George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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ACT IV.
SCENE I.
AGINCOURT.
Enter Chorus.
Now entertain conjecture of a time,
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fixt centinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch.
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each battel sees the other's umber'd face.
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents,
The armourers accomplishing the knights,
With busie hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll;
And (the third hour of drousie morning nam'd)
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the criple-tardy-gated night,
Who like a foul and ugly witch does limp
So tediously. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
-- 452 --
The morning's danger: and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
Presented them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts. Who now beholds
The royal captain of this ruin'd band
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry, praise and glory on his head!
For forth he goes and visits all his host,
Bids them good-morrow with a modest smile,
And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note
How dread an army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night:
But freshly looks and over-bears attaint,
With chearful semblance and sweet majesty:
That ev'ry wretch pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
A largess universal like the sun
His lib'ral eye doth give to ev'ry one,
Thawing cold fear; that mean and gentle all
Behold, (as may unworthiness define)
A little touch of Harry in the night.
And so our scene must to the battel fly:
Where, O for pity! we shall much disgrace,
With four or five most vile and ragged foils
(Right ill dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous)
The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
Enter King Henry, Bedford and Gloucester.
K. Henry.
Glo'ster, 'tis true that we are in great danger,
-- 453 --
The greater therefore should our courage be.
Good-morrow brother Bedford: God Almighty!
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out.
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry.
Besides they are our outward consciences,
And preachers to us all; admonishing
That we should dress us fairly for our end.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.
Enter Erpingham.
Good-morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.
Erping.
Not so my Liege, this lodging likes me better,
Since I may say, now lye I like a King.
K. Henry.
'Tis good for men to love their present pain
Upon example; so the spirit is eased:
And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt
The organs, though defunct and dead before,
Break up their drowsie grave, and newly move
With casted slough and fresh celerity.
Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas: brothers both,
Commend me to the Princes in our camp:
Do my good-morrow to them, and anon
Desire them all to my pavillion.
Glou.
We shall, my Liege.
Erping.
Shall I attend your grace?
K. Henry.
No, my good knight,
Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
I and my bosom must debate a while,
-- 454 --
And then I would no other company.
Erping.
The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry.
[Exeunt.
K. Henry.
God-a-mercy old heart, thou speak'st chearfully.
SCENE III.
Enter Pistol.
Pist.
Qui va la?
K. Henry.
A friend.
Pist.
Discuss unto me, art thou officer,
Or art thou base, common and popular?
K. Henry.
I am a gentleman of a company.
Pist.
Trail'st thou the puissant pike?
K. Henry.
Ev'n so: what are you?
Pist.
As good a gentleman as the Emperor.
K. Henry.
Then you are a better than the King.
Pist.
The King's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame,
Of parents good, of fist most valiant:
I kiss his dirty shooe, and from my heart-string
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
K. Henry.
Harry le Roy.
Pist.
Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?
K. Henry.
No, I am a Welshman.
Pist.
Know'st thou Fluellen?
K. Henry.
Yes.
Pist.
Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate
Upon St. David's day.
K. Henry.
Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that
day, lest he knock that about yours.
Pist.
Art thou his friend?
K. Henry.
And his kinsman too.
-- 455 --
Pist.
The Figo for thee then.
K. Henry.
I thank you: God be with you.
Pist.
My name is Pistol call'd.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
It sorts well with your fierceness.
[Manet King Henry.
Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Gow.
Captain Fluellen.
Flu.
So; in the name of Jesu Christ speak fewer: it is the
greatest admiration in the universal world, when the true and
auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you
would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the
great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle
nor pibble babble in Pompey's camp: I warrant you, you
shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the
forms of it, and the sobrieties of it, and the modesty of it to be
otherwise.
Gow.
Why the enemy is loud, you hear him all night.
Flu.
If the enemy is an Ass and a fool, and a prating coxcomb,
is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be
an Ass and a fool, and a prating coxcomb? in your own conscience
now?
Gow.
I will speak lower.
Flu.
I pray you and beseech you, that you will.
[Exeunt.
K. Henry.
Tho' it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
SCENE IV.
Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court, and Michael Williams.
Court.
Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks
yonder?
-- 456 --
Bates.
I think it be, but we have to great cause to desire the
approach of day.
Williams.
We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I
think we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?
K. Henry.
A friend.
Will.
Under what captain serve you?
K. Henry.
Under Sir John Erpingham.
Will.
