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 borne
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,
^{1 note}Like to the senators of antique Rome,
With the Plebeians swarming at their heels,
Go forth and fetch their conqu'ring Cæsar in.
^{2 note}As by a low, but loving likelihood,
^{3 note}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,
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, straight back again to France.

SCENE II. The English Camp in France. Enter Fluellen and Gower.

Gow.

Nay, that's right: but why wear you your Leek to day? St. David's day is past.

Flu.

There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things; I will tell you as a friend, captain Gower; the rascally, scauld, beggarly, lowsie, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and your self and all the world know to be no petter than a fellow (look you now) of no merits; he is come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bids me eat my Leek. It was in a place where I could breed no contentions with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap, 'till I see him once again; and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.

Gow.

Why, here he comes swelling like a Turky-cock.

Flu.

'Tis no matter for his swelling, nor his Turky-cocks. God plesse you, aunchient Pistol: you scurvy lowsie knave, God plesse you.

Pist.
Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,
To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?
Hence, I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Flu.

I peseech you heartily, scurvy lowsie knave, at my desires, and my requests and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek: because, look you, you do not love it; and your affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it; I would desire you to eat it.

Pist.
Not for Cadwallader and all his Goats.

Flu.
There is one Goat for you, [Strikes him.
Will you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it?

Pist.
Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

Flu.

You say very true, scauld knave, when God's will is: I desire you to live in the mean time and eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it—[Strikes him.] You call'd me yesterday Mountain-Squire, but I will make you to day a Squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

Gow.

Enough, captain; you have astonish'd him.

Flu.

I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate, four days and four nights. Pite, I pray you; it is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.

Pist.

Must I bite?

Flu.

Yes, out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities.

Pist.

By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; I eat and swear—

Flu.

Eat, I pray you; will you have some more sawce to your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.

Pist.

Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat.

Flu.

Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily. Nay, pray you throw none away, the skin is good for your proken coxcomb: when you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em, that's all.

Pist.

Good.

Flu.

Ay, leeks is good; hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.

Pist.

Me a groat!

Flu.

Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.

Pist.

I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.

Flu.

If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels; God pe wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

Pist.

All hell shall stir for this.

Gow.

Go, go, you are a counterfeit cowardly knave: will you mock at an ancient tradition, began upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceas'd valour, and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel; you find 'tis otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition: fare you well.

Pist.
Doth fortune play the huswife with me now?
News have I, that my Dol is dead of malady of France;
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off:
Old I do wax, and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn;
And something lean to cut-purse of quick hand:
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal;
And patches will I get unto these scars,
And swear, I got them in the Gallia Wars. [Exit. SCENE III. The French Court at Trois in Champaigne. Enter at one door King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Warwick, and other Lords; at another, the French King, Queen Isabel, Princess Catharine, the Duke of Burgundy, and other French.

K. Henry.
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 Catharine;
And as a branch and member of this royalty,
By whom this great assembly is contriv'd,

We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy.
And, Princes French, and Peers, health to you all.

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

Q. Isa.
So happy be the Issue, brother England,
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 the French, that met them in their bent,
The fatal balls of murthering basilisks:
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,
Have lost their quality; and that this day
Shall change all griefs, and quarrels into love.

K. Henry.
To cry Amen to that, thus we appear.

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

Burg.
My duty to you both, on equal love,
Great Kings of France, and England. That I've labour'd
With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,
To bring your most imperial Majesties
Unto this bar and royal interview,
Your Mightinesses on both parts can 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 up her lovely visage?
Alas! she hath from France too long been chas'd;
And all her husbandry doth lye on heaps,
Corrupting in its own fertility.

&wlquo;^{4 note}
Her vine, the merry chearer of the heart,
&wlquo;Unpruned lyes; her hedges even pleach'd,
&wlquo;Like prisoners, wildly over-grown with hair,
&wlquo;Put forth disorder'd twigs: her fallow leas
&wlquo;The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory
&wlquo;Doth root upon; while that the culter rusts,
&wlquo;That should deracinate such savagery:
&wlquo;The even Mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
&wlquo;The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
&wlquo;Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
&wlquo;Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems,
&wlquo;But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
&wlquo;Losing both beauty and utility;
&wlquo;And all our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,
&wlquo;^{5 note}Defective in their nurtures, grow to wildness.&wrquo;
Even so our houses, and our selves and children
Have lost, or do not learn, for want of time,
The sciences, that should become our country;
But grow like savages, (as soldiers will,
That nothing do but meditate on blood)
To swearing and stern looks, ^{6 note}diffus'd attire,
And every thing that seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favour,
You are assembled; and my speech intreats,
That I may know the Let, why gentle peace

Should not expel these inconveniencies;
And bless us with her former qualities.

