K. Hen.
Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen:
But all's not done; yet keep the French the field.

Exe.
The duke of York commends him to your majesty.

K. Hen.
Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour

I saw him down, thrice up again, and fighting;
From helmet to the spur all blood he was.

Exe.
In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,
Larding the plain; 11Q0677 and by his bloody side,
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble earl of Suffolk also lies.
Suffolk first died; 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;
He cries aloud,—“Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven:
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, raught me his hand^{1 note},
And, with a feeble gripe, says, “Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign.”
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd 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 stopp'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. Hen.
I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes^{2 note}, or they will issue too.— [Alarum.
But, hark! what new alarum is this same?—
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men:—

Then, every soldier kill his prisoners!
Give the word through. [Exeunt. 3 ^note.

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