?
-- 65 --
K. Henry.
A friend.
Will.
Under what captain serve you?
K. Henry.
Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.(30) note
Will.
A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman:
I pray you, what thinks he of our estate?
K. Henry.
Even as men wrack'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 shou'd: 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. His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness
he appears but a man; and tho his affections
are higher mounted than ours, yet when they stoop,
they stoop with the like wing; 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 mens 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 minds. Methinks, I could not die any where so
contented as in the King's company; his cause being just,
and his quarrel honourable.
-- 66 --
Will.
That's more than we know.
Bates.
Ay, or more than we shou'd 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 the 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 battel, shall join 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 battel; 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; or if
a servant under his master's command transporting a
sum of money, be assail'd by robbers, and die in many
irreconcil'd iniquities; you may call the business of the
master the author of the servant's damnation; but this
is not so: the King is not bound to answer the particular
endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the
master of his servant; for they purpose not their death,
when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no
King, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the
arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted
soldiers: some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of
premeditated and contrived murther; some, of beguiling
virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making
the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle
bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now if these
men have defeated the law, and out-run native punishment;
though they can out-strip men, they have no
wings to fly from God. War is his beadle, war is his
-- 67 --
vengeance; so that here men are punished, for before
breach of the King's laws, in the King's quarrel now:
where they feared the death, they have born life away;
and where they would be safe, they perish. Then if
they die unprovided, no more is the King guilty of their
damnation, than he was before guilty of those impieties
for which they are now visited. 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 blessedly lost, wherein such preparation
was gained: and, in him that escapes, it were
not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he
let him out-live that day to see his greatness, and to
teach others how they should prepare.
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 my self 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.
You pay him then; that's a perilous shot out of
an Elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do
against a monarch! you may as well go about to turn the
sun to ice, with fanning in his face with a Peacock's
feather: 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 you live.
K. Henry.
I embrace it.
Will.
How shall I know thee again?
-- 68 --
K. Henry.
Give me any gage of thine, and I will
wear it in my bonnet: then 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: fare thee well.
Bates.
Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we
have French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to
reckon.
[Exeunt soldiers.
[Manet King Henry.
K. Henry.
Indeed, the French may lay twenty French
crowns to one, they will beat us, for they bear them on
their shoulders; but it is no English treason to cut French
crowns, and to morrow the King himself will be a clipper.
Upon the King! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children and
Our sins, lay on the King; he must bear all.
O hard condition, and twin-born with greatness,
Subject to breath of ev'ry fool, whose sense
No more can feel but his own wringing.
What infinite heart-ease must Kings neglect,
That private men enjoy? and what have Kings,
That privates have not too, save ceremony?
Save gen'ral ceremony?—
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of God art thou? that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers.
What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in?(31) note
-- 69 --
O ceremony, shew me but thy worth
What is thy toll, O adoration?
Art thou aught 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.
Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Can'st thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? no, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a King's repose;
I am a King, that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the scepter and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farsed title running 'fore the King,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shoar of this world;
No, not all these thrice-gorgeous ceremonies,
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,
-- 70 --
Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a King:
The slave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots,
What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace;
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
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:
I'll be before thee.
Erp.
I shall do't, my lord.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
O God of battels! steel my soldiers hearts;
Possess them not with fear; take from them now(32) note
The sense of reck'ning; lest th' opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them.—Not to day, O Lord,
O not to day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown.
I Richard's body have interred new,
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears,
Than from it issu'd forced drops of blood.
Five hundred Poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up
Tow'rd heaven to pardon blood; and I have built
Two chauntries, where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;
Tho all that I can do, is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after call,(33) note
Imploring pardon.
-- 71 --
Enter Gloucester.
Glou.
My Liege.
K. Henry.
My brother Glo'ster's voice?
I know thy errand, I will go with thee:
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
[Exeunt.
Scene 2
SCENE changes to the French Camp.
Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and Beaumont.
Orl.
The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords.
Dau.
Montez Cheval: my horse, valet, lacquay:
ha!
Orl.
O brave spirit!
Dau.
Via!—les eaux & la terre.—
Orl.
Rien puis! le air & feu.—
Dau.
Ciel! Cousin Orleans.—
Enter Constable.
Now, my lord Constable!
Con.
Hark, how our Steeds for present service neigh.
Dau.
Mount them, and make incision in their hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And daunt them with superfluous courage: ha!
Ram.
What, will you have them weep our Horses blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears?
Enter Messenger.
Mess.
The English are embattel'd, you French Peers.
