Introductory matter

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

[Ambassador]

Lords, Ladies, Officers, French and English Soldiers, Messengers, and Attendants.

King Henry the Fifth,	Mr. CHARLES KEAN.
Duke of Bedford, (Brother to the King)	Mr. DALY.
Duke of Gloucester, (Brother to the King)	Miss DALY.
Duke of Exeter (Uncle to the King)	Mr. COOPER.
Duke of York (Cousin to the King)	Mr. FLEMING.
Earl of Salisbury,	Mr. WILSON.
Earl of Westmoreland,	Mr. COLLETT.
Earl of Warwick,	Mr. WARREN.
Archbishop of Canterbury,	Mr. H. MELLON.
Bishop of Ely,	Mr. F. COOKE.
Earl of Cambridge, (Conspirator against the King)	Mr. T. W. EDMONDS.
Lord Scroop, (Conspirator against the King)	Mr. CORMACK.
Sir Thomas Grey, (Conspirator against the King)	Mr. STOAKES.
Sir Thomas Erpingham, (Officer in King Henry's Army)	Mr. GRAHAM.
Gower, (Officer in King Henry's Army)	Mr. G. EVERETT.
Fluellen, (Officer in King Henry's Army)	Mr. MEADOWS.
Bates, (Soldier in the same)	Mr. DODSWORTH.
Williams, (Soldier in the same)	Mr. RYDER.
Nym, (formerly Servant to Falstaff, now Soldier in the same)	Mr. J. MORRIS.
Bardolph, (formerly Servant to Falstaff, now Soldier in the same)	Mr. H. SAKER.
Pistol, (formerly Servant to Falstaff, now Soldier in the same)	Mr. FRANK MATTHEWS.
Boy (Servant to them)	Miss KATE TERRY.
English Herald,	Mr. COLLIER.
Chorus,	Mrs. CHARLES KEAN.
Charles the Sixth (King of France)	Mr. TERRY.
Lewis (the Dauphin)	Mr. J. F. CATHCART.
Duke of Burgundy,	Mr. ROLLESTON.
Duke of Orleans,	Mr. BRAZIER.
Duke of Bourbon,	Mr. JAMES.
The Constable of France,	Mr. RAYMOND.
Rambures, (French Lord)	Mr. WALTERS.
Grandprè [Grandpre], (French Lord)	Mr. RICHARDSON.
Governor of Harfleur,	Mr. PAULO.
Montjoy (French Herald)	Mr. BARSBY.
Isabel (Queen of France)	Miss MURRAY.
Katharine [Katharine] (Daughter of Charles and Isabel)	Miss CHAPMAN.
Quickly [Mrs. Quickly] (Pistol's Wife, a Hostess)	Mrs. W. DALY.

The SCENE, at the Beginning of the Play, lies in England; but afterwards in France.

STAGE DIRECTIONS. R. H. means Right Hand; L. H. Left Hand; U. E. Upper Entrance R. H. C. Enters through the centre from the Right Hand; L. H. C. Enters through the centre from the Left Hand.

RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PERFORMERS WHEN ON THE STAGE. R. means on the Right Side of the Stage; L. on the Left Side of the Stage; C. Centre of the Stage; R. C. Right Centre of the Stage; L. C. Left Centre of the Stage.

The reader is supposed to be on the Stage, facing the Audience.

PREFACE.

In the selection of my last Shakespearean revival at the Princess's Theatre, I have been actuated by a desire to present some of the finest poetry of our great dramatic master, interwoven with a subject illustrating a most memorable era in English history. No play appears to be better adapted for this two-fold purpose than that which treats of Shakespeare's favorite hero, and England's favorite king—Henry the Fifth.

The period thus recalled is flattering to our national pride; and however much the general feeling of the present day may be opposed to the evils of war, there are few amongst us who can be reminded of the military renown achieved by our ancestors on the fields of Crecy, Poitiers, and Agincourt, without a glow of patriotic enthusiasm.

