The Life of King Henry the Fifth

1O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend

2The brightest heaven of invention,

3A kingdom for a stage, princes to act

4And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!

5Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,

6Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels,

7Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword and fire

8Crouch for employment. But pardon, and gentles all,

9The flat unraised spirits that have dared

10On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth

11So great an object: can this cockpit hold

12The vasty fields of France? or may we cram

13Within this wooden O the very casques

14That did affright the air at Agincourt?

15O, pardon! since a crooked figure may

16Attest in little place a million;

17And let us, ciphers to this great accompt,

18On your imaginary forces work.

19Suppose within the girdle of these walls

20Are now confined two mighty monarchies,

21Whose high upreared and abutting fronts

22The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder:

23Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts;

24Into a thousand parts divide on man,

25And make imaginary puissance;

26Think when we talk of horses, that you see them

27Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;

28For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,

29Carry them here and there; jumping o'er times,

30Turning the accomplishment of many years

31Into an hour-glass: for the which supply,

32Admit me Chorus to this history;

33Who prologue-like your humble patience pray,

34Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.

1My lord, I'll tell you; that self bill is urged,

2Which in the eleventh year of the last king's reign

3Was like, and had indeed against us pass'd,

4But that the scambling and unquiet time

5Did push it out of farther question.

6But how, my lord, shall we resist it now?

7It must be thought on. If it pass against us,

8We lose the better half of our possession:

9For all the temporal lands which men devout

10By testament have given to the church

11Would they strip from us; being valued thus:

12As much as would maintain, to the king's honour,

13Full fifteen earls and fifteen hundred knights,

14Six thousand and two hundred good esquires;

15And, to relief of lazars and weak age,

16Of indigent faint souls past corporal toil.

17A hundred almshouses right well supplied;

18And to the coffers of the king beside,

19A thousand pounds by the year: thus runs the bill.

20This would drink deep.

21'Twould drink the cup and all.

22But what prevention?

23The king is full of grace and fair regard.

24And a true lover of the holy church.

25The courses of his youth promised it not.

26The breath no sooner left his father's body,

27But that his wildness, mortified in him,

28Seem'd to die too; yea, at that very moment

29Consideration, like an angel, came

30And whipp'd the offending Adam out of him,

31Leaving his body as a paradise,

32To envelop and contain celestial spirits.

33Never was such a sudden scholar made;

34Never came reformation in a flood,

35With such a heady currance, scouring faults

36Nor never Hydra-headed wilfulness

37So soon did lose his seat and all at once

38As in this king.

39We are blessed in the change.

40Hear him but reason in divinity,

41And all-admiring with an inward wish

42You would desire the king were made a prelate:

43Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,

44You would say it hath been all in all his study:

45List his discourse of war, and you shall hear

46A fearful battle render'd you in music:

47Turn him to any cause of policy,

48The Gordian knot of it he will unloose,

49Familiar as his garter: that, when he speaks,

50The air, a charter'd libertine, is still,

51And the mute wonder lurketh in men's ears,

52To steal his sweet and honey'd sentences;

53So that the art and practic part of life

54Must be the mistress to this theoric:

55Which is a wonder how his grace should glean it,

56Since his addiction was to courses vain,

57His companies unletter'd, rude and shallow,

58His hours fill'd up with riots, banquets, sports,

59And never noted in him any study,

60Any retirement, any sequestration

61From open haunts and popularity.

62The strawberry grows underneath the nettle

63And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best

64Neighbour'd by fruit of baser quality:

65And so the prince obscured his contemplation

66Under the veil of wildness; which, no doubt,

67Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night,

68Unseen, yet crescive in his faculty.

69It must be so; for miracles are ceased;

70And therefore we must needs admit the means

71How things are perfected.

72But, my good lord,

73How now for mitigation of this bill

74Urged by the commons? Doth his majesty

75Incline to it, or no?

76He seems indifferent,

77Or rather swaying more upon our part

78Than cherishing the exhibiters against us;

79For I have made an offer to his majesty,

80Upon our spiritual convocation

81And in regard of causes now in hand,

82Which I have open'd to his grace at large,

83As touching France, to give a greater sum

84Than ever at one time the clergy yet

85Did to his predecessors part withal.

86How did this offer seem received, my lord?

87With good acceptance of his majesty;

88Save that there was not time enough to hear,

89As I perceived his grace would fain have done,

90The severals and unhidden passages

91Of his true titles to some certain dukedoms

92And generally to the crown and seat of France

93Derived from Edward, his great-grandfather.

94What was the impediment that broke this off?

95The French ambassador upon that instant

96Craved audience; and the hour, I think, is come

97To give him hearing: is it four o'clock?

98It is.

99Then go we in, to know his embassy;

100Which I could with a ready guess declare,

101Before the Frenchman speak a word of it.

102I'll wait upon you, and I long to hear it.

1Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?

2Not here in presence.

3Send for him, good uncle.

4Shall we call in the ambassador, my liege?

5Not yet, my cousin: we would be resolved,

6Before we hear him, of some things of weight

7That task our thoughts, concerning us and France.

8God and his angels guard your sacred throne

9And make you long become it!

10Sure, we thank you.

11My learned lord, we pray you to proceed

12And justly and religiously unfold

13Why the law Salique that they have in France

14Or should, or should not, bar us in our claim:

15And God forbid, my dear and faithful lord,

16That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,

17Or nicely charge your understanding soul

18With opening titles miscreate, whose right

19Suits not in native colours with the truth;

20For God doth know how many now in health

21Shall drop their blood in approbation

22Of what your reverence shall incite us to.

23Therefore take heed how you impawn our person,

24How you awake our sleeping sword of war:

25We charge you, in the name of God, take heed;

26For never two such kingdoms did contend

27Without much fall of blood; whose guiltless drops

28Are every one a woe, a sore complaint

29'Gainst him whose wrong gives edge unto the swords

30That make such waste in brief mortality.

31Under this conjuration, speak, my lord;

32For we will hear, note and believe in heart

33That what you speak is in your conscience wash'd

34As pure as sin with baptism.

35Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers,

36That owe yourselves, your lives and services

37To this imperial throne. There is no bar

38To make against your highness' claim to France

39But this, which they produce from Pharamond,

40'In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant:'

41'No woman shall succeed in Salique land:'

42Which Salique land the French unjustly gloze

43To be the realm of France, and Pharamond

44The founder of this law and female bar.

45Yet their own authors faithfully affirm

46That the land Salique is in Germany,

47Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe;

48Where Charles the Great, having subdued the Saxons,

49There left behind and settled certain French;

50Who, holding in disdain the German women

51For some dishonest manners of their life,

52Establish'd then this law; to wit, no female

53Should be inheritrix in Salique land:

54Which Salique, as I said, 'twixt Elbe and Sala,

55Is at this day in Germany call'd Meisen.

56Then doth it well appear that Salique law

57Was not devised for the realm of France:

58Nor did the French possess the Salique land

59Until four hundred one and twenty years

60After defunction of King Pharamond,

61Idly supposed the founder of this law;

62Who died within the year of our redemption

63Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great

64Subdued the Saxons, and did seat the French

65Beyond the river Sala, in the year

66Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,

67King Pepin, which deposed Childeric,

68Did, as heir general, being descended

69Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair,

70Make claim and title to the crown of France.

71Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown

72Of Charles the duke of Lorraine, sole heir male

73Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great,

74To find his title with some shows of truth,

75'Through, in pure truth, it was corrupt and naught,

76Convey'd himself as heir to the Lady Lingare,

77Daughter to Charlemain, who was the son

78To Lewis the emperor, and Lewis the son

79Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth,

80Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,

81Could not keep quiet in his conscience,

82Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied

83That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother,

84Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare,

85Daughter to Charles the foresaid duke of Lorraine:

86By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great

87Was re-united to the crown of France.

