Harfleur.
K. Henry.
Once more unto the Breach,
Dear Friends, once more;
Or close the Wall up with our 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 through 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 wasteful Ocean.
Now set the Teeth, and stretch the Nostril wide,
Hold hard the Breath, and bend up every Spirit
To his full height. On, you noblest English,
Whose Blood is fet 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.
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.
[Alarm, and Chambers go off.
-- 1322 --
Enter Nim, Barpolph, 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 dye; and Sword
and Shield, in bloody Field, doth win immortal Fame.
Boy.
Would 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 with me, my purpose
should not fail with me; but thether would I hye.
Boy.
As duly, but not as truly, as Bird doth sing on
bough.
Enter Fluellen.
Flu.
Up to the breach, you Dogs; avant, you Cullions.
Pist.
Be merciful, great Duke, to men of Mould, abate
thy Rage, abate thy manly Rage; abate thy Rage, great
Duke. Good Bawcock, bate thy Rage, use lenity, sweet
Chuck.
Nim.
These be good humous; your Honour wins bad
humours.
[Exunt.
Boy.
As young as I am, I have observ'd these three
Swashers. I am Boy to them all three, but all they three,
though they would serve me, could not be Man to me;
for indeed three such Antiques do not amount to a Man;
for Bardolph, he is white-liver'd, and red-fac'd; by the
means whereof, a faces it out, but fights not; for Pistol, he
hath a killing Tongue, and a quiet Sword; by the means
whereof, a 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 a
should be thought a Coward; but his few bad words are
matcht with as few good Deeds; for a 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 Calice they stole a fireshovel.
I knew, by that piece of Service, the Men would carry
Coals. They would have me as familiar with Mens Pockets,
-- 1323 --
as their Gloves or their Hand-kerchers; which makes much
against my Manhood, if I would take from another's Pocket,
to put into mine; for 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.
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 War; the Concavities of
it is not sufficient; for look you, th' adversary, 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 better 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.
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 Mackmorrice, and Captain Jamy.
Gower.
Here a 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
aunciant 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 Mackmorrice, have you quit
the Mines? have the Pioneers given o'er?
Mack.
By Chrish, Law, tish ill done; the Work ish give
over, the Trompet sound the Retreat. By my hand I
swear, and by my Father's Soul, the Work ish ill done; it
-- 1324 --
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 vary gud, gud feith, gud Captens bath,
and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion;
that sal 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 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 Mes, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves
to slomber, ayle de gud service, or Ile ligge i'th' ground for
it; ay, or go to death; and Ile pay't 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 particulars.
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.
-- 1325 --
Jamy.
A, that's a foul fault.
[A Parley sounded.
Gower.
The Town sounds a Parley.
Flu.
Captain Mackmorrice, when there is more better
opportunity to be requir'd, look you, I will be so bold as
to tell you, I know the disciplines of War, and there is an
end.
[Exeunt
Enter King Henry, and all his Train before the Gates.
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; for as I am 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 lye 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 flowring Infants.
What is it then to me, if impious War,
Arrayed in flames like to the Prince of Fiends,
Do with his smircht complexion all fell feats,
Enlinck 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 Precepts to the Leviathan
To come a-shoar. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your Town and of your People,
Whiles yet my Soldiers are in my Command,
Whiles yet the cool and temperate 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
-- 1326 --
Desire the Locks of your shrill-shrieking Daughters;
Your Fathers taken by the silver Beards,
And their most reverent 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.
Gov.
Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, of whom Succours we entreated,
Returns us, that his Powers 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, Unkle Exeter,
Go you and enter Harfleur, there remain,
And fortifie it strongly 'gainst the French:
Use mercy to them all for us, dear Unkle.
The Winter coming on, and Sickness growing
Upon our Soldiers, we will 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.
Enter Katherine and an old Gentlewoman.
Kath.
Alice, tu as esté en Angleterre, & tu parlois bien le
Language.
Alice.
Un peu, Madame.
Kath.
Je te prie de m'enseigner, il fant que j'apprenne a
parler. Comment appellé vous la main en Anglois?
Alice.
La main, il est appellé, de Hand.
Kath.