A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman:
I pray you what thinks he of our estate?
K. Henry.
Even as men wrack'd upon a sand, that look to
be wash'd off the next tide.
Bates.
He hath not told his thought to the King?
K. Henry.
No; nor is it meet he should: for though I speak
it to you, I think the King is but a man as I am: the Violet
smells to him as it doth to me; the element shews to him as it
doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions. His ceremonies
laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and
tho' his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet when they
stoop, they stoop with the like wing; therefore when he sees reason
of fears as we do, his fears out of doubt be of the same relish
as ours are; yet in reason no man should possess him with any appearance
of fear, lest he, by shewing it, should dishearten his army.
Bates.
He may shew what outward courage he will; but I believe,
as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in the Thames
up to the neck; and so I would he were, and I by him at all
adventures, so we were quit here.
K. Henry.
By my troth I will speak my conscience of the
King; I think he would not wish himself any where but where
he is.
Bates.
Then would he were here alone; so should he be sure
to be ransomed, and many poor mens lives saved.
K. Henry.
I dare say, you love him not so ill to wish him
here alone; howsoever you speak this to feel other mens minds.
-- 457 --
Methinks I could not die any where so contented as in the King's
company; his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable.
Wil.
That's more than we know.
Bates.
Ay, or more than we should seek after, for we know
enough, if we know we are the King's subjects: if his cause be
wrong, our obedience to the King wipes the crime of it out of us.
Wil.
But if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a
heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs and arms and
heads chop'd off in a battel shall join together at the latter day,
and cry all We dy'd at such a place; some swearing, some crying
for a surgeon; some upon their wives left poor behind them;
some upon the debts they owe; some upon their children rawly
left. I am afear'd there are few die well that die in battel; for
how can they charitably dispose of any thing when blood is their
argument? now if these men do not die well, it will be a black
matter for the King that led them to it, whom to disobey were
against all proportion of subjection.
K. Henry.
So if a son that is sent by his father about merchandize,
do a notefall into some lewd action and miscarry, the imputation
of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon
his father that sent him; or if a servant under his master's command
transporting a sum of mony, be assail'd by robbers, and
die in many irreconcil'd iniquities, you may call the business of
the master the author of the servant's damnation; but this is not
so: the King is not bound to answer the particular endings of
his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant;
for they purpose not their death when they b notecrave their services.
Besides there is no King, be his cause never so spotless, if it come
to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted
soldiers: some peradventure have on them the guilt of premeditated
and contrived murther; some of beguiling virgins with the
broken seals of perjury; some making the wars their bulwark,
that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage
-- 458 --
and robbery. Now if these men have defeated the law, and
out-run native punishment; though they can out-strip men, they
have no wings to fly from God. War is his beadle, war is his
vengeance; so that here men are punish'd for c noteformer breach
of the King's laws in the King's quarrel now: where they feared
the death, they have born life away, and where they would be
safe, they perish. Then if they die unprovided, no more is the
King guilty of their damnation, than he was before guilty of
those impieties for which they are now visited. Every subject's
duty is the King's, but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore
should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his
bed, wash every moth out of his conscience: and dying so, death
is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was d notewell spent
wherein such preparation was gained: and in him that escapes
it were not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he
let him out-live that day to see his greatness, and to teach others
how they should prepare.
Wil.
'Tis certain every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his
own head, the King is not to answer for it.
Bates.
I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I determine
to fight lustily for him.
K. Henry.
I my self heard the King say he would not be
ransom'd.
Wil.
Ay he said so to make us fight chearfully; but when our
throats are cut, he may be ransom'd, and we ne'er the wiser.
K. Henry.
If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.
Wil.
You pay him then; that's a perilous shot out of an Elder-gun,
that a poor and private displeasure can do against a
monarch! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with
fanning in his face with a Peacock's feather: you'll never trust
his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying.
K. Henry.
Your reproof is something too round, I should be
angry with you, if the time were convenient.
-- 459 --
Wil.
Let it be a quarrel between us if you live.
K. Henry.
I embrace it.
Wil.
How shall I know thee again?
K. Henry.
Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in
my bonnet: then if ever thou dar'st acknowledge it, I will make
it my quarrel.
Wil.
Here's my glove; give me another of thine.
K. Henry.
There.
Wil.
This will I also wear in my cap; if ever thou come to
me and say after to-morrow, this is my glove; by this hand
I will give thee a box on the ear.
