SCENE IX.
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;
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 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 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 dunghills,
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heav'n,
-- 452 --
Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
9 note
Mark then a bounding valour in our English:
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Breaks out into a second course of mischief,
1 note
Killing in relapse of mortality.
Let me speak proudly; tell the Constable,
We are but 2 notewarriors 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,
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:
-- 453 --
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 shall 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.
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