De Hand.
Alice.
Et le doyt.
Kath.
Le doyt, me foy je oublie le doyt, mais je me souviendray
le doyt, je pense qu'ils ont appellé des fingres, ouy de fingres.
Alice.
La main, de Hand, le doyt, le Fingres, Je pense
que je suis le bon escolier.
Kath.
J'ay gaigné deuz mots d' Anglois vistement, comment
appellé vous les ongles?
-- 1327 --
Alice.
Les ongles, les appellons de Nayles.
Kath.
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.
Kath.
Dites moy en Anglois le bras.
Alice.
De Arme, Madame.
Kath.
Et le Coude.
Alice.
D 'Elbow.
Kath.
D'Elbow: Je m'en faitz la repetition de tous les
mots que vous m'aviz apprins dès a present.
Alice.
Il est trop difficile Madame, comme je pense.
Kath.
Excuse moy Alice, escoute, d'Hand, de Fingre, de
Nayles, d' Arme, de Bilbow.
Alice.
D' elbow, Madame.
Kath.
O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie d'Elbow, comment
appellé vous le col?
Alice.
De Neck, Madame.
Kath.
De Neck, & le manton?
Alice.
De Chin.
Kath.
De Sin, le col, de Neck: le manton, de Sin.
Alice.
Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur en verité vous prononciés
les mots aussi droict, que le Natifs d' Angleterre.
Kath.
Je ne doute point d'apprendre par la grace de Dieu,
& en peu de temps.
Alice.
N'avez vous pas desia oublié ce que je vous ay enseigné.
Kath.
Non, je reciteray a vous promptement d'Hand, de
Fingre, de Nayles, Madame.
Alice.
De Nayles, Madame.
Kath.
De Nayles, de Arme, de Ilbow.
Alice.
Sauf vostre honneur d'Elbow.
Kath.
Ainsi dis-je d'Elbow, de Neck, de Sin: comment
appellé vous les pieds & de robe.
Alice.
Le Foot Madame, & le Count.
Kath.
Le Foot, & le Count: O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont des
mots mauvais, corruptible & impudique, & non pour les Dames
d'Honneur d'user: Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant
les Seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde! Il faut le Foot,
& le Count, 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 Count.
-- 1328 --
Alice.
Excellent, Madame,
Kath.
C'est assez pour une fois, allons nous en disner.
[Exeunt.
Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, Duke of Britain, the Constable of France, and others.
Fr. K.
'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 Barbarous People.
Dau.
O Dieu vivant! shall a few Sprays of us,
The emptying of our Father's Luxury,
Our Syens, put in Wild and Savage Stock,
Spirt up so suddenly into the Clouds,
And over-look their Grafters?
Brit.
Normans, but Bastard Normans, Norman Bastards.
Mort de ma vie, if thus they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my Dukedom,
To buy a slobbry and a dirty Farm
In that nook-shotten Isle of Albion.
Con.
Dieu de Batailles! where 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 Jade, their Barly-broth,
Decoct their cold Blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick Blood spirited with Wine,
Seem frosty? O! for the Honour of our Land,
Let us not hang like roping Isicles
Upon our Houses Thatch, whiles a more frosty People
Sweat drops of gallant Youth in our rich Fields:
Poor we may call them, in their Native Lords.
Dau.
By Faith and Honour,
Our Madams mock at us, and plainly say,
Our Mettle is bred out, and they will give
Their Bodies to the Lust of English Youth,
To New-store France with Bastard Warriors.
Brit.
They bid us to the English Dancing Schools,
And teach Lavalta'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 edged,
-- 1329 --
More sharper than your Swords, hie to the Field:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;
You Duke of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
Alanson, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy,
Jaques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpree, Roussie, and Faulconbridge,
Loys, Lestrale, Bouciquall, and Charaloys,
High Dukes, great Princes, Barons, Lords, and Kings;
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 Power 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,
To know what willing Ransom he will give.
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roan.
Dau.
Not I, 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.
Enter Gower and Fluellen.
Gower.
How now, Captain Fluellen, come you from the Bridge?
Flu.
I assure you, there is very excellent Services committed
at the Bridge.