K. Henry.
If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
Wil.
Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.
K. Henry.
Well I will do it, though I take thee in the King's
company.
Wil.
Keep thy word: fare thee well.
Bates.
Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have
French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.
[Exeunt soldiers.
note
SCENE V.* [Footnote:
† noteK. Henry.
Upon the King! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children and
Our sins, lay on the King; he must bear all.
O hard condition, and twin-born with greatness,
Subject to breath of ev'ry fool, whose sense
No more can feel but his own wringing.
What infinite heart-ease must Kings neglect,
-- 460 --
That private men enjoy? and what have Kings
That privates have not too, save ceremony?
&plquo;And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
&plquo;What kind of God art thou? that suffer'st more
&plquo;Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers.
&plquo;What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in?
&plquo;O ceremony, shew me but thy worth:
&plquo;What! is thy soul of adoration?
&plquo;Art thou ought else but place, degree and form,
&plquo;Creating awe and fear in other men?
&plquo;Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd,
&plquo;Than they in fearing.
&plquo;What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
&plquo;But poison'd flatt'ry? O be sick, great greatness,
&plquo;And bid thy ceremony give thee cure.
&plquo;Think'st thou the fiery feaver will go out
&plquo;With titles blown from adulation?
&plquo;Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
&plquo;Can'st thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
&plquo;Command the health of it? no, thou proud dream,
Thou play'st so subtly with a King's repose,
I am a King that find thee; and I know
'Tis not the balm, the scepter and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farsed title running 'fore the King,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shoar of this world;
No, not all these thrice-gorgeous ceremonies,
Not all these laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly; as the wretched slave,
Who with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him torest, cramm'd with distressful bread,
-- 461 --
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell:
But like a lacquey, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phœbus; and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn
Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave:
And (but for ceremony) such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a King:
The slave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots
What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace;
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
SCENE VI.
Enter Erpingham.
Erp.
My lord, your nobles jealous of your absence,
Seek through your camp to find you.
K. Henry.
Good old Knight
Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.
Erp.
I shall do't, my lord.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
O God of battels! steel my soldiers hearts,
Possess them not with fear: take from them now
The sense of reck'ning of th'opposed numbers
Which stand before them. Not to-day, O Lord,
O not to-day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown.
I Richard's body have interred new,
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears,
Than from it issu'd forced drops of blood.
-- 462 --
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up
Tow'rd heaven to pardon blood: and I have built
Two chauntries, where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;
Tho' all that I can do is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.
Enter Gloucester.
Glou.
My Liege.
K. Henry.
My brother Glo'ster's voice?
I know thy errand, I will go with thee:
The day, my friend, and all things stay for me.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and Beaumont.
Orl.
The sun doth gild our armour, up my lords.* note
Con.
To horse you gallant Princes, strait to horse.
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
-- 463 --
And your fair shew shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked cuttle-ax a stain,
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport. Let's but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exception, lords,
That our superfluous lacqueys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battel, were enow
To purge this field of such a hilding foe;
Tho' we upon this mountain's basis by
Took stand for idle speculation:
But that our honours must not. What's to say?
A very little, little, let us do;
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonuance, and the note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Grandpree.
Grand.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
&plquo;Yon Island carrions, desp'rate of their bones,
&plquo;Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
&plquo;Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
&plquo;And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
&plquo;Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
&plquo;And faintly through a rusty bever peeps.
&plquo;The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
&plquo;With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades
&plquo;Lob down their heads, drooping the hide and hips:
-- 464 --
The gum down roping from their pale-dead eyes;
And in their pale dull mouths the † notejymold bitt
Lyes foul with chaw'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors the knavish Crows
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit it self in words,
To demonstrate the life of such a battle,
In life so liveless as it shews it self.
Con.
They've said their prayers, and they stay for death.
Dau.
Shall we go send them dinners and fresh sutes,
And give their fasting Horses provender,
And after fight with them?
Con.
I stay but for my guard: on to the field;
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
And use it for my haste. Come, come away,
The sun is high, and we out-wear the day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham with all the Host, Salisbury and Westmorland.
Glou.
Where is the King?
Bed.
The King himself is rode to view their battel.
West.
Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.
Exe.
There's five to one, besides they are all fresh.
Sal.
God's arm strike with us, 'tis a fearful odds.
God be wi' you Princes all; I'll to my charge.
If we no more meet 'till we meet in heav'n,
Then joyfully my noble lord of Bedford,
My dear lord Glo'ster, and my good lord Exeter,
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!