-- 72 --
Con.
To horse! you gallant Princes, strait to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair shew shall suck away their souls;
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain;
That our French gallants shall to day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport. Let's but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exception, lords,
That our superfluous lacqueys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battel, were enow
To purge this field of such a hilding foe;
Tho we, upon this mountain's basis by,
Took stand for idle speculation:
But that our honours must not. What's to say?
A very little, little, let us do;
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonuance, and the note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Grandpree.
Grand.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon Island carrions, desp'rate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
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 bever peeps.
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hips:
The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes;
And in their pale dull mouths the jymold bitt
Lyes foul with chaw'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish Crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
-- 73 --
Description cannot suit it self in words,
To demonstrate the life of such a battle,
In life so liveless as it shews it self.
Con.
They've said their prayers, and they stay for death.
Dau.
Shall we go send them dinners and fresh sutes,
And give their fasting Horses provender,
And, after, fight with them?
Con.
I stay but for my guard: on, to the field;
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we out-wear the day.
[Exeunt.
Scene 3
SCENE, the English Camp.
Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all the Host; Salisbury and Westmorland.
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.
There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
Sal.
God's arm strike with us, 'tis a fearful odds!
God be wi' you, Princes all; I'll to my charge.
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!
Bed.
Farewel, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!(34) note
-- 74 --
Exe. to Sal.
Farewel, kind lord; fight valiantly to day:
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.
[Exit Sal.
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 Westmorland? no, my fair cousin,
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.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold;
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost;
It yerns me not, if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
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:
God's peace, I would not lose so great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hopes I have. Don't wish one more:
Rather proclaim it (Westmorland) through my host,
That he, which 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,
That 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,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day, is nam'd,
And rouze him at the name of Crispian:
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say, to morrow is Saint Crispian:
-- 75 --
Then will he strip his sleeve, and shew his scars:
Old men forget; yet shall not all forget,
But they'll remember, with advantages,
What feats they did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as houshold words,
Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'ster,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son:
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he, to day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day.
Enter Salisbury.
Sal.
My sov'reign lord, bestow your self with speed:
The French are bravely in their battels set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
K. Henry.
All things are ready, if our minds be so.
West.
Perish the man, whose mind is backward now!
K. Henry.
Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin?
West.
God'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 five thousand men:
Which likes me better than to wish us one.
You know your places: God 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 over-throw:
-- 76 --
For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf,
Thou needs must be englutted. Thus, in mercy,
The Constable desires thee, thou wilt mind
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 lye 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 God! 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.
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, tho' buried in your dunghils,
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heav'n;
Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then a bounding valour in our English:(35) note
That being dead, like to the bullets grasing,
Breaks out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.
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.
There's not a piece of feather in our host;
-- 77 --
(Good argument, I hope, we will not fly:)
And time hath worn us into slovenry.
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the 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. If they do,
(As, if God please, they shall) my ransom then
Will soon be levy'd. Herald, save thy labour.
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 yield them little, tell the Constable.
Mount.
I shall, King Harry: and so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
I fear, thou'lt once more come again for Ransom.
Enter York.
York.
My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.
K. Henry.
Take it, brave York; now, soldiers, march away.
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!
[Exeunt.
Scene 4
SCENE, the Field of Battle.
Alarm, Excursions. Enter Pistol, French soldier, and boy.
Pist.
Yield, cur.
Fr. Sol.
Je pense, que vous estes le gentlehomme
de bonne qualité.
Pist.
Quality, calmy, custure me, art thou a gentleman?
what is thy name? discuss.
Fr. Sol.
O Seignieur Dieu!
Pist.
O, 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 Signeur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.
Fr. Sol.
O, prennez misericorde, ayez pitie de moy.
-- 78 --
Pist.
Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; for
I will fetch thy rym out at thy throat, in drops of crimson
blood.
Fr. Sol.
Est-il impossible d' eschapper 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.
Escoutez, 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.
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 disposé tout a cette heure de couper
vostre gorge.
Pist.
Owy, cuppelle gorge, parmafoy, pesant, 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 cents escus.
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, de pardonner
aucun prisonnier: neantmoins pour les escus que vous l'avez
promettes, il est content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement.
Fr. Sol.
Sur mes genoux je vous donne milles remerciemens,
& je me estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un
-- 79 --
Chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, & tres estimé
Signeur 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 Signieur of England.
Pist.
As I suck blood, I will some mercy shew.
Follow me, cur.
Boy.
Suivez le grand capitain. [Ex. Pist. and Fr. Sol.