Gower.
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 blessed,
any hurt in the World, but keeps the Bridge most valiantly,
-- 1330 --
with excellent Discipline. There is an ancient Lieutenant
there at the Bridge, I think in my very Conscience he is as
Valiant a Man as Mark Anthony, and he is a Man of no Estimation
in the World, but I did see him do as gallant Service.
Gower.
What do you call him?
Flu.
He is call'd Ancient 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 of
buxom Valour, hath by cruel Fate, and giddy Fortune's furious
fickle Wheel, that Goddess blind, that stands upon the
rolling restless Stone—
Flu.
By your Patience, ancient Pistol: Fortune is painted
blind, with a Muffler before her Eyes, to signifie to you,
that Fortune is blind; 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 mutability, and variation; 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 Pax, and Hanged must a be; Damned Death;
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 Pax of little Price. Therefore
go speak, the Duke will hear thy voice; and let not Bardolph's
vital Thread be cut with edge of Penny-Cord, and vile
reproach. Speak Captain for his Life, and I will thee requite.
Flu.
Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.
Pist.
Why then rejoyce therefore.
Flu.
Certainly Ancient, 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 Execution;
for Discipline ought to be used.
-- 1231 --
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, a utt'red as prave words at the Pridge,
as you shall see in a Summers 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 Gall, 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; and 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-tuned Oaths; and
what a Beard of the Generals 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 marvellously
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.
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?
-- 1332 --
Flu.
The perdition of th'athversary hath been very great,
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 a 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 all such Offenders so cut off,
and we give express charge, that in our Marches through
the Country, there be nothing compell'd from the Villages;
nothing taken, but paid for; none of the French upbraided
or abused in disdainful Language; for when Lenity and
Cruelty play for a Kingdom, the gentler Gamester is the
soonest Winner.
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 of England,
though we seem'd dead, we did but sleep: Advantage
is a better Soldier than Rashness. Tell him, we could
have rebuk'd him at Harfleur, but that we thought not
good to bruise an Injury, 'till it were full ripe. Now we
speak upon our Cue, and our Voice is imperial: England shall
repent his Folly, see his Weakness, and admire our Sufferance.
Bid him therefore consider of his Ransom, which
must proportion the Losses we have born, the Subjects we
have lost, the Disgrace we have digested; which in weight
to re-answer, his Pettiness would bow under. For our
Losses, his Exchequer is too poor; for th'effusion of our
Blood, the Muster of his Kingdom too faint a Number;
and for our Disgrace, his own Person kneeling at our Feet,
but a weak and worthless Satisfaction. To this add Defiance;
and tell him for conclusion, he hath betray'd his Followers,
whose Condemnation is pronounc'd. So far my King
and Master; so much my Office.
K. Henry.
What is thy Name? I know thy Quality.
Mount.
Mountjoy.
-- 1333 --
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;
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 hindred,
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 Battel, as we are,
Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it:
So tell your Master.
Mount.
I shall deliver so: Thanks to your Highness.
[Exit.
Glo.
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.
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.
-- 1334 --
Orl.
Will it never be Morning?
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; ch'ha; he
bounds from the Earth, as if his Entrails were hairs; Le
Cheval volant, the Pegasus, qu'il a les narines de feu. 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 Palfrays, 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 Palfray; 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 a part
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 ones 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.
-- 1335 --
Dau.
Me well, which is the prescript praise and perfection
of a good and particular Mistress.
Con.
Nay, for 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 Strossers.
Con.
You have good judgement 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 his own
Hair.
Con.
I could make as true a Boast as that, if I had a Sow
to my Mistress.
Dol.
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 a many superfluously,
and 'twere more honor some were away.
Con.
Ev'n as your Horse bears your praises, who would
trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.
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 should 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 Hazard with me for twenty Prisoners?
-- 1336 --
Con.
You must first go your self to hazard, e'er 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 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.
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?
-- 1337 --
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 any 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 dare
to eat his breakfast on the Lip of a Lion.
Con.
Just, just; and the Men do sympathize 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 shrewdly 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.
It is now two a Clock; but let me see, by ten
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.
[Exeunt.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