-- 465 --
Bed.
Farewel, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee:
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art c notemade of the firm truth of valour.
Exe.
Farewel, kind lord: fight valiantly to-day.
[Ex. Sal.
Bed.
He is as full of valour as of kindness,
Princely in both.
Enter King Henry.
West.
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day.
K. Henry.
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmorland? no my fair cousin,
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee wish not one man more.
By Jove I am not covetous of gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yerns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No faith, my lord, wish not a man from England:
God's peace, I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me,
For the best hopes I have. Don't wish one more:
Rather proclaim it (Westmorland) through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart, his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
-- 466 --
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian:
He that out-lives this day and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouze him at the name of Crispian:
He that shall f notelive this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say to-morrow is Saint Crispian:
Then will he strip his sleeve and shew his scars:
Old men forget; g note
yet shall not all forget,
But they'll remember with advantages
What feats they did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as houshold words,
Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'ster,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son:
And Crispine Crispian shall ne'er go by
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks
That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day.
Enter Salisbury.
Sal.
My sov'reign lord, bestow your self with speed:
The French are bravely in their battels set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
K. Henry.
All things are ready, if our minds be so.
-- 467 --
West.
Perish the man whose mind is backward now.
K. Henry.
Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin?
West.
God's will, my Liege, would you and I alone
Without more help could fight this royal battel.
K. Henry.
Why now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men:
Which likes me better than to wish us one.
You know your places: God be with you all.
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 overthrow:
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 lye 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 dunghils,
-- 468 --
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heav'n,
Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.* note
Let me speak proudly; tell the Constable,
We are but warriors 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:
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,
Shall leave them little, tell the Constable.
Mon.
I shall, King Harry: and so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
[Exit.
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.
-- 469 --
SCENE X.
Alarm, Excursions. Enter Pistol, French soldier and Boy.
Pist.
Yield, cur.
Fr. Sol.
Je pense que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.
Pist.
Quality calmy custure me, art thou a gentleman? what
is thy name? discuss.
Fr. Sol.
O Seigneur Dieu!
Pist.
O Signieur Dewe should be a gentleman:
Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark;
O Signieur Dewe, thou diest on point of fox,
Except, O Signeur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.
Fr. Sol.
O prennez misericorde, ayez pitie de moy.
Pist.
Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; for I will
fetch thy rym out at thy throat, in drops of crimson blood.
Fr. Sol.
Est-il impossible d' eschapper la force de ton bras?
Pist.
Brass, cur?
Thou damned and luxurious mountain Goat, offer'st me brass?
Fr. Sol.
O pardonnez moy.
Pist.
Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys?
Come hither, Boy, ask me this slave in French,
What is his name.
Boy.
Escoute, comment estes vous appellé?
Fr. Sol.
Monsieur le Fer.
Boy.
He says his name is Mr. Fer.
Pist.
Mr. Fer! I'll fer him and ferk him, and ferret him:
discuss the same in French unto him.
Boy.
I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and ferk.
Pist.
Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
-- 470 --
Fr. Sol.
Que dit-il, Monsieur?
Boy.
Il me commande de vous dire que vous vous teniez prest,
car ce soldat icy est disposée tout a cette heure de couper vostre gorge.
Pist.
Owy, cuppelle gorge parmasoy pesant, unless thou give
me crowns, brave crowns: or mangled shalt thou be by this my
sword.
Fr. Sol.
O je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner,
je suis gentilhome de bonne maison, garde ma vie, & je vous donneray
deux cents escus.
Pist.
What are his words?
Boy.
He prays you to save his life, he is a gentleman of a
good house, and for his ransom he will give you two hundred
crowns.
Pist.
Tell him my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will
take.
Fr. Sol.
Petit Monsieur que dit-il?
Boy.
Encore qu'il est contre son jurement, de pardonner aucun
prisonnier: neantmoins pour les escus que vous l'ay promettez, il est
content de vous donner la liberté de franchise.
Fr. Sol.
Sur mes genoux je vous donne milles remerciemens, &
je me estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier,
je pense, le plus brave, valiant, & tres estimée Signeur
d'Angleterre.
Pist.
Expound unto me, boy.
Boy.
He gives you upon his knees a thousand thanks, and
esteems himself happy, that he hath fall'n into the hands of
one as he thinks the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy
Signeur of England.
Pist.