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a
heart;(36) note but the saying is true, The empty vessel makes
the greatest sound. Bardolph and Nim had ten times
more valour than this roaring devil i'th' old play; every
one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger: yet they
are both hang'd; and so would this be, if he durst steal
any thing advent'rously. I must stay with the lacqueys,
with the luggage of our camp; the French might have a
good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to
guard it but boys.
[Exit.
Scene 5
SCENE, Another part of the Field of Battle.
Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures.
Con.
O Diable!
Orl.
O Signeur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu.
Dau.
Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.
[A short alarm.
O meschante fortune!—do not run away.
Con.
Why, all our ranks are broke.
-- 80 --
Dau.
O perdurable shame! let's stab our selves:
Be these the wretches, that we play'd at dice for?
Orl.
Is this the King we sent to for his ransom?
Bour.
Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us dye, instant:—Once more back again;(37) note
The man, that will not follow Bourbon now,
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 my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.
Con.
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 throngs;
If any order might be thought upon.
Bour.
The devil take order now! I'll to the throng;
Let life be short, else shame will be too long.
[Exeunt.
Alarum. Enter the King and his train, with prisoners.
K. Henry.
Well have we 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.
Exe.
In which array, brave soldier, doth he lye,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side
(Yoak-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lyes.
Suffolk first dy'd, and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him where in gore he lay insteep'd,
-- 81 --
And takes him by the beard; 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 Soveraign;
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.
K. Henry.
I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound(38) note
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.
[Alarum.
But, hark, what new alarum is this same?
The French have re-inforc'd their scatter'd men:
Then every soldier kill his prisoners.
Give the word through.
[Exeunt.
Alarms continued; after which, Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Flu.
Kill the poyes and the luggage! 'tis expresly against
the law of arms;(39) note
'tis as arraunt a piece of
Knavery, mark you now, as can be desir'd in your conscience
now, is it not?
-- 82 --
Gow.
'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive; and the
cowardly rascals, that ran 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?
Gow.
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.
-- 83 --
Gow.
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:
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
moreover 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, God 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.
Gow.
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 made and finish'd. I
speak but in figures, and comparisons of it; 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 belly-doublet; he was full of jests and gypes,
and knaveries, and mocks: I have forgot his name.
Gow.
Sir John Falstaff.
Flu.
That is he: I tell you, there is good men porn at
Monmouth.
Gow.
Here comes his Majesty.
Alarum. Enter King Henry, with Bourbon and other prisoners; 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,
-- 84 --
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;
And not a man of them, that we shall take,
Shall taste our mercy. Go, and tell them so.
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,
Killing them twice. 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.
-- 85 --
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 Welshmen did good service in
a 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.
Tavee's day.
K. Henry.
I wear it for a memorable honour:
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
Flu.
All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty's
Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that: God
pless and preserve it, as long as it pleases his grace and his
majesty too.
K. Henry.
Thanks, good my countryman.
Flu.
By Jeshu, I am your Majesty's countryman, I
care not who know it: I will confess it to all the orld;
I need not to be ashamed of your Majesty, praised be
God, so long as your Majesty is an honest man.
K. Henry.
God 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 that glove in thy cap?
Wil.
And't please your Majesty, 'tis the gage of one
that I should fight withal, if he be alive.
K. Henry.
An Englishman?
Wil.
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 cap, which
-- 86 --
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
this soldier keep his oath?
Flu.
He is 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 gentleman as the devil
is, as 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.
Wil.
So I will, my Liege, as I live.
K. Henry.
Who serv'st thou under?
Wil.
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.
Wil.
I will, my Liege.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
Here, Fluellen, wear thou this favour for
me, and stick it in thy cap; when Alanson and my self
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 honours as can be
desir'd 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; that is all: but I would fain see it once,
an please God of his grace that I might see.
K. Henry.
Know'st thou Gower?
Flu.
He is my dear friend, an please you.
K. Henry.
Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.
Flu.
I will fetch him.
[Exit.
-- 87 --
K. Henry.
My lord of Warwick and my 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
Wear it my self. Follow, good cousin Warwick:
If that the soldier strike him, as, I judge
By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word;
Some sudden mischief may arise of it:
For I do know Fluellen valiant,
And, touch'd with choler, hot as gun-powder;
And quickly he'll return an injury.
Follow; and see, there be no harm between them.
Come you with me, uncle of Exeter.
[Exeunt.
Scene 6
SCENE, before K. Henry's Pavilion.
Enter Gower and Williams.
Wil.
I warrant, it is to knight you, captain.