88So that, as clear as is the summer's sun.

89King Pepin's title and Hugh Capet's claim,

90King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear

91To hold in right and title of the female:

92So do the kings of France unto this day;

93Howbeit they would hold up this Salique law

94To bar your highness claiming from the female,

95And rather choose to hide them in a net

96Than amply to imbar their crooked titles

97Usurp'd from you and your progenitors.

98May I with right and conscience make this claim?

99The sin upon my head, dread sovereign!

100For in the book of Numbers is it writ,

101When the man dies, let the inheritance

102Descend unto the daughter. Gracious lord,

103Stand for your own; unwind your bloody flag;

104Look back into your mighty ancestors:

105Go, my dread lord, to your great-grandsire's tomb,

106From whom you claim; invoke his warlike spirit,

107And your great-uncle's, Edward the Black Prince,

108Who on the French ground play'd a tragedy,

109Making defeat on the full power of France,

110Whiles his most mighty father on a hill

111Stood smiling to behold his lion's whelp

112Forage in blood of French nobility.

113O noble English. that could entertain

114With half their forces the full Pride of France

115And let another half stand laughing by,

116All out of work and cold for action!

117Awake remembrance of these valiant dead

118And with your puissant arm renew their feats:

119You are their heir; you sit upon their throne;

120The blood and courage that renowned them

121Runs in your veins; and my thrice-puissant liege

122Is in the very May-morn of his youth,

123Ripe for exploits and mighty enterprises.

124Your brother kings and monarchs of the earth

125Do all expect that you should rouse yourself,

126As did the former lions of your blood.

127They know your grace hath cause and means and might;

128So hath your highness; never king of England

129Had nobles richer and more loyal subjects,

130Whose hearts have left their bodies here in England

131And lie pavilion'd in the fields of France.

132O, let their bodies follow, my dear liege,

133With blood and sword and fire to win your right;

134In aid whereof we of the spiritualty

135Will raise your highness such a mighty sum

136As never did the clergy at one time

137Bring in to any of your ancestors.

138We must not only arm to invade the French,

139But lay down our proportions to defend

140Against the Scot, who will make road upon us

141With all advantages.

142They of those marches, gracious sovereign,

143Shall be a wall sufficient to defend

144Our inland from the pilfering borderers.

145We do not mean the coursing snatchers only,

146But fear the main intendment of the Scot,

147Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to us;

148For you shall read that my great-grandfather

149Never went with his forces into France

150But that the Scot on his unfurnish'd kingdom

151Came pouring, like the tide into a breach,

152With ample and brim fulness of his force,

153Galling the gleaned land with hot assays,

154Girding with grievous siege castles and towns;

155That England, being empty of defence,

156Hath shook and trembled at the ill neighbourhood.

157She hath been then more fear'd than harm'd, my liege;

158For hear her but exampled by herself:

159When all her chivalry hath been in France

160And she a mourning widow of her nobles,

161She hath herself not only well defended

162But taken and impounded as a stray

163The King of Scots; whom she did send to France,

164To fill King Edward's fame with prisoner kings

165And make her chronicle as rich with praise

166As is the ooze and bottom of the sea

167With sunken wreck and sunless treasuries.

168But there's a saying very old and true,

169'If that you will France win,

170Then with Scotland first begin:'

171For once the eagle England being in prey,

172To her unguarded nest the weasel Scot

173Comes sneaking and so sucks her princely eggs,

174Playing the mouse in absence of the cat,

175To tear and havoc more than she can eat.

176It follows then the cat must stay at home:

177Yet that is but a crush'd necessity,

178Since we have locks to safeguard necessaries,

179And pretty traps to catch the petty thieves.

180While that the armed hand doth fight abroad,

181The advised head defends itself at home;

182For government, though high and low and lower,

183Put into parts, doth keep in one consent,

184Congreeing in a full and natural close,

185Like music.

186Therefore doth heaven divide

187The state of man in divers functions,

188Setting endeavour in continual motion;

189To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,

190Obedience: for so work the honey-bees,

191Creatures that by a rule in nature teach

192The act of order to a peopled kingdom.

193They have a king and officers of sorts;

194Where some, like magistrates, correct at home,

195Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad,

196Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings,

197Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds,

198Which pillage they with merry march bring home

199To the tent-royal of their emperor;

200Who, busied in his majesty, surveys

201The singing masons building roofs of gold,

202The civil citizens kneading up the honey,

203The poor mechanic porters crowding in

204Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate,

205The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,

206Delivering o'er to executors pale

207The lazy yawning drone. I this infer,

208That many things, having full reference

209To one consent, may work contrariously:

210As many arrows, loosed several ways,

211Come to one mark; as many ways meet in one town;

212As many fresh streams meet in one salt sea;

213As many lines close in the dial's centre;

214So may a thousand actions, once afoot.

215End in one purpose, and be all well borne

216Without defeat. Therefore to France, my liege.

217Divide your happy England into four;

218Whereof take you one quarter into France,

219And you withal shall make all Gallia shake.

220If we, with thrice such powers left at home,

221Cannot defend our own doors from the dog,

222Let us be worried and our nation lose

223The name of hardiness and policy.

224Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.

225Now are we well resolved; and, by God's help,

226And yours, the noble sinews of our power,

227France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe,

228Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit,

229Ruling in large and ample empery

230O'er France and all her almost kingly dukedoms,

231Or lay these bones in an unworthy urn,

232Tombless, with no remembrance over them:

233Either our history shall with full mouth

234Speak freely of our acts, or else our grave,

235Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth,

236Not worshipp'd with a waxen epitaph.

237Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure

238Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear

239Your greeting is from him, not from the king.

240May't please your majesty to give us leave

241Freely to render what we have in charge;

242Or shall we sparingly show you far off

243The Dauphin's meaning and our embassy?

244We are no tyrant, but a Christian king;

245Unto whose grace our passion is as subject

246As are our wretches fetter'd in our prisons:

247Therefore with frank and with uncurbed plainness

248Tell us the Dauphin's mind.

249Thus, then, in few.

250Your highness, lately sending into France,

251Did claim some certain dukedoms, in the right

252Of your great predecessor, King Edward the Third.

253In answer of which claim, the prince our master

254Says that you savour too much of your youth,

255And bids you be advised there's nought in France

256That can be with a nimble galliard won;

257You cannot revel into dukedoms there.

258He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,

259This tun of treasure; and, in lieu of this,

260Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim

261Hear no more of you. This the Dauphin speaks.

262What treasure, uncle?

263Tennis-balls, my liege.

264We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us;

265His present and your pains we thank you for:

266When we have march'd our rackets to these balls,

267We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set

268Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.

269Tell him he hath made a match with such a wrangler

270That all the courts of France will be disturb'd

271With chaces. And we understand him well,

272How he comes o'er us with our wilder days,

273Not measuring what use we made of them.

274We never valued this poor seat of England;

275And therefore, living hence, did give ourself

276To barbarous licence; as 'tis ever common

277That men are merriest when they are from home.

278But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,

279Be like a king and show my sail of greatness

280When I do rouse me in my throne of France:

281For that I have laid by my majesty

282And plodded like a man for working-days,

283But I will rise there with so full a glory

284That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,

285Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.

286And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his

287Hath turn'd his balls to gun-stones; and his soul

288Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance

289That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows

290Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands;

291Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;

292And some are yet ungotten and unborn

293That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.

294But this lies all within the will of God,

295To whom I do appeal; and in whose name

296Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on,

297To venge me as I may and to put forth

298My rightful hand in a well-hallow'd cause.

299So get you hence in peace; and tell the Dauphin

300His jest will savour but of shallow wit,

301When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.

302Convey them with safe conduct. Fare you well.

303This was a merry message.

304We hope to make the sender blush at it.

305Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour

306That may give furtherance to our expedition;

307For we have now no thought in us but France,

308Save those to God, that run before our business.

309Therefore let our proportions for these wars

310Be soon collected and all things thought upon

311That may with reasonable swiftness add

312More feathers to our wings; for, God before,

313We'll chide this Dauphin at his father's door.

314Therefore let every man now task his thought,

315That this fair action may on foot be brought.

1Now all the youth of England are on fire,

2And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies:

3Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought

4Reigns solely in the breast of every man:

5They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,

6Following the mirror of all Christian kings,

7With winged heels, as English Mercuries.

8For now sits Expectation in the air,

9And hides a sword from hilts unto the point

10With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets,

11Promised to Harry and his followers.

12The French, advised by good intelligence

13Of this most dreadful preparation,

14Shake in their fear and with pale policy

15Seek to divert the English purposes.

16O England! model to thy inward greatness,

17Like little body with a mighty heart,

18What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,

19Were all thy children kind and natural!

20But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out

21A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills

22With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men,

23One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second,

24Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,

25Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland,

26Have, for the gilt of France,--O guilt indeed!

27Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France;

28And by their hands this grace of kings must die,

29If hell and treason hold their promises,

30Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.

31Linger your patience on; and we'll digest

32The abuse of distance; force a play:

33The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;

34The king is set from London; and the scene

35Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton;

36There is the playhouse now, there must you sit:

37And thence to France shall we convey you safe,

38And bring you back, charming the narrow seas

39To give you gentle pass; for, if we may,

40We'll not offend one stomach with our play.

41But, till the king come forth, and not till then,

42Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.

1Well met, Corporal Nym.

2Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

3What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?

4For my part, I care not: I say little; but when

5time shall serve, there shall be smiles; but that

6shall be as it may. I dare not fight; but I will

7wink and hold out mine iron: it is a simple one; but

8what though? it will toast cheese, and it will

9endure cold as another man's sword will: and

10there's an end.

11I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and

12we'll be all three sworn brothers to France: let it

13be so, good Corporal Nym.

14Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the

15certain of it; and when I cannot live any longer, I

16will do as I may: that is my rest, that is the

17rendezvous of it.

18It is certain, corporal, that he is married to Nell

19Quickly: and certainly she did you wrong; for you

20were troth-plight to her.

21I cannot tell: things must be as they may: men may

22sleep, and they may have their throats about them at

23that time; and some say knives have edges. It must

24be as it may: though patience be a tired mare, yet

25she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I

26cannot tell.

27Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife: good

28corporal, be patient here. How now, mine host Pistol!

29Base tike, call'st thou me host? Now, by this hand,

30I swear, I scorn the term; Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.

31No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and

32board a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live

33honestly by the prick of their needles, but it will

34be thought we keep a bawdy house straight.

35O well a day, Lady, if he be not drawn now! we

36shall see wilful adultery and murder committed.

37Good lieutenant! good corporal! offer nothing here.

38Pish!

39Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland!

40Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword.

41Will you shog off? I would have you solus.

42'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile!

43The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face;

44The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat,

45And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy,

46And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!

47I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels;

48For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,

49And flashing fire will follow.

50I am not Barbason; you cannot conjure me. I have an

51humour to knock you indifferently well. If you grow

52foul with me, Pistol, I will scour you with my

53rapier, as I may, in fair terms: if you would walk

54off, I would prick your guts a little, in good

55terms, as I may: and that's the humour of it.

56O braggart vile and damned furious wight!

57The grave doth gape, and doting death is near;

58Therefore exhale.

59Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the

60first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.

61An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.

62Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give:

63Thy spirits are most tall.

64I will cut thy throat, one time or other, in fair

65terms: that is the humour of it.

66'Couple a gorge!'

67That is the word. I thee defy again.

68O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?

69No; to the spital go,

70And from the powdering tub of infamy

71Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,

72Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse:

73I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly

74For the only she; and--pauca, there's enough. Go to.

75Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master, and

76you, hostess: he is very sick, and would to bed.

77Good Bardolph, put thy face between his sheets, and

78do the office of a warming-pan. Faith, he's very ill.

79Away, you rogue!

80By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of

81these days. The king has killed his heart. Good

82husband, come home presently.

83Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to

84France together: why the devil should we keep

85knives to cut one another's throats?

86Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!

87You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?

88Base is the slave that pays.

89That now I will have: that's the humour of it.

90As manhood shall compound: push home.

91By this sword, he that makes the first thrust, I'll

92kill him; by this sword, I will.

93Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.

94Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends:

95an thou wilt not, why, then, be enemies with me too.

96Prithee, put up.

97I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting?

98A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;

99And liquor likewise will I give to thee,

100And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood:

101I'll live by Nym, and Nym shall live by me;

102Is not this just? for I shall sutler be

103Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.

104Give me thy hand.

105I shall have my noble?

106In cash most justly paid.

107Well, then, that's the humour of't.

108As ever you came of women, come in quickly to Sir

109John. Ah, poor heart! he is so shaked of a burning

110quotidian tertian, that it is most lamentable to

111behold. Sweet men, come to him.

112The king hath run bad humours on the knight; that's

113the even of it.

114Nym, thou hast spoke the right;

115His heart is fracted and corroborate.

116The king is a good king: but it must be as it may;

117he passes some humours and careers.

118Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins we will live.

1'Fore God, his grace is bold, to trust these traitors.

2They shall be apprehended by and by.

3How smooth and even they do bear themselves!

4As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,

5Crowned with faith and constant loyalty.

6The king hath note of all that they intend,

7By interception which they dream not of.

8Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,

9Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours,

10That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell

11His sovereign's life to death and treachery.

12Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.

13My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham,

14And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts:

15Think you not that the powers we bear with us

16Will cut their passage through the force of France,

17Doing the execution and the act

18For which we have in head assembled them?

19No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.

20I doubt not that; since we are well persuaded

21We carry not a heart with us from hence

22That grows not in a fair consent with ours,

23Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish

24Success and conquest to attend on us.

25Never was monarch better fear'd and loved

26Than is your majesty: there's not, I think, a subject

27That sits in heart-grief and uneasiness

28Under the sweet shade of your government.

29True: those that were your father's enemies

30Have steep'd their galls in honey and do serve you

31With hearts create of duty and of zeal.

32We therefore have great cause of thankfulness;

33And shall forget the office of our hand,

34Sooner than quittance of desert and merit

35According to the weight and worthiness.

36So service shall with steeled sinews toil,

37And labour shall refresh itself with hope,

38To do your grace incessant services.

39We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,

40Enlarge the man committed yesterday,

41That rail'd against our person: we consider

42it was excess of wine that set him on;

43And on his more advice we pardon him.

44That's mercy, but too much security:

45Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example

46Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.

47O, let us yet be merciful.

48So may your highness, and yet punish too.

49Sir,

50You show great mercy, if you give him life,

51After the taste of much correction.

52Alas, your too much love and care of me

53Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch!

54If little faults, proceeding on distemper,

55Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye

56When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd and digested,

57Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man,

58Though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey, in their dear care

59And tender preservation of our person,

60Would have him punished. And now to our French causes:

61Who are the late commissioners?

62I one, my lord:

63Your highness bade me ask for it to-day.

64So did you me, my liege.

65And I, my royal sovereign.

66Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;

67There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, sir knight,

68Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours:

69Read them; and know, I know your worthiness.

70My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter,

71We will aboard to night. Why, how now, gentlemen!

72What see you in those papers that you lose

73So much complexion? Look ye, how they change!

74Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there

75That hath so cowarded and chased your blood

76Out of appearance?

77I do confess my fault;

78And do submit me to your highness' mercy.

79To which we all appeal.

80The mercy that was quick in us but late,

81By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd:

82You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy;

83For your own reasons turn into your bosoms,

84As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.