As I suck blood, I will some mercy shew.
Follow me, cur.
Boy.
Suivez le grand capitain.
[Ex. Pist. and Fr. Sol.
I did never know so woful a voice issue from so empty a heart;
but the song is true, The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.
-- 471 --
Bardolph and Nim had ten times more valour than this roaring
devil i'th' old play, every one may pair his nails with a
wooden dagger: yet they are both hang'd, and so would this
be if he durst steal any thing advent'rously. I must stay with
the lacqueys with the luggage of our camp, the French might
have a good prey of us if he knew of it, for there is none to
guard it but boys.
[Exit.
SCENE XI.
Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures.
Con.
O Diable!
Orl.
O Signeur! le jour est perdu, toute est perdu.
Dau.
Mort de ma vie, all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.
[A short alarm.
O meschante fortune, do not run away.
Con.
Why all our ranks are broke.
Dau.
O perdurable shame, let's stab our selves:
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
Orl.
Is this the King we sent to for his ransom?
Bour.
Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
The man that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand
Like a base pander hold the chamber-door,
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.
Con.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now;
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.
Orl.
We are enow yet living in the field
To smother up the English in our throngs,
-- 472 --
If any order might be thought upon.
Bour.
The devil take order now, I'll to the throng;
Let life be short, else shame will be too long.
[Exeunt.
SCENE XII.
Alarum. Enter the King and his train, with prisoners.
K. Henry.
Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen,
But all's not done, the French yet keep the field.
Exe.
The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.
K. Henry.
Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting:
From helmet to the spur all g notebleeding o'er.
Exe.
In which array, brave soldier, doth he lye
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side
(Yoak-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lyes.
Suffolk first dy'd, and York all haggled over
Comes to him where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,
And cries aloud, tarry my cousin Suffolk,
My soul shall thine keep company to heav'n:
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast;
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry.
Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up;
He smil'd me in the face, gave me his hand,
And with a feeble gripe says, dear my lord,
Commend my service to my Soveraign;
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
-- 473 --
He threw his wounded arm, and kist his lips,
And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me, which I would have stop'd,
But I had not so much of man in me,
But all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears.
K. Henry.
I blame you not;
For hearing this I must perforce compound
With mixtful eyes, or they will issue too.
[Alarum.
But hark, what new alarum is this same?
The French have re-inforc'd their scatter'd men:
Then every soldier kill his prisoners.
Give the word through.
[Exeunt.
noteSCENE XIII.
† [Footnote:
Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Flu.
Kill the poyes and the luggage! 'tis expresly against the
law of arms; 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now,
as can be i notedesir'd in your conscience now, is it not?
Gow.
'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly
rascals that ran away from the battel ha'done this slaughter:
besides they have burn'd or carried away all that was in the
King's tent, wherefore the King most worthily hath caus'd ev'ry
soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O 'tis a gallant King!
Flu.
I, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower; what call
you the town's name where Alexander the pig, was born?
Gow.
Alexander the great.
-- 474 --
Flu.
Why I pray you, is not pig, great? the pig, or the
great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all
one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations.
Gow.
I think Alexander the great was born in Macedon, his
father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.
Flu.
I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn: I tell
you captain, if you look in the maps of the orld, I warrant that
you sall find in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth,
that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in
Macedon, there is also a river at Monmouth: it is called Wye at
Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the
other river; but it is all one, 'tis as like as my fingers to my
fingers, and there is Salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's
life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent
well, for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows
and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and
his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations;
and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did
in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend Clytus.
Gow.
Our King is not like him in that, he never kill'd any of
his friends.
Flu.
It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out
of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in figures
and comparisons of it; as Alexander kill'd his friend Clytus being
in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth being in
his right wits and his good judgments, turn'd away the fat
Knight with the great belly doublet; he was full of jests and gypes,
and knaveries, and mocks: I have forgot his name.
Gow.
Sir John Falstaff.
Flu.
That is he: I tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.
Gow.
Here comes his Majesty.
-- 475 --
SCENE XIV.
Alarum. Enter King Henry and Bourbon with prisoners, Lords and Attendants. Flourish.
K. Henry.
I was not angry since I came to France,
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald,
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field; they do offend our sight.
If they'll do neither, we will come to them,
And make them sker away, as swift as Stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have,
And not a man of them that we shall take
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.
Enter Mountjoy.
Exe.
Here comes the herald of the French, my Liege.
Glou.