The political motives which induced the invasion of France in the year 1415 must be sought for in the warlike spirit of the times, and in the martial character of the English sovereign. It is sufficient for dramatic purposes that a few thousands of our countrymen, in their march through a foreign land, enfeebled by sickness and encompassed by foes, were able to subdue and scatter to the winds the multitudinous hosts of France, on whose blood-stained soil ten thousand of her bravest sons lay slain, mingled with scarcely one hundred Englishmen!* ^note Such a marvellous disparity might well draw forth the pious acknowledgment of King Henry,—

Shakespeare in this, as in other of his dramatic histories, has closely followed Holinshed; but the light of his genius irradiates the dry pages of the chronicler. The play of Henry the Fifth is not only a poetical record of the past, but it is, as it were, “a song of triumph,” a lay of the minstrel pouring forth

a pœan of victory. The gallant feats of our forefathers are brought vividly before our eyes, inspiring sentiments not to be excited by the mere perusal of books, reminding us of the prowess of Englishmen in earlier days, and conveying an assurance of what they will ever be in the hour of peril.

The descriptive poetry assigned to the “Chorus” between the acts is retained as a peculiar feature, connecting and explaining the action as it proceeds. This singular personage, so different from the Chorus of antiquity, I have endeavoured to render instrumental to the general effect of the play; the whole being planned with a view to realise, as far as the appliances of a theatre can be exercised, the events of the extraordinary campaign so decisively closed by the great conflict of Agincourt, which ultimately placed two crowns on the brow of the conqueror, and resulted in his marriage with Katharine, the daughter of Charles the Sixth, King of France. Shakespeare does not in this instance, as in Pericles and the Winter's Tale, assign a distinct individuality to the Chorus. For the figure of Time, under the semblance of an aged man, which has been heretofore presented, will now be substituted Clio, the muse of History. Thus, without violating consistency, an opportunity is afforded to Mrs. Charles Kean, which the play does not otherwise supply, of participating in this, the concluding revival of her husband's management.

Between the fourth and fifth acts I have ventured to introduce, as in the case of Richard the Second, a historical episode of action, exhibiting the reception of King Henry on returning to his capital, after the French expedition.

It would be impossible to include the manifold incidents of the royal progress in one scene: neither could all the sites on which they actually took place be successively exhibited. The most prominent are, therefore, selected, and thrown into one locality—the approach to old London bridge. Our audiences have previously witnessed the procession of Bolingbroke, followed in silence by his deposed and captive predecessor. An endeavor will now be made to exhibit the heroic son of that very Bolingbroke, in his own hour of more lawful triumph, returning to the same city; while thousands gazed upon him with mingled devotion and delight, many of whom, perhaps, participated in the earlier reception of his father, sixteen years before, under such different and painful circumstances. The victor of Agincourt is hailed, not as a successful usurper, but as a conqueror; the adored sovereign of his people; the pride

of the nation; and apparently the chosen instrument of heaven, crowned with imperishable glory. The portrait of this great man is drawn throughout the play with the pencil of a masterhand. The pleasantry of the prince occasionally peeps through the dignified reserve of the monarch, as instanced in his conversations with Fluellen, and in the exchange of gloves with the soldier Williams. His bearing is invariably gallant, chivalrous, and truly devout; surmounting every obstacle by his indomitable courage; and ever in the true feeling of a christian warrior, placing his trust in the one Supreme Power, the only Giver of victory! The introductions made throughout the play are presented less with a view to spectacular effect, than from a desire to render the stage a medium of historical knowledge, as well as an illustration of dramatic poetry. Accuracy, not show, has been my object; and where the two coalesce, it is because the one is inseparable from the other. The entire scene of the episode has been modelled upon the facts related by the late Sir Harris Nicholas, in his translated copy of a highly interesting Latin MS., accidentally discovered in the British Museum, written by a Priest, who accompanied the English army; and giving a detailed account of every incident, from the embarkation at Southampton to the return to London. The author tells us himself, that he was present at Agincourt, and “sat on horseback with the other priests, among the baggage, in the rear of the battle.” We have, therefore, the evidence of an eyewitness; and by that testimony I have regulated the general representation of this noble play, but more especially the introductory episode.