85See you, my princes, and my noble peers,

86These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here,

87You know how apt our love was to accord

88To furnish him with all appertinents

89Belonging to his honour; and this man

90Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspired,

91And sworn unto the practises of France,

92To kill us here in Hampton: to the which

93This knight, no less for bounty bound to us

94Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O,

95What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop? thou cruel,

96Ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature!

97Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,

98That knew'st the very bottom of my soul,

99That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold,

100Wouldst thou have practised on me for thy use,

101May it be possible, that foreign hire

102Could out of thee extract one spark of evil

103That might annoy my finger? 'tis so strange,

104That, though the truth of it stands off as gross

105As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.

106Treason and murder ever kept together,

107As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,

108Working so grossly in a natural cause,

109That admiration did not whoop at them:

110But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in

111Wonder to wait on treason and on murder:

112And whatsoever cunning fiend it was

113That wrought upon thee so preposterously

114Hath got the voice in hell for excellence:

115All other devils that suggest by treasons

116Do botch and bungle up damnation

117With patches, colours, and with forms being fetch'd

118From glistering semblances of piety;

119But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up,

120Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,

121Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.

122If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus

123Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,

124He might return to vasty Tartar back,

125And tell the legions 'I can never win

126A soul so easy as that Englishman's.'

127O, how hast thou with jealousy infected

128The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful?

129Why, so didst thou: seem they grave and learned?

130Why, so didst thou: come they of noble family?

131Why, so didst thou: seem they religious?

132Why, so didst thou: or are they spare in diet,

133Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,

134Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,

135Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement,

136Not working with the eye without the ear,

137And but in purged judgment trusting neither?

138Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem:

139And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot,

140To mark the full-fraught man and best indued

141With some suspicion. I will weep for thee;

142For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like

143Another fall of man. Their faults are open:

144Arrest them to the answer of the law;

145And God acquit them of their practises!

146I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of

147Richard Earl of Cambridge.

148I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of

149Henry Lord Scroop of Masham.

150I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of

151Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland.

152Our purposes God justly hath discover'd;

153And I repent my fault more than my death;

154Which I beseech your highness to forgive,

155Although my body pay the price of it.

156For me, the gold of France did not seduce;

157Although I did admit it as a motive

158The sooner to effect what I intended:

159But God be thanked for prevention;

160Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice,

161Beseeching God and you to pardon me.

162Never did faithful subject more rejoice

163At the discovery of most dangerous treason

164Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself.

165Prevented from a damned enterprise:

166My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.

167God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.

168You have conspired against our royal person,

169Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd and from his coffers

170Received the golden earnest of our death;

171Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,

172His princes and his peers to servitude,

173His subjects to oppression and contempt

174And his whole kingdom into desolation.

175Touching our person seek we no revenge;

176But we our kingdom's safety must so tender,

177Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws

178We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence,

179Poor miserable wretches, to your death:

180The taste whereof, God of his mercy give

181You patience to endure, and true repentance

182Of all your dear offences! Bear them hence.

183Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof

184Shall be to you, as us, like glorious.

185We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,

186Since God so graciously hath brought to light

187This dangerous treason lurking in our way

188To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now

189But every rub is smoothed on our way.

190Then forth, dear countrymen: let us deliver

191Our puissance into the hand of God,

192Putting it straight in expedition.

193Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance:

194No king of England, if not king of France.

1Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.

2No; for my manly heart doth yearn.

3Bardolph, be blithe: Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins:

4Boy, bristle thy courage up; for Falstaff he is dead,

5And we must yearn therefore.

6Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in

7heaven or in hell!

8Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's

9bosom, if ever man went to Arthur's bosom. A' made

10a finer end and went away an it had been any

11christom child; a' parted even just between twelve

12and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after

13I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with

14flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends, I knew

15there was but one way; for his nose was as sharp as

16a pen, and a' babbled of green fields. 'How now,

17sir John!' quoth I 'what, man! be o' good

18cheer.' So a' cried out 'God, God, God!' three or

19four times. Now I, to comfort him, bid him a'

20should not think of God; I hoped there was no need

21to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So

22a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my

23hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as

24cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and

25they were as cold as any stone, and so upward and

26upward, and all was as cold as any stone.

27They say he cried out of sack.

28Ay, that a' did.

29And of women.

30Nay, that a' did not.

31Yes, that a' did; and said they were devils

32incarnate.

33A' could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he

34never liked.

35A' said once, the devil would have him about women.

36A' did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then

37he was rheumatic, and talked of the whore of Babylon.

38Do you not remember, a' saw a flea stick upon

39Bardolph's nose, and a' said it was a black soul

40burning in hell-fire?

41Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire:

42that's all the riches I got in his service.

43Shall we shog? the king will be gone from

44Southampton.

45Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips.

46Look to my chattels and my movables:

47Let senses rule; the word is 'Pitch and Pay:'

48Trust none;

49For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,

50And hold-fast is the only dog, my duck:

51Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.

52Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,

53Let us to France; like horse-leeches, my boys,

54To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck!

55And that's but unwholesome food they say.

56Touch her soft mouth, and march.

57Farewell, hostess.

58I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but, adieu.

59Let housewifery appear: keep close, I thee command.

60Farewell; adieu.

1Thus comes the English with full power upon us;

2And more than carefully it us concerns

3To answer royally in our defences.

4Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne,

5Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,

6And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch,

7To line and new repair our towns of war

8With men of courage and with means defendant;

9For England his approaches makes as fierce

10As waters to the sucking of a gulf.

11It fits us then to be as provident

12As fear may teach us out of late examples

13Left by the fatal and neglected English

14Upon our fields.

15My most redoubted father,

16It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe;

17For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,

18Though war nor no known quarrel were in question,

19But that defences, musters, preparations,

20Should be maintain'd, assembled and collected,

21As were a war in expectation.

22Therefore, I say 'tis meet we all go forth

23To view the sick and feeble parts of France:

24And let us do it with no show of fear;

25No, with no more than if we heard that England

26Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance:

27For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd,

28Her sceptre so fantastically borne

29By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,

30That fear attends her not.

31O peace, Prince Dauphin!

32You are too much mistaken in this king:

33Question your grace the late ambassadors,

34With what great state he heard their embassy,

35How well supplied with noble counsellors,

36How modest in exception, and withal

37How terrible in constant resolution,

38And you shall find his vanities forespent

39Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,

40Covering discretion with a coat of folly;

41As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots

42That shall first spring and be most delicate.

43Well, 'tis not so, my lord high constable;

44But though we think it so, it is no matter:

45In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh

46The enemy more mighty than he seems:

47So the proportions of defence are fill'd;

48Which of a weak or niggardly projection

49Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting

50A little cloth.

51Think we King Harry strong;

52And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.

53The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us;

54And he is bred out of that bloody strain

55That haunted us in our familiar paths:

56Witness our too much memorable shame

57When Cressy battle fatally was struck,

58And all our princes captiv'd by the hand

59Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales;

60Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing,

61Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun,

62Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him,

63Mangle the work of nature and deface

64The patterns that by God and by French fathers

65Had twenty years been made. This is a stem

66Of that victorious stock; and let us fear

67The native mightiness and fate of him.

68Ambassadors from Harry King of England

69Do crave admittance to your majesty.

70We'll give them present audience. Go, and bring them.

71You see this chase is hotly follow'd, friends.

72Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs

73Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten

74Runs far before them. Good my sovereign,

75Take up the English short, and let them know

76Of what a monarchy you are the head:

77Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin

78As self-neglecting.

79From our brother England?

80From him; and thus he greets your majesty.