His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
K. Henry.
How now, what means their herald? know'st thou not,
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ransom?
Mount.
No, great King:
I come to thee for charitable licence
That we may wander o'er this bloody field,
To book our dead, and then to bury them:
To sort our nobles from our common men;
For many of our Princes (woe the while)
Lye drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood:
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of Princes, k notewhile their wounded steeds
-- 476 --
Fret fet-lock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O give us leave, great King,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies.
K. Henry.
I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no,
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o'er the field.
Mount.
The day is yours.
K. Henry.
Praised be God and not our strength for it:
What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?
Mount.
They call it Agincourt.
K. Henry.
Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
Flu.
Your grandfather, of famous memory, an't please your
Majesty, and your great uncle Edward the plack Prince of Wales,
as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here
in France.
K. Henry.
They did, Fluellen.
Flu.
Your Majesty says very true: if your majesties is remember'd
of it, the Welshmen did good service in a garden where
Leeks did grow, wearing Leeks in their Monmouth caps, which
your Majesty knows to this hour is an honourable padge of the
service; and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear
the Leek upon St. Tavie's day.
K. Henry.
I wear it for a memorable honour:
For I am Welsh you know, good countryman.
Flu.
All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty's Welsh
plood out of your pody, I can tell you that: God pless and preserve
it as long as it pleases his grace and his majesty too.
K. Henry.
Thanks, good my countryman.
Flu.
By Jeshu, I am your Majesty's countryman, I care not
-- 477 --
who know it: I will confess it to all the orld, I need not to be
ashamed of your Majesty, praised be God, so long as your Majesty
is an honest man.
K. Henry.
God keep me so.
Enter Williams.
Our heralds go with him,
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither.
SCENE XV.
Exe.
Soldier, you must come to the King.
K. Henry.
Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap?
Wil.
And't please your Majesty, 'tis the gage of one that I
should fight withal, if he be alive.
K. Henry.
An Englishman?
Wil.
An't please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger'd with
me last night, who if alive, and if ever he dare to challenge this
glove, I have sworn to take him a box o'th' ear; or if I can see
my glove in his cap, which he swore as he was a soldier he
would wear, (if alive) I will strike it out soundly.
K. Henry.
What think you, captain Fluellen, is it fit this
soldier keep his oath?
Flu.
He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your Majesty
in my conscience.
K. Henry.
It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort,
quite from the answer of his degree.
Flu.
Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as
Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your grace,
that he keep his vow and his oath: if he be perjur'd, see you
now his reputation is as arrant a villain and a jacksawce, as ever
his black shoe trod upon God's ground and his earth, in my
conscience law.
-- 478 --
K. Henry.
Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st
the fellow.
Wil.
So I will my Liege, as I live.
K. Henry.
Who serv'st thou under?
Wil.
Under captain Gower, my Liege.
Flu.
Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and
literature in the wars.
K. Henry.
Call him hither to me, soldier.
Wil.
I will, my Liege.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
Here Fluellen, wear thou this favour for me, and
stick it in thy cap; when Alanson and my self were down together,
I pluck'd this glove from his helm; if any man challenge
this, he is a friend to Alanson and an enemy to our persons;
if thou encounter any such, apprehend him if thou dost
love me.
Flu.
Your grace does me as great honours as can be desir'd
in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain see the man that has
but two legs that shall find himself agriev'd at this glove; that
is all; but I would fain see it once, an please God of his grace
that I might see.
K. Henry.
Know'st thou Gower?
Flu.
He is my dear friend, and please you.
K. Henry.
Pray thee go seek him and bring him to my tent.
Flu.
I will fetch him.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
My lord of Warwick and my brother Glo'ster,
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels,
The glove which I have given him for a favour
May haply purchase him a box o'th' ear.
It is the soldier's; I by bargain should
Wear it my self. Follow, good cousin Warwick:
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
By his blunt bearing he will keep his word;
Some sudden mischief may arise of it:
-- 479 --
For I do know Fluellen valiant,
And touch'd with choler hot as gunpowder,
And quickly he'll return an injury.
Follow and see there be not harm between them.
Come you with me, uncle of Exeter.
[Exeunt.
SCENE XVI.
Enter Gower and Williams.
Wil.
I warrant is to knight you, captain.
Enter Fluellen.
Flu.
God's will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now
come apace to the King: there is more good toward you peradventure,
than is in your knowledge to dream of.
Wil.
