K. Hen.
Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!
Unto our brother France, and to our sister,
Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;
And, as a branch and member of this royalty,
By whom this great assembly is contrived,
We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy ^note;
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!

Fr. King.
Right joyous are we to behold your face,
Most worthy brother England; fairly ^note met:
So are you, princes English, every one.

Q. Isa.
So happy be the issue, brother England ^note,
Of this good day and of this gracious meeting,
As we are now glad to behold your eyes;
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them
Against ^note the French, that met them in their bent,
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks:
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,
Have lost their ^note quality, and that this day
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.

K. Hen.
To cry amen to that, thus we appear.

Q. Isa.
You English princes all, I do salute you.

Bur.
My duty to you both, on equal love,
Great Kings of France and England! That I have ^note labour'd,
With all my wits, my pains and strong endeavours,
To bring your most imperial majesties
Unto this bar and royal interview,
Your mightiness on both parts best can ^note witness.
Since then my office hath so far prevail'd
That, face to face and royal eye to eye,
You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me,
If I demand, before this royal view,
What rub or what impediment there is,
Why that the naked, poor and mangled Peace,
Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful births,
Should not in this best garden of the world
Our fertile France, put ^note up her lovely visage?
Alas, she hath from France too long been chased,
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
Corrupting in its ^note own fertility.
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unpruned dies ^note; her hedges even-pleach'd ^note,

Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,
Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas
The darnel, hemlock and rank fumitory ^note
Doth ^note root upon, while that the coulter ^note rusts
That should deracinate such savagery;
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, all ^note uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness and nothing teems
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies ^note, burs,
Losing both beauty and utility.
And as ^note our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges,
Defective in their natures ^note, grow to wildness, ^note
Even so our houses and ourselves and children,
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,
The sciences that should become our country;
But grow ^note like savages,—as soldiers will
That nothing do but meditate on blood,—
To swearing, and stern looks, diffused ^note attire
And every thing that seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favour
You are assembled: and my speech entreats
That I may know the let, why gentle Peace
Should not expel these inconveniences
And bless us with her former qualities.

K. Hen.
If, Duke of Burgundy ^note, you would the peace,
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace
With full accord to all our just demands;
Whose tenours ^note and particular effects
You have enscheduled briefly in your hands.

Bur.
The king hath heard them; to the which as yet
There is no answer made.

K. Hen.
Well then the peace,
Which you before so urged, lies in his answer.

Fr. King.
I have ^note but with a cursorary ^note eye
O'erglanced the articles: pleaseth your grace
To appoint some of your council presently
To sit with us once more, with ^note better heed
To re-survey them, we will suddenly
Pass our accept ^note and peremptory answer.

K. Hen.
Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,
And brother Clarence, and you ^note, brother Gloucester,
Warwick and Huntingdon ^note, go with the king;
And take with you free power to ratify,
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
Shall see advantageable ^note for our dignity,
Any thing in or out of our demands ^note;
And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,
Go with the princes, or stay here with us?

Q. Isa.
Our gracious brother, I will go with them:
Haply ^note a woman's voice may do some good,
When articles too nicely urged be stood on.

K. Hen.
Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:
She is our capital demand, comprised
Within the fore-rank of our articles.

Q. Isa.
She hath good leave. [Exeunt all ^note except Henry, Katharine, and Alice. ^note

K. Hen.
Fair Katharine, and ^note most fair,
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms

Such as will enter at a lady's ear
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

Kath.

Your majesty shall mock at me; I cannot speak your England.

K. Hen.

O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?

Kath.

Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat ^note is ‘like me.’

K. Hen.

An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.

Kath.

Que dit-il? que je suis semblable à les anges?

Alice.

Qui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.

K. Hen.

I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it.

Kath.

O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies.

K. Hen.

What says she, fair one? that the tongues ^note of men are full of deceits?

Alice.

Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de princess ^note.

K. Hen.

The princess is the better Englishwoman. I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding: I am glad thou canst speak no better English; for, if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say ‘I love you:’ then if you urge me farther than to say ‘do you in faith?’ I wear out my suit. Give me your answer; i' faith, do: and so clap hands and a bargain: how say you, lady?

Kath.

Sauf votre honneur, me understand ^note vell.

K. Hen.

Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me: for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting ^note

into my saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no ^note cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor ^note never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning, that never looks in his glass for love of any thing he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee ^note plain soldier: if thou canst love me for this, take me; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the Lord ^note, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear ^note Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places ^note: for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or, rather, the sun, and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would ^note have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take ^note a soldier, take a king. And what sayest thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

Kath.

Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of France?

K. Hen.

No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate: but, in loving me, you should love

the friend of France; for I love France so well that I will not part with a village of it; I will have it all mine: and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then ^note yours is France and you are mine.

Kath.

I cannot tell vat ^note is dat.

K. Hen.

No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a new-married ^note wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook off. Je quand sur ^note le possession de France, et quand vous avez le ^note possession de moi,—let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!—donc votre est France et vous êtes mienne. It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French: I shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.

Kath.

Sauf votre honneur, le François que vous parlez, il est ^note meilleur ^note que l'Anglois lequel je parle.

K. Hen.

No, faith, is't not, Kate: but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine ^note, most truly-falsely ^note, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand thus much English, canst thou love me?

Kath.

I cannot tell.

K. Hen.

Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I'll ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me: and at night, when you come into your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her dispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart: but, good Kate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must

therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder: shall not thou and I, between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard? shall we not? what sayest thou, my fair flower-de-luce?

Kath.

I do not know dat.

K. Hen.

No; 'tis hereafter to know, but now to promise: do but now promise, Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy; and for my English moiety take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katharine du monde, mon très cher et devin ^note déesse?

Kath.

Your majestee ave ^note fausse French enough to deceive de most sage demoiselle ^note dat is en France.

K. Hen.

Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love thee, Kate: by which honour I dare not swear thou lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and untempering ^note effect of my visage. Now, beshrew my father's ambition! he was thinking of civil wars when he got me: therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear: my comfort is, that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face: thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better: and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me? Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say ‘Harry of England, I am thine:’ which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud ‘England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine;’ who, though I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, ^note thou

shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy voice is music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all, Katherine, ^note break thy mind to me in broken English; wilt thou have me?

Kath.

Dat is as it sall please de roi mon père.

K. Hen.

Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate.

Kath.

Den it sall ^note also content me.

K. Hen.

Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen.

Kath.

Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez: ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abaissiez votre grandeur en baisant la main d'une de votre seigneurie indigne ^note serviteur; excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon très-puissant seigneur.

K. Hen.

Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

Kath.

Les dames et demoiselles pour être baisées devant leur noces ^note, il n'est pas la coutume de France.

K. Hen.

Madam my interpreter, what says she?

Alice.

Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France,—I cannot tell vat ^note is baiser ^note en Anglish.

K. Hen.

To kiss.

Alice.

Your majesty entendre bettre que moi.

K. Hen.

It is ^note not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say?

Alice.

Oui, vraiment.

K. Hen.

O Kate, nice customs courtesy ^note to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion: we are the makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places stops the mouth of all find-faults; as I will do yours, for upholding ^note

the nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently and yielding. [Kissing her ^note.] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate: there is more eloquence in a sugar ^note touch of them than in the tongues of the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.