81He wills you, in the name of God Almighty,

82That you divest yourself, and lay apart

83The borrow'd glories that by gift of heaven,

84By law of nature and of nations, 'long

85To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown

86And all wide-stretched honours that pertain

87By custom and the ordinance of times

88Unto the crown of France. That you may know

89'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim,

90Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,

91Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked,

92He sends you this most memorable line,

93In every branch truly demonstrative;

94Willing to overlook this pedigree:

95And when you find him evenly derived

96From his most famed of famous ancestors,

97Edward the Third, he bids you then resign

98Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held

99From him the native and true challenger.

100Or else what follows?

101Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown

102Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:

103Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,

104In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,

105That, if requiring fail, he will compel;

106And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,

107Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy

108On the poor souls for whom this hungry war

109Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head

110Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries

111The dead men's blood, the pining maidens groans,

112For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers,

113That shall be swallow'd in this controversy.

114This is his claim, his threatening and my message;

115Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,

116To whom expressly I bring greeting too.

117For us, we will consider of this further:

118To-morrow shall you bear our full intent

119Back to our brother England.

120For the Dauphin,

121I stand here for him: what to him from England?

122Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt,

123And any thing that may not misbecome

124The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.

125Thus says my king; an' if your father's highness

126Do not, in grant of all demands at large,

127Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty,

128He'll call you to so hot an answer of it,

129That caves and womby vaultages of France

130Shall chide your trespass and return your mock

131In second accent of his ordnance.

132Say, if my father render fair return,

133It is against my will; for I desire

134Nothing but odds with England: to that end,

135As matching to his youth and vanity,

136I did present him with the Paris balls.

137He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,

138Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe:

139And, be assured, you'll find a difference,

140As we his subjects have in wonder found,

141Between the promise of his greener days

142And these he masters now: now he weighs time

143Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read

144In your own losses, if he stay in France.

145To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.

146Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king

147Come here himself to question our delay;

148For he is footed in this land already.

149You shall be soon dispatch's with fair conditions:

150A night is but small breath and little pause

151To answer matters of this consequence.

1Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies

2In motion of no less celerity

3Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen

4The well-appointed king at Hampton pier

5Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet

6With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning:

7Play with your fancies, and in them behold

8Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;

9Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give

10To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails,

11Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,

12Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,

13Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think

14You stand upon the ravage and behold

15A city on the inconstant billows dancing;

16For so appears this fleet majestical,

17Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow:

18Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,

19And leave your England, as dead midnight still,

20Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women,

21Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance;

22For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd

23With one appearing hair, that will not follow

24These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?

25Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;

26Behold the ordnance on their carriages,

27With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.

28Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back;

29Tells Harry that the king doth offer him

30Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry,

31Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.

32The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner

33With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,

34And down goes all before them. Still be kind,

35And eke out our performance with your mind.

1Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

2Or close the wall up with our English dead.

3In peace there's nothing so becomes a man

4As modest stillness and humility:

5But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

6Then imitate the action of the tiger;

7Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

8Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;

9Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

10Let pry through the portage of the head

11Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it

12As fearfully as doth a galled rock

13O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,

14Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.

15Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,

16Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit

17To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.

18Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!

19Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,

20Have in these parts from morn till even fought

21And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:

22Dishonour not your mothers; now attest

23That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.

24Be copy now to men of grosser blood,

25And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,

26Whose limbs were made in England, show us here

27The mettle of your pasture; let us swear

28That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;

29For there is none of you so mean and base,

30That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.

31I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

32Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:

33Follow your spirit, and upon this charge

34Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

1On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach!

2Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot;

3and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives:

4the humour of it is too hot, that is the very

5plain-song of it.

6The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound:

7Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die;

8And sword and shield,

9In bloody field,

10Doth win immortal fame.

11Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give

12all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.

13And I:

14If wishes would prevail with me,

15My purpose should not fail with me,

16But thither would I hie.

17As duly, but not as truly,

18As bird doth sing on bough.

19Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions!

20Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.

21Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage,

22Abate thy rage, great duke!

23Good bawcock, bate thy rage; use lenity, sweet chuck!

24These be good humours! your honour wins bad humours.

25As young as I am, I have observed these three

26swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they

27three, though they would serve me, could not be man

28to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to

29a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and

30red-faced; by the means whereof a' faces it out, but

31fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue

32and a quiet sword; by the means whereof a' breaks

33words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath

34heard that men of few words are the best men; and

35therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a'

36should be thought a coward: but his few bad words

37are matched with as few good deeds; for a' never

38broke any man's head but his own, and that was

39against a post when he was drunk. They will steal

40any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a

41lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for

42three half pence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn

43brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a

44fire-shovel: I knew by that piece of service the

45men would carry coals. They would have me as

46familiar with men's pockets as their gloves or their

47handkerchers: which makes much against my manhood,

48if I should take from another's pocket to put into

49mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I

50must leave them, and seek some better service:

51their villany goes against my weak stomach, and

52therefore I must cast it up.

53Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the

54mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.

55To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good

56to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is

57not according to the disciplines of the war: the

58concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you,

59the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look

60you, is digt himself four yard under the

61countermines: by Cheshu, I think a' will plough up

62all, if there is not better directions.

63The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the

64siege is given, is altogether directed by an

65Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i' faith.

66It is Captain Macmorris, is it not?

67I think it be.

68By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will

69verify as much in his beard: be has no more

70directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look

71you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.

72Here a' comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him.

73Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman,

74that is certain; and of great expedition and

75knowledge in th' aunchient wars, upon my particular

76knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he will

77maintain his argument as well as any military man in

78the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars

79of the Romans.

80I say gud-day, Captain Fluellen.

81God-den to your worship, good Captain James.

82How now, Captain Macmorris! have you quit the

83mines? have the pioneers given o'er?

84By Chrish, la! tish ill done: the work ish give

85over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I

86swear, and my father's soul, the work ish ill done;

87it ish give over: I would have blowed up the town, so

88Chrish save me, la! in an hour: O, tish ill done,

89tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done!

90Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you

91voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you,

92as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of

93the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument,

94look you, and friendly communication; partly to

95satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction,

96look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of

97the military discipline; that is the point.

98It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath:

99and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick

100occasion; that sall I, marry.

101It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me: the

102day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the

103king, and the dukes: it is no time to discourse. The

104town is beseeched, and the trumpet call us to the

105breach; and we talk, and, be Chrish, do nothing:

106'tis shame for us all: so God sa' me, 'tis shame to

107stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is

108throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there

109ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la!

110By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves

111to slomber, ay'll de gud service, or ay'll lig i'

112the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay'll pay

113't as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do,

114that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full

115fain hear some question 'tween you tway.

116Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your

117correction, there is not many of your nation--

118Of my nation! What ish my nation? Ish a villain,

119and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish

120my nation? Who talks of my nation?

121Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is

122meant, Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think

123you do not use me with that affability as in

124discretion you ought to use me, look you: being as

125good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of

126war, and in the derivation of my birth, and in

127other particularities.

128I do not know you so good a man as myself: so

129Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.

130Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.

131A! that's a foul fault.

132The town sounds a parley.

133Captain Macmorris, when there is more better

134opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so

135bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war;

136and there is an end.

1How yet resolves the governor of the town?

2This is the latest parle we will admit;

3Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves;

4Or like to men proud of destruction

5Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,

6A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,

7If I begin the battery once again,

8I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur

9Till in her ashes she lie buried.

10The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,

11And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,

12In liberty of bloody hand shall range

13With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass

14Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants.

15What is it then to me, if impious war,

16Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends,

17Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats

18Enlink'd to waste and desolation?

19What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause,

20If your pure maidens fall into the hand

21Of hot and forcing violation?

22What rein can hold licentious wickedness

23When down the hill he holds his fierce career?

24We may as bootless spend our vain command

25Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil

26As send precepts to the leviathan

27To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,

28Take pity of your town and of your people,

29Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;

30Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace

31O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds

32Of heady murder, spoil and villany.