Enter Fluellen.
Flu.
God's will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech
you now come apace to the King: there is more good
toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowledge to
dream of.
Wil.
Sir, know you this glove?
Flu.
Know the glove? I know, the glove is a glove.
Wil.
I know this, and thus I challenge it.
[Strikes him.
Flu.
'Sblud, an arrant traitor as any's in the universal
world, in France or in England.
Gow.
How now, Sir? you villain!
Wil.
Do you think I'll be forsworn?
Flu.
Stand away, captain Gower, I will give treason
his payment into plows, I warrant you.
Wil.
I am no traitor.
-- 88 --
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 Warwick and Gloucester.
War.
How now, how now, what's the matter?
Flu.
My lord of Warwick, here is, praised be God
for it, a most contagious treason come to light, look
you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is his
Majesty—
Enter King Henry, and Exeter.
K. Henry.
Now 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.
Wil.
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 cap; I promis'd to strike him, if he did;
I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been
as good as my word.
Flu.
Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's
manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggerly, lowsie
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, here 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 world.
K. Henry.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?
Wil.
All Offences, my lord, come from the heart;
never came any from mine, that might offend your
Majesty.
K. Henry.
It was our self thou didst abuse.
Wil.
Your Majesty came not like your self; you
appear'd to me, but as a common man; witness the night,
your garments, your lowliness; and what your Highness
-- 89 --
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.
K. Henry.
Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
And give it to this fellow. 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 this light, the fellow has mettle
enough in his pelly; hold, there is twelve pence for you;
and I pray you to serve God, and keep you out of
prawls and prabbles, and quarrels and dissentions, and,
I warrant you, it is the better for you.
Wil.
I will none of your mony.
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 is not so good; 'tis
a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.
Enter Herald.
K. Henry.
Now, Herald, are the dead number'd?
Her.
Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.
K. Henry.
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
Exe.
Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;
John Duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouchiquald:
Of other Lords, and Barons, Knights, and 'Squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
K. Henry.
This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
Slain in the field; of Princes in this number,
And Nobles bearing banners, there lye dead
One hundred twenty six; added to these,
Of Knights, Esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which,
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd Knights;
So that in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries:
The rest are Princes, Barons, Lords, Knights, 'Squires,
-- 90 --
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles, that lye dead,
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;
Jaques of Chatilion, admiral of France;
The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures;
Great master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin;
John Duke of Alanson, Anthony Duke of Brabant
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy,
And Edward Duke of Bar: Of lusty Earls,
Grandpree and Roussie, Faulconbridge and Foyes,
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.
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, Davy Gam Esquire;
None else of name; and of all other men,
But five and twenty.
K. Henry.
O God, thy arm was here!
And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
Ascribe we all. When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock and ev'n play of battel,
Was ever known so great, and little loss,
On one part, and on th' other? take it, God,
For it is only thine.
Exe.
'Tis wonderful!
K. Henry.
Come, go we in procession to the village:
And be it death proclaimed through our host,
To boast of this, or take that praise from God,
Which is his only.
Flu.
Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell
how many is kill'd?
K. Henry.
Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment,
That God fought for us.
Flu.
Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.
K. Henry.
Do we all holy rites;
Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te deum:
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.
-- 91 --
Enter Chorus.
Vouchsafe, to those that have not read the story,
That I may prompt them; and to such as have,
I humbly pray them to admit th' excuse
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things;
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the King
Tow'rd Calais: grant him there; and there being seen,
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts
Athwart the sea: behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea;
Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the King,
Seems to prepare his way; so let him land,
And solemnly see him set on to London.
So swift a pace hath thought, that even now
You may imagine him upon Black-heath:
Where that his lords desire him to have born
His bruised helmet, and his bended sword,
Before him through the city; he forbids it;
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride:
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent,
Quite from himself to God. But now behold,
In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens:
The Mayor and all his brethren in best sort,
Like to the senators of antique Rome,
With the Plebeians swarming at their heels,
Go forth and fetch their conqu'ring Cæsar in.
As by a low, but loving likelihood,
Were now the General of our gracious Empress
(As in good time he may) from Ireland coming,
Bringing Rebellion broached on his sword;
How many would the peaceful city quit,
To welcome him? much more (and much more cause)
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him;
(As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the King of England's Stay at home:
The Emperor's coming in behalf of France,
-- 92 --
To order peace between them;) and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd,
Till Harry's back return again to France:
There must we bring him; and my self have play'd
The int'rim, by remembring you, 'tis past.
Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, strait back again to France.
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].