The music, under the direction of Mr. Isaacson, has been, in part, selected from such ancient airs as remain to us of, or anterior to, the date of Henry the Fifth, and, in part, composed to accord with the same period. The ”Song on the Victory of Agincourt,” published at the end of Sir Harris Nicholas's interesting narrative, and introduced in the admirable work entitled “Popular Music of the Olden Time,” by W. Chappell, F.S.A., is sung by the boy choristers in the Episode. The “Chanson Roland,” to be found in the above-named work, is also given by the entire chorus in the same scene. The Hymn of Thanksgiving, at the end of the fourth act, is supposed to be as old as A.D. 1310. To give effect to the music, fifty singers have been engaged.

As the term of my management is now drawing to a close, I may, perhaps, be permitted, in a few words, to express

my thanks for the support and encouragement I have received. While endeavouring, to the best of my ability and judgment, to uphold the interests of the drama in its most exalted form, I may conscientiously assert, that I have been animated by no selfish or commercial spirit. An enthusiast in the art to which my life has been devoted, I have always entertained a deeply-rooted conviction that the plan I have pursued for many seasons, might, in due time, under fostering care, render the Stage productive of much benefit to society at large. Impressed with a belief that the genius of Shakespeare soars above all rivalry, that he is the most marvellous writer the world has ever known, and that his works contain stores of wisdom, intellectual and moral, I cannot but hope that one who has toiled for so many years, in admiring sincerity, to spread abroad amongst the multitude these invaluable gems, may, at least, be considered as an honest labourer, adding his mite to the great cause of civilisation and educational progress.

After nine years of unremitting exertion as actor and director, the constant strain of mind and body warns me to retreat from a combined duty which I find beyond my strength, and in the exercise of which, neither zeal, nor devotion, nor consequent success, can continue to beguile me into a belief that the end will compensate for the many attendant troubles and anxieties. It would have been impossible, on my part, to gratify my enthusiastic wishes, in the illustration of Shakespeare, had not my previous career as an actor placed me in a position of comparative independence with regard to speculative disappointment. Wonderful as have been the yearly receipts, yet the vast sums expended—sums, I have every reason to believe, not to be paralleled in any theatre of the same capability throughout the world—make it advisable that I should now retire from the self-imposed responsibility of management, involving such a perilous outlay; and the more especially, as a building so restricted in size as the Princess's, renders any adequate return utterly hopeless.

My earnest aim has been to promote the well-being of my Profession; and if, in any degree, I have attained so desirable an object, I trust I may not be deemed presumptuous in cherishing the belief, that my arduous struggle has won for me the honourable reward of—Public Approval.

KING HENRY THE FIFTH.

[Prologue] Enter Chorus.
O for a muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,^{1 note}
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the port of Mars;^{2 note} and, at his heels,
Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire,
Crouch for employment.(A)8Q0052 But pardon, gentles all,
The flat unraised spirit that hath dar'd
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: Can this cockpit hold^{3 note}
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Upon this little stage^{4 note} the very casques^{5 note}

That did affright the air at Agincourt?
O, pardon! since a crooked figure may
Attest in little place, a million;
And let us, cyphers to this great accompt,
On your imaginary forces^{6 note} work.
Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
Whose high upreared and abutting fronts
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:^{7 note}
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;
Into a thousand parts divide one man,^{8 note}
And make imaginary puissance;^{9 note}
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass: For the which supply,
Admit me Chorus to this history;
Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray,
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. [Exit.

ACT I. Scene I. —THE PAINTED CHAMBER IN THE ROYAL PALACE AT WESTMINSTER. [Frequent reference is made in the Chronicles to the Painted Chamber, as the room wherein Henry V. held his councils.] Trumpets sound. King Henry(B)8Q0053 discovered on his throne (centre)* ^note, Bedford,(C)8Q0054 Gloster,(D)8Q0055 Exeter,(E)8Q0056 Warwick, Westmoreland, and others in attendance.

K. Hen.
Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?

Exe. (L.)
Not here in presence.