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

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

K. Henry.
Well, then; the peace,
Which you before so urg'd, lyes in his answer.

Fr. King.
I have but with a cursorary eye
O'er-glanc'd the articles; pleaseth your Grace
T'appoint some of your council presently
To sit with us, once more with better heed
To re-survey them; ^{7 note}
we will suddenly
Pass, or accept, and peremptory answer.

K. Henry.
Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,
And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,
Warwick and Huntington, go with the King;
And take with you free Pow'r to ratifie,
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
Shall see advantageable for our dignity,
Any thing in, or out of, our Demands;
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, a woman's voice may do some good,

When Articles, too nicely urg'd, be stood on.

K. Henry.
Yet leave our cousin Catharine here with us.
She is our capital demand, compris'd
Within the fore-rank of our articles.

Q. Isa.
She hath good leave. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. Manent King Henry, Catharine, and a Lady.

K. Henry.
Fair Catharine, 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?

Cath.

Your Majesty shall mock at me, I cannot speak your England.

K. Henry.

O fair Catharine, 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?

Cath.

Pardonnez moy, I cannot tell vhat is like me.

K. Henry.

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

Cath.

Que dit-il, que je suis semblable à les Anges?

Lady.

Ouy, vrayment, (sauf vostre grace) ainsi dit il.

K. Henry.

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

Cath.

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

K. Henry.

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

Lady.

Ouy, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de Princes.

K. Henry.

The Princess is the better English Woman. I'faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy understanding; I am glad thou canst speak no better English, for if thou could'st, thou would'st find me such a plain King, that thou would'st 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 further 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?

Cath.

Sauf votre honneur, me understand well.

K. Henry.

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 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-a-napes, never off. But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor have I cunning in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use 'till urg'd, and 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 plain soldier; if thou canst love me for this, take me; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, 'tis true; but for thy love, by the lord, no: yet I love thee too. And while thou liv'st, Kate, take ^{8 note}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: &wlquo;for these fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhime themselves into ladies' favours, they do always reason themselves out again.&wrquo; What? a speaker is but a prater; a rhime is but a ballad; a good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a black beard

will turn white, a curl'd 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'st have such a one, take me; take a soldier; take a King: and what say'st thou then to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.

Cath.

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

K. Henry.

No, it is not possible that 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 yours is France, and you are mine.

Cath.

I cannot tell vhat is dat.

K. Henry.

No, Kate? I will tell thee in French, (which, I am sure, will hang upon my tongue like a married wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook off) quand j'ay le possession de France, & quand vous aves le possession de moi (let me see, what then? St. Dennis be my speed!) donc vostre est France, & vous estes 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.

Cath.

Sauf vostre honneur, le Francois que vous parlez, est meilleur que l' Anglois lequel je parle.

P. Henry.

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

Cath.

I cannot tell.

K. Henry.

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 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 St. Dennis and St. George, compound a boy half French, half English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard? shall we not? what say'st thou, my fair Flower-de-luce?

Cath.

I do not know dat.

K. Henry.

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 batchelor. How answer you, La plus belle Catharine du monde, mon tres chere & divine deesse.

Cath.

Your Majestee ave fause French enough to deceive de most sage damoisel dat is en France.

K. Henry.

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 ^{7 note}and untempting 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 Catharine, 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, tho' I speak it before his face, if he be not fellow with the best King, thou shalt find the best King of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken musick; for thy voice is musick, and thy English broken: therefore Queen of all, Catharine, break thy mind to me in broken English, wilt thou have me?

Cath.

Dat is, as it shall please le roy mon pere.

K. Henry.

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

Cath.

Den it shall also content me.

K. Henry.

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

Cath.

Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez: ma foy, je ne veux point que vous abbaissez vostre grandeur, en baisant la main d'une vostre indigne serviteure; excusez moy, je vous supplie, mon tres puissant Seigneur.

K. Henry.

Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

Cath.

Les dames & damoisels pour estre baisées devant leur nopces, il n'est pas le coutume de France.

K. Henry.

Madam my interpreter, what says she?

Lady.

Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of France; I cannot tell, what is baisser en English.

K. Henry.

To kiss.

Lady.

Your Majesty entendre bettre que moy.

K. Henry.

Is it not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married, would she say?

Lady.

Ouy, vrayement.

K. Henry.

O Kate, nice customs curt'sie to great Kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confin'd

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 the upholding the nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently and yielding. [Kissing her.] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate; there is more eloquence in a 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.