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 --
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].