K. Hen.
Send for him, good uncle. [Exeter beckons to a Herald, who goes off, L.H.

West. (L.)
Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?

K. Hen.
Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolv'd,
Before we hear him, of some things of weight,
That task^{1 note} our thoughts, concerning us and France. Re-enter Herald with the Archbishop of Canterbury,(F)8Q0057^{2 note} and Bishop of Ely,^{3 note} L.H. The Bishops cross to R.C.

Cant. (R.C.)
Heaven and its angels guard your sacred throne,
And make you long become it!

K. Hen.
Sure, we thank you.
My learned lord, we pray you to proceed,

And justly and religiously unfold,
Why the law Salique,(G)8Q0058 that they have in France,
Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim:
And Heaven forbid, my dear and faithful lord,
That you should fashion, wrest,^{4 note} or bow your reading,^{5 note}
Or nicely charge your understanding soul^{6 note}
With opening titles miscreate,^{7 note} whose right
Suits not in native colours with the truth.
For Heaven doth know how many, now in health,
Shall drop their blood in approbation^{8 note}
Of what your reverence shall incite us to.
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person,^{9 note}
How you awake the sleeping sword of war:
We charge you, in the name of Heaven, take heed:
Under this conjuration, speak, my lord.

Cant. (R.C.)
Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,
That owe your lives, your faith, and services,
To this imperial throne.—There is no bar
To make against your highness' claim to France
But this, which they produce from Pharamond,—
No woman shall succeed in Salique land:
Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze^{10 note}
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
The founder of this law and female bar.
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm
That the land Salique lies in Germany,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe;
Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons,

There left behind and settled certain French:
Nor did the French possess the Salique land
Until four hundred one and twenty years
After defunction of King Pharamond,
Idly supposed the founder of this law.
Besides, their writers say,
King Pepin, which deposed Childerick,
Did hold in right and title of the female:
So do the kings of France unto this day;
Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law
To bar your highness claiming from the female;
And rather choose to hide them in a net
Than amply to imbare their crooked titles^{11 note}
Usurp'd from you and your progenitors.

K. Hen.
May I with right and conscience make this claim?

Cant. (R.C.)
The sin upon my head, dread sovereign!
For in the book of Numbers is it writ,—
When the son dies, let the inheritance
Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord,
Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag;
Look back unto your mighty ancestors:
Go, my dread lord, to your great grandsire's tomb,
From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit,
And your great uncle's, Edward the black prince,
Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy,
Making defeat on the full power of France,
Whiles his most mighty father on a hill
Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp
Forage in blood of French nobility.^{12 note}

Ely. (R.C.)
Awake remembrance of these valiant dead,
And with your puissant arm renew their feats:
You are their heir; you sit upon their throne;
The blood and courage, that renowned them,
Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege
Is in the very May-morn of his youth,
Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises.

Exe. (L.)
Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth

Do all expect that you should rouse yourself,
As did the former lions of your blood.

West. (L.)
They know your grace hath cause, and means and might:
So hath your highness;^{13 note} never king of England
Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects,
Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England,
And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France.

Cant.
O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege,
With blood, and sword, and fire to win your right:
In aid whereof we of the spiritualty
Will raise your highness such a mighty sum,
As never did the clergy at one time
Bring in to any of your ancestors.

K. Hen.
We must not only arm to invade the French,
But lay down our proportions to defend
Against the Scot, who will make road upon us
With all advantages.

Cant. (R.C.)
They of those marches,^{14 note} gracious sovereign,
Shall be a wall sufficient to defend
Our inland from the pilfering borderers.
Therefore to France, my liege.
Divide your happy England into four;
Whereof take you one quarter into France,
And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.
If we, with thrice that power left at home,
Cannot defend our own door from the dog,
Let us be worried, and our nation lose
The name of hardiness and policy.

K. Hen.
Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin. [Exit Herald with Lords, L.H.
Now are we well resolv'd; and by Heaven's help,
And yours, the noble sinews of our power,—
France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe,
Or break it all to pieces.

Re-enter Herald and Lords, L.H., with the Ambassador of France, French Bishops, Gentlemen, and Attendants carrying a treasure chest, L.H.
Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasure
Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear
Your greeting is from him, not from the king.