33If not, why, in a moment look to see

34The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand

35Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;

36Your fathers taken by the silver beards,

37And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls,

38Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,

39Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused

40Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry

41At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.

42What say you? will you yield, and this avoid,

43Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?

44Our expectation hath this day an end:

45The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated,

46Returns us that his powers are yet not ready

47To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king,

48We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.

49Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours;

50For we no longer are defensible.

51Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter,

52Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain,

53And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French:

54Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,

55The winter coming on and sickness growing

56Upon our soldiers, we will retire to Calais.

57To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest;

58To-morrow for the march are we addrest.

1Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le langage.

2Un peu, madame.

3Je te prie, m'enseignez: il faut que j'apprenne a

4parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglois?

5La main? elle est appelee de hand.

6De hand. Et les doigts?

7Les doigts? ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me

8souviendrai. Les doigts? je pense qu'ils sont

9appeles de fingres; oui, de fingres.

10La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense

11que je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots

12d'Anglois vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles?

13Les ongles? nous les appelons de nails.

14De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi, si je parle bien: de

15hand, de fingres, et de nails.

16C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois.

17Dites-moi l'Anglois pour le bras.

18De arm, madame.

19Et le coude?

20De elbow.

21De elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les

22mots que vous m'avez appris des a present.

23Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.

24Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: de hand, de fingres,

25de nails, de arma, de bilbow.

26De elbow, madame.

27O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! de elbow. Comment

28appelez-vous le col?

29De neck, madame.

30De nick. Et le menton?

31De chin.

32De sin. Le col, de nick; de menton, de sin.

33Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez

34les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre.

35Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu,

36et en peu de temps.

37N'avez vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne?

38Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: de hand, de

39fingres, de mails--

40De nails, madame.

41De nails, de arm, de ilbow.

42Sauf votre honneur, de elbow.

43Ainsi dis-je; de elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment

44appelez-vous le pied et la robe?

45De foot, madame; et de coun.

46De foot et de coun! O Seigneur Dieu! ce sont mots

47de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et

48non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais

49prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France

50pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le coun!

51Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon

52ensemble: de hand, de fingres, de nails, de arm, de

53elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de coun.

54Excellent, madame!

55C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner.

1'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme.

2And if he be not fought withal, my lord,

3Let us not live in France; let us quit all

4And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.

5O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us,

6The emptying of our fathers' luxury,

7Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,

8Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,

9And overlook their grafters?

10Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!

11Mort de ma vie! if they march along

12Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,

13To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm

14In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

15Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle?

16Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull,

17On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,

18Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,

19A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth,

20Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?

21And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,

22Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land,

23Let us not hang like roping icicles

24Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people

25Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields!

26Poor we may call them in their native lords.

27By faith and honour,

28Our madams mock at us, and plainly say

29Our mettle is bred out and they will give

30Their bodies to the lust of English youth

31To new-store France with bastard warriors.

32They bid us to the English dancing-schools,

33And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos;

34Saying our grace is only in our heels,

35And that we are most lofty runaways.

36Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence:

37Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.

38Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged

39More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:

40Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;

41You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri,

42Alencon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;

43Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,

44Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconberg,

45Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;

46High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and knights,

47For your great seats now quit you of great shames.

48Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land

49With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur:

50Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow

51Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat

52The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon:

53Go down upon him, you have power enough,

54And in a captive chariot into Rouen

55Bring him our prisoner.

56This becomes the great.

57Sorry am I his numbers are so few,

58His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march,

59For I am sure, when he shall see our army,

60He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear

61And for achievement offer us his ransom.

62Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy.

63And let him say to England that we send

64To know what willing ransom he will give.

65Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.

66Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

67Be patient, for you shall remain with us.

68Now forth, lord constable and princes all,

69And quickly bring us word of England's fall.

1How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge?

2I assure you, there is very excellent services

3committed at the bridge.

4Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

5The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon;

6and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my

7heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and

8my uttermost power: he is not-God be praised and

9blessed!--any hurt in the world; but keeps the

10bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline.

11There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the

12pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as

13valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no

14estimation in the world; but did see him do as

15gallant service.

16What do you call him?

17He is called Aunchient Pistol.

18I know him not.

19Here is the man.

20Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours:

21The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

22Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at

23his hands.

24Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,

25And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate,

26And giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel,

27That goddess blind,

28That stands upon the rolling restless stone--

29By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is

30painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to

31signify to you that Fortune is blind; and she is

32painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which

33is the moral of it, that she is turning, and

34inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her

35foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone,

36which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth,

37the poet makes a most excellent description of it:

38Fortune is an excellent moral.

39Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;

40For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be:

41A damned death!

42Let gallows gape for dog; let man go free

43And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate:

44But Exeter hath given the doom of death

45For pax of little price.

46Therefore, go speak: the duke will hear thy voice:

47And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut

48With edge of penny cord and vile reproach:

49Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.

50Aunchient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.

51Why then, rejoice therefore.

52Certainly, aunchient, it is not a thing to rejoice

53at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I would

54desire the duke to use his good pleasure, and put

55him to execution; for discipline ought to be used.

56Die and be damn'd! and figo for thy friendship!

57It is well.

58The fig of Spain!

59Very good.

60Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; I

61remember him now; a bawd, a cutpurse.

62I'll assure you, a' uttered as brave words at the

63bridge as you shall see in a summer's day. But it

64is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well,

65I warrant you, when time is serve.

66Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now and then

67goes to the wars, to grace himself at his return

68into London under the form of a soldier. And such

69fellows are perfect in the great commanders' names:

70and they will learn you by rote where services were

71done; at such and such a sconce, at such a breach,

72at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who was

73shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood on;

74and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war,

75which they trick up with new-tuned oaths: and what

76a beard of the general's cut and a horrid suit of

77the camp will do among foaming bottles and

78ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But

79you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or

80else you may be marvellously mistook.

81I tell you what, Captain Gower; I do perceive he is

82not the man that he would gladly make show to the

83world he is: if I find a hole in his coat, I will

84tell him my mind.

85Hark you, the king is coming, and I must speak with

86him from the pridge.

87God pless your majesty!

88How now, Fluellen! camest thou from the bridge?

89Ay, so please your majesty. The Duke of Exeter has

90very gallantly maintained the pridge: the French is

91gone off, look you; and there is gallant and most

92prave passages; marry, th' athversary was have

93possession of the pridge; but he is enforced to

94retire, and the Duke of Exeter is master of the

95pridge: I can tell your majesty, the duke is a

96prave man.

97What men have you lost, Fluellen?

98The perdition of th' athversary hath been very

99great, reasonable great: marry, for my part, I

100think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that

101is like to be executed for robbing a church, one

102Bardolph, if your majesty know the man: his face is

103all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames o'

104fire: and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like

105a coal of fire, sometimes plue and sometimes red;

106but his nose is executed and his fire's out.

107We would have all such offenders so cut off: and we

108give express charge, that in our marches through the

109country, there be nothing compelled from the

110villages, nothing taken but paid for, none of the

111French upbraided or abused in disdainful language;

112for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the

113gentler gamester is the soonest winner.

114You know me by my habit.

115Well then I know thee: what shall I know of thee?

116My master's mind.

117Unfold it.

118Thus says my king: Say thou to Harry of England:

119Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep: advantage

120is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him we

121could have rebuked him at Harfleur, but that we

122thought not good to bruise an injury till it were

123full ripe: now we speak upon our cue, and our voice

124is imperial: England shall repent his folly, see

125his weakness, and admire our sufferance. Bid him

126therefore consider of his ransom; which must

127proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects we

128have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which in

129weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under.

130For our losses, his exchequer is too poor; for the

131effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too

132faint a number; and for our disgrace, his own

133person, kneeling at our feet, but a weak and

134worthless satisfaction. To this add defiance: and

135tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his

136followers, whose condemnation is pronounced. So far

137my king and master; so much my office.