Sir, know you this glove?
Flu.
Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove.
Wil.
I know this, and thus I challenge it.
[Strikes him.
Flu.
'Sbud, an arrant traitor as any's in the universal world,
in France or in England.
Gower.
How now, Sir? you villain.
Wil.
Do you think I'll be forsworn?
Flu.
Stand away, captain Gower, I will give treason his payment
into plows, I warrant you.
Wil.
I am no traitor.
Flu.
That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty's
name apprehend him, he's a friend of the Duke of Alanson's.
Enter Warwick and Gloucester.
War.
How now, how now, what's the matter?
Flu.
My lord of Warwick, here is, praised be God for it, a
most contagious treason come to light, look you as you shall desire
in a summer's day. Here is his Majesty.
-- 480 --
Enter King Henry and Exeter.
K. Henry.
How now, what's the matter?
Flu.
My Liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look
your grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out
of the helmet of Alanson.
Wil.
My Liege, this was my glove, here is the fellow of it;
and he that I gave it to in change, promis'd to wear it in his
cap; I promis'd to strike him if he did; I met this man with
my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word.
Flu.
Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood,
what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lowsie knave it is; I hope
your Majesty is pear me l notetestimonies, and witnesses, and avouchments,
that this is the glove of Alanson that your Majesty is give
me, in your conscience now.
K. Henry.
Give me thy glove, soldier; look, here is the
fellow of it: 'twas me indeed thou promised'st to strike, and thou
hast given me most bitter terms.
Flu.
An please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if
there is any martial law in the world.
K. Henry.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?
Wil.
All Offences, my lord, come from the heart; never came
any from mine that might offend your Majesty.
K. Henry.
It was our self thou didst abuse.
Wil.
Your Majesty came not like your self; you appear'd to
me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments,
your lowliness; and what your highness suffer'd under that shape,
I beseech you take it for your fault and not mine; for had you
been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore I beseech
your highness pardon me.
K. Henry.
Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
And give it to this fellow. Keep it fellow,
-- 481 --
And wear it for an honour in thy cap,
'Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns:
And captain you must needs be friends with him.
Flu.
By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough
in his body; hold there is twelve pence for you, and I pray you
to serve God, and keep you out of prawls and prabbles, and quarrels
and dissentions, and I warrant you it is the better for you.
Wil.
I will none of your mony.
Flu.
It is with a good will; I can tell you it will serve you to
mend your shooes; come, wherefore should you be so pashful; your
shooes is not so good; 'tis a good silling I warrant you, or I
will change it.
SCENE XVII.
Enter Herald.
K. Henry.
Are the dead number'd?
Her.
Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.
K. Henry.
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
Exe.
† noteCharles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;
John Duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouchiquald:
Of other Lords and Barons, Knights and 'Squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
K. Henry.
This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
Slain in the field; of Princes in this number,
And Nobles bearing banners, there lye dead
One hundred twenty six; added to these,
Of Knights, Esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which,
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd Knights;
So that in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries:
The rest are Princes, Barons, Lords, Knights, 'Squires,
-- 482 --
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lye dead:
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;
Jaques of Chatilion, admiral of France;
The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures;
Great master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin;
John Duke of Alanson, Anthony Duke of Brabant
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy;
And Edward Duke of Bar: Of lusty Earls,
Grandpree and Roussie, Faulconbridge and Foyes,
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!
Where is the number of our English dead?
Exe.
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam Esquire;
None else of name; and of all other men,
But five and twenty.
K. Henry.
O God, thy arm was here!
And not to us, but to thy arm alone
Ascribe we all. When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock and ev'n play of battel,
Was ever known so great and little loss
On one part and on th' other? take it, God,
For it is only thine.
Exe.
'Tis wonderful!
K. Henry.
Come, go we in procession to the village:
And be it death proclaimed through our host,
To boast of this, or take that praise from God,
Which is his only.
Flu.
Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how many
is kill'd?
K. Henry.
Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment,
That God fought for us.
-- 483 --
Flu.
Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.
† noteK. Henry.
Do we all holy rites;
Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te deum:
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay.
And then to Calais and to England then,
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.
[Exeunt.
George Sewell [1723–5], The works of Shakespear in six [seven] volumes. Collated and Corrected by the former Editions, By Mr. Pope ([Vol. 7] Printed by J. Darby, for A. Bettesworth [and] F. Fayram [etc.], London) [word count] [S11101].
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