Amb. (L.C.)
May it please your majesty to give us leave
Freely to render what we have in charge;
Or shall we sparingly show you far off
The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy?

K. Hen.
We are no tyrant, but a Christian king;
Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness
Tell us the Dauphin's mind.

Amb.
Thus, then, in few.^{15 note}
Your highness, lately sending into France,
Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right
Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third.
In answer of which claim, the prince our master
Says,—that you savour too much of your youth;
And bids you be advis'd, there's nought in France
That can be with a nimble galliard won;^{16 note}
You cannot revel into dukedoms there.
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,
This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this,
Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim
Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.

K. Hen.
What treasure, uncle?

Exe. (Opening the chest.)
Tennis-balls, my liege.(H)8Q0059

K. Hen.
We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;
His present and your pains we thank you for:
When we have match'd our rackets to these balls,
We will, in France, by Heaven's grace, play a set
Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.
And we understand him well,
How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.

But tell the Dauphin,—I will keep my state;
Be like a king, and show my soul of greatness,
When I do rouse me in my throne of France:
For I will rise there with so full a glory,
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
But this lies all within the will of Heaven,
To whom I do appeal; And in whose name,
Tell you the Dauphin, I am coming on,
To venge me as I may, and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.
So, get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin,
His jest will savour but of shallow wit,
When thousands weep, more than did laugh at it.—
Convey them with safe conduct.—Fare you well. [Exeunt Ambassador, and Attendants, L.H.

Exe.
This was a merry message.

K. Hen.
We hope to make the sender blush at it. [The King rises.
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour
That may give furtherance to our expedition;
For we have now no thought in us but France,
Save those to Heaven, that run before our business.
Therefore let our proportions for these wars
Be soon collected, and all things thought upon
That may with reasonable swiftness add
More feathers to our wings; for, Heaven before,
We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door. [The characters group round the King. Trumpets sound. Scene II. —EASTCHEAP, LONDON. Enter Bardolph,(I)8Q0060 Nym, Pistol, Mrs. Quickly, and Boy, L. 2 E.

Quick. (L.C.)

Pr'ythee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.^{17 note}

Pist. (C.)
No; for my manly heart doth yearn.—
Bardolph, be blithe;—Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;
Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,
And we must yearn therefore.

Bard. (R.)
'Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is!

Quick. (C.)

Sure, he's in Arthur's bosom,^{18 note} if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end,^{19 note} and went away, an it had been any christom child;^{20 note} 'a parted even just between twelve and one, e'en at turning o' the tide:^{21 note} for after I saw him fumble with the sheets,^{22 note} and play with flowers, and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. How now, Sir John! quoth I: what, man! be of good cheer. So a' cried out—Heaven, Heaven, Heaven! three or four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him 'a should not think of Heaven; I hoped, there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone.

Nym. (R.C.)

They say be cried out of sack.

Quick.

Ay, that 'a did.

Bard.

And of women.

Quick.

Nay, that 'a did not.

Boy. (L.)

Yes, that 'a did, and said they were devils incarnate.

Quick. (crosses L.C.)

'A could never abide carnation;^{23 note} 'twas a colour he never liked.

Boy.

Do you not remember, 'a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose, and 'a said it was a black soul burning in hell-fire?

Bard.

Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire: that's all the riches I got in his service.

Nym.

Shall we shog off?^{24 note} the king will be gone from Southampton.

Pist.
Come, let's away.—My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattels and my moveables:
Let senses rule;^{25 note} the word is, Pitch and pay;^{26 note}
Trust none;
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
And hold-fast is the only dog,^{27 note} my duck:
Therefore, caveto be thy counsellor.^{28 note}
Go, clear thy crystals.^{29 note}—Yoke-fellows in arms, [Crosses L.H.
Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck! [Crosses R.H.

Boy.
And that is but unwholesome food, they say.

Pist.
Touch her soft mouth, and march.

Bard.
Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her.

Nym.

I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu.

Pist.
Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.

Quick.

Farewell; adieu.