138What is thy name? I know thy quality.

139Montjoy.

140Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back.

141And tell thy king I do not seek him now;

142But could be willing to march on to Calais

143Without impeachment: for, to say the sooth,

144Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much

145Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,

146My people are with sickness much enfeebled,

147My numbers lessened, and those few I have

148Almost no better than so many French;

149Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,

150I thought upon one pair of English legs

151Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, God,

152That I do brag thus! This your air of France

153Hath blown that vice in me: I must repent.

154Go therefore, tell thy master here I am;

155My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,

156My army but a weak and sickly guard;

157Yet, God before, tell him we will come on,

158Though France himself and such another neighbour

159Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy.

160Go bid thy master well advise himself:

161If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd,

162We shall your tawny ground with your red blood

163Discolour: and so Montjoy, fare you well.

164The sum of all our answer is but this:

165We would not seek a battle, as we are;

166Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it:

167So tell your master.

168I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness.

169I hope they will not come upon us now.

170We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs.

171March to the bridge; it now draws toward night:

172Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves,

173And on to-morrow, bid them march away.

1Tut! I have the best armour of the world. Would it were day!

2You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.

3It is the best horse of Europe.

4Will it never be morning?

5My lord of Orleans, and my lord high constable, you

6talk of horse and armour?

7You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.

8What a long night is this! I will not change my

9horse with any that treads but on four pasterns.

10Ca, ha! he bounds from the earth, as if his

11entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus,

12chez les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I

13soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth

14sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his

15hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

16He's of the colour of the nutmeg.

17And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for

18Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull

19elements of earth and water never appear in him, but

20only in Patient stillness while his rider mounts

21him: he is indeed a horse; and all other jades you

22may call beasts.

23Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.

24It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the

25bidding of a monarch and his countenance enforces homage.

26No more, cousin.

27Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the

28rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary

29deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as

30fluent as the sea: turn the sands into eloquent

31tongues, and my horse is argument for them all:

32'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for

33a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the

34world, familiar to us and unknown to lay apart

35their particular functions and wonder at him. I

36once writ a sonnet in his praise and began thus:

37'Wonder of nature,'--

38I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress.

39Then did they imitate that which I composed to my

40courser, for my horse is my mistress.

41Your mistress bears well.

42Me well; which is the prescript praise and

43perfection of a good and particular mistress.

44Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly

45shook your back.

46So perhaps did yours.

47Mine was not bridled.

48O then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode,

49like a kern of Ireland, your French hose off, and in

50your straight strossers.

51You have good judgment in horsemanship.

52Be warned by me, then: they that ride so and ride

53not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have

54my horse to my mistress.

55I had as lief have my mistress a jade.

56I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears his own hair.

57I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow

58to my mistress.

59'Le chien est retourne a son propre vomissement, et

60la truie lavee au bourbier;' thou makest use of any thing.

61Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any

62such proverb so little kin to the purpose.

63My lord constable, the armour that I saw in your tent

64to-night, are those stars or suns upon it?

65Stars, my lord.

66Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.

67And yet my sky shall not want.

68That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and

69'twere more honour some were away.

70Even as your horse bears your praises; who would

71trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.

72Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will

73it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and

74my way shall be paved with English faces.

75I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out of

76my way: but I would it were morning; for I would

77fain be about the ears of the English.

78Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?

79You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them.

80'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself.

81The Dauphin longs for morning.

82He longs to eat the English.

83I think he will eat all he kills.

84By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant prince.

85Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath.

86He is simply the most active gentleman of France.

87Doing is activity; and he will still be doing.

88He never did harm, that I heard of.

89Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep that good name still.

90I know him to be valiant.

91I was told that by one that knows him better than

92you.

93What's he?

94Marry, he told me so himself; and he said he cared

95not who knew it

96He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.

97By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body saw it

98but his lackey: 'tis a hooded valour; and when it

99appears, it will bate.

100Ill will never said well.

101I will cap that proverb with 'There is flattery in friendship.'

102And I will take up that with 'Give the devil his due.'

103Well placed: there stands your friend for the

104devil: have at the very eye of that proverb with 'A

105pox of the devil.'

106You are the better at proverbs, by how much 'A

107fool's bolt is soon shot.'

108You have shot over.

109'Tis not the first time you were overshot.

110My lord high constable, the English lie within

111fifteen hundred paces of your tents.

112Who hath measured the ground?

113The Lord Grandpre.

114A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were

115day! Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for

116the dawning as we do.

117What a wretched and peevish fellow is this king of

118England, to mope with his fat-brained followers so

119far out of his knowledge!

120If the English had any apprehension, they would run away.

121That they lack; for if their heads had any

122intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy

123head-pieces.

124That island of England breeds very valiant

125creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.

126Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a

127Russian bear and have their heads crushed like

128rotten apples! You may as well say, that's a

129valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.

130Just, just; and the men do sympathize with the

131mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving

132their wits with their wives: and then give them

133great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will

134eat like wolves and fight like devils.

135Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.

136Then shall we find to-morrow they have only stomachs

137to eat and none to fight. Now is it time to arm:

138come, shall we about it?

139It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, by ten

140We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.

1Now entertain conjecture of a time

2When creeping murmur and the poring dark

3Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

4From camp to camp through the foul womb of night

5The hum of either army stilly sounds,

6That the fixed sentinels almost receive

7The secret whispers of each other's watch:

8Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames

9Each battle sees the other's umber'd face;

10Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs

11Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents

12The armourers, accomplishing the knights,

13With busy hammers closing rivets up,

14Give dreadful note of preparation:

15The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,

16And the third hour of drowsy morning name.

17Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,

18The confident and over-lusty French

19Do the low-rated English play at dice;

20And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night

21Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp

22So tediously away. The poor condemned English,

23Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

24Sit patiently and inly ruminate

25The morning's danger, and their gesture sad

26Investing lank-lean; cheeks and war-worn coats

27Presenteth them unto the gazing moon

28So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold

29The royal captain of this ruin'd band

30Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,

31Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'

32For forth he goes and visits all his host.

33Bids them good morrow with a modest smile

34And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.

35Upon his royal face there is no note

36How dread an army hath enrounded him;

37Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour

38Unto the weary and all-watched night,

39But freshly looks and over-bears attaint

40With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;

41That every wretch, pining and pale before,

42Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:

43A largess universal like the sun

44His liberal eye doth give to every one,

45Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all,

46Behold, as may unworthiness define,

47A little touch of Harry in the night.

48And so our scene must to the battle fly;

49Where--O for pity!--we shall much disgrace

50With four or five most vile and ragged foils,

51Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous,

52The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,

53Minding true things by what their mockeries be.

1Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger;

2The greater therefore should our courage be.

3Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!

4There is some soul of goodness in things evil,

5Would men observingly distil it out.

6For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,

7Which is both healthful and good husbandry:

8Besides, they are our outward consciences,

9And preachers to us all, admonishing

10That we should dress us fairly for our end.

11Thus may we gather honey from the weed,

12And make a moral of the devil himself.

13Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:

14A good soft pillow for that good white head

15Were better than a churlish turf of France.

16Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better,

17Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.'

18'Tis good for men to love their present pains

19Upon example; so the spirit is eased:

20And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt,

21The organs, though defunct and dead before,

22Break up their drowsy grave and newly move,

23With casted slough and fresh legerity.

24Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both,

25Commend me to the princes in our camp;

26Do my good morrow to them, and anon

27Desire them an to my pavilion.

28We shall, my liege.

29Shall I attend your grace?

30No, my good knight;

31Go with my brothers to my lords of England:

32I and my bosom must debate awhile,

33And then I would no other company.

34The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!

35God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.

36Qui va la?

37A friend.

38Discuss unto me; art thou officer?

39Or art thou base, common and popular?

40I am a gentleman of a company.

41Trail'st thou the puissant pike?

42Even so. What are you?

43As good a gentleman as the emperor.

44Then you are a better than the king.

45The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,

46A lad of life, an imp of fame;

47Of parents good, of fist most valiant.

48I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string

49I love the lovely bully. What is thy name?

50Harry le Roy.

51Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?

52No, I am a Welshman.

53Know'st thou Fluellen?

54Yes.

55Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate

56Upon Saint Davy's day.

57Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day,

58lest he knock that about yours.

59Art thou his friend?

60And his kinsman too.

61The figo for thee, then!

62I thank you: God be with you!

63My name is Pistol call'd.

64It sorts well with your fierceness.

65Captain Fluellen!

66So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak lower. It is

67the greatest admiration of the universal world, when

68the true and aunchient prerogatifes and laws of the

69wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to

70examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall

71find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle toddle

72nor pibble pabble in Pompey's camp; I warrant you,

73you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the

74cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety

75of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise.

76Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.

77If the enemy is an ass and a fool and a prating

78coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also,

79look you, be an ass and a fool and a prating

80coxcomb? in your own conscience, now?

81I will speak lower.

82I pray you and beseech you that you will.

83Though it appear a little out of fashion,

84There is much care and valour in this Welshman.

85Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which

86breaks yonder?

87I think it be: but we have no great cause to desire

88the approach of day.

89We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think

90we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?

91A friend.

92Under what captain serve you?

93Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.

94A good old commander and a most kind gentleman: I

95pray you, what thinks he of our estate?

96Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be

97washed off the next tide.

98He hath not told his thought to the king?

99No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I

100speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I

101am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me: the

102element shows to him as it doth to me; all his

103senses have but human conditions: his ceremonies

104laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and

105though his affections are higher mounted than ours,

106yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like

107wing. Therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we

108do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish

109as ours are: yet, in reason, no man should possess

110him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing

111it, should dishearten his army.

112He may show what outward courage he will; but I

113believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish

114himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would he

115were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.

116By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king:

117I think he would not wish himself any where but

118where he is.

119Then I would he were here alone; so should he be

120sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.

121I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here

122alone, howsoever you speak this to feel other men's

123minds: methinks I could not die any where so

124contented as in the king's company; his cause being

125just and his quarrel honourable.

126That's more than we know.

127Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know

128enough, if we know we are the kings subjects: if

129his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes

130the crime of it out of us.

131But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath

132a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs and

133arms and heads, chopped off in battle, shall join

134together at the latter day and cry all 'We died at

135such a place;' some swearing, some crying for a

136surgeon, some upon their wives left poor behind

137them, some upon the debts they owe, some upon their

138children rawly left. I am afeard there are few die

139well that die in a battle; for how can they

140charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their

141argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it

142will be a black matter for the king that led them to

143it; whom to disobey were against all proportion of

144subjection.

145So, if a son that is by his father sent about

146merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the

147imputation of his wickedness by your rule, should be

148imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a

149servant, under his master's command transporting a

150sum of money, be assailed by robbers and die in

151many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the

152business of the master the author of the servant's

153damnation: but this is not so: the king is not

154bound to answer the particular endings of his

155soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of

156his servant; for they purpose not their death, when

157they purpose their services. Besides, there is no

158king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to

159the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all

160unspotted soldiers: some peradventure have on them

161the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder;

162some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of

163perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that

164have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with

165pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have

166defeated the law and outrun native punishment,

167though they can outstrip men, they have no wings to

168fly from God: war is his beadle, war is vengeance;

169so that here men are punished for before-breach of

170the king's laws in now the king's quarrel: where

171they feared the death, they have borne life away;

172and where they would be safe, they perish: then if

173they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of

174their damnation than he was before guilty of those

175impieties for the which they are now visited. Every

176subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's

177soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in

178the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every

179mote out of his conscience: and dying so, death

180is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was

181blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained:

182and in him that escapes, it were not sin to think

183that, making God so free an offer, He let him

184outlive that day to see His greatness and to teach

185others how they should prepare.

186'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon

187his own head, the king is not to answer it.

188But I do not desire he should answer for me; and

189yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

190I myself heard the king say he would not be ransomed.

191Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but

192when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we

193ne'er the wiser.

194If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.

195You pay him then. That's a perilous shot out of an

196elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can

197do against a monarch! you may as well go about to

198turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a

199peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word

200after! come, 'tis a foolish saying.

201Your reproof is something too round: I should be

202angry with you, if the time were convenient.

203Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.

204I embrace it.

205How shall I know thee again?

206Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my

207bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I

208will make it my quarrel.

209Here's my glove: give me another of thine.

210There.

211This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou come

212to me and say, after to-morrow, 'This is my glove,'

213by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear.

214If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.

215Thou darest as well be hanged.

216Well. I will do it, though I take thee in the

217king's company.

218Keep thy word: fare thee well.

219Be friends, you English fools, be friends: we have

220French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

221Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to

222one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their

223shoulders: but it is no English treason to cut

224French crowns, and to-morrow the king himself will

225be a clipper.

226Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,

227Our debts, our careful wives,

228Our children and our sins lay on the king!

229We must bear all. O hard condition,

230Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath

231Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel

232But his own wringing! What infinite heart's-ease

233Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy!

234And what have kings, that privates have not too,

235Save ceremony, save general ceremony?

236And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?

237What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more

238Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?

239What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?

240O ceremony, show me but thy worth!

241What is thy soul of adoration?

242Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,

243Creating awe and fear in other men?

244Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd

245Than they in fearing.

246What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,

247But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,

248And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!

249Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out

250With titles blown from adulation?

251Will it give place to flexure and low bending?

252Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,

253Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,

254That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;

255I am a king that find thee, and I know

256'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,

257The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,

258The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,

259The farced title running 'fore the king,

260The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp

261That beats upon the high shore of this world,

262No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,

263Not all these, laid in bed majestical,

264Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,

265Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind

266Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;

267Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,

268But, like a lackey, from the rise to set

269Sweats in the eye of Phoebus and all night

270Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,

271Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,

272And follows so the ever-running year,

273With profitable labour, to his grave:

274And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,

275Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,

276Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.

277The slave, a member of the country's peace,

278Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots

279What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,

280Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

281My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,

282Seek through your camp to find you.

283Good old knight,

284Collect them all together at my tent:

285I'll be before thee.

286I shall do't, my lord.

287O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts;

288Possess them not with fear; take from them now

289The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers

290Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O Lord,

291O, not to-day, think not upon the fault

292My father made in compassing the crown!

293I Richard's body have interred anew;

294And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears

295Than from it issued forced drops of blood:

296Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,

297Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up

298Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built

299Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests

300Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;

301Though all that I can do is nothing worth,

302Since that my penitence comes after all,

303Imploring pardon.

304My liege!

305My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay;

306I know thy errand, I will go with thee:

307The day, my friends and all things stay for me.

1The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!

2Montez A cheval! My horse! varlet! laquais! ha!

3O brave spirit!

4Via! les eaux et la terre.

5Rien puis? L'air et la feu.

6Ciel, cousin Orleans.

7Now, my lord constable!

8Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!

9Mount them, and make incision in their hides,

10That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,

11And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!

12What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?

13How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?

14The English are embattled, you French peers.

15To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!

16Do but behold yon poor and starved band,

17And your fair show shall suck away their souls,

18Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.

19There is not work enough for all our hands;

20Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins

21To give each naked curtle-axe a stain,

22That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,

23And sheathe for lack of sport: let us but blow on them,

24The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.

25'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,

26That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,

27Who in unnecessary action swarm

28About our squares of battle, were enow

29To purge this field of such a hilding foe,