Henry V

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Original text


Chorus.
Now entertaine coniecture of a time,
When creeping Murmure and the poring Darke
Fills the wide Vessell of the Vniuerse.
From Camp to Camp, through the foule Womb of Night
The Humme of eyther Army stilly sounds;
That the fixt Centinels almost receiue
The secret Whispers of each others Watch.
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each Battaile sees the others vmber'd face.
Steed threatens Steed, in high and boastfull Neighs
Piercing the Nights dull Eare: and from the Tents,
The Armourers accomplishing the Knights,
With busie Hammers closing Riuets vp,
Giue dreadfull note of preparation.
The Countrey Cocks doe crow, the Clocks doe towle:
And the third howre of drowsie Morning nam'd,
Prowd of their Numbers, and secure in Soule,
The confident and ouer-lustie French,
Doe the low-rated English play at Dice;
And chide the creeple-tardy-gated Night,
Who like a foule and ougly Witch doth limpe
So tediously away. The poore condemned English,
Like Sacrifices, by their watchfull Fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The Mornings danger: and their gesture sad,
Inuesting lanke-leane Cheekes, and Warre-worne Coats,
Presented them vnto the gazing Moone
So many horride Ghosts. O now, who will behold
The Royall Captaine of this ruin'd Band
Walking from Watch to Watch, from Tent to Tent;
Let him cry, Prayse and Glory on his head:
For forth he goes, and visits all his Hoast,
Bids them good morrow with a modest Smyle,
And calls them Brothers, Friends, and Countreymen.
Vpon his Royall Face there is no note,
How dread an Army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one iot of Colour
Vnto the wearie and all-watched Night:
But freshly lookes, and ouer-beares Attaint,
With chearefull semblance, and sweet Maiestie:
That euery Wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his Lookes.
A Largesse vniuersall, like the Sunne,
His liberall Eye doth giue to euery one,
Thawing cold feare, that meane and gentle all
Behold, as may vnworthinesse define.
A little touch of Harry in the Night,
And so our Scene must to the Battaile flye:
Where, O for pitty, we shall much disgrace,
With foure or fiue most vile and ragged foyles,
(Right ill dispos'd, in brawle ridiculous)
The Name of Agincourt: Yet sit and see,
Minding true things, by what their Mock'ries bee.
Exit.
Original text
Act IV, Scene I
Enter the King, Bedford, and Gloucester.

King.
Gloster, 'tis true that we are in great danger,
The greater therefore should our Courage be.
God morrow Brother Bedford: God Almightie,
There is some soule of goodnesse in things euill,
Would men obseruingly distill it out.
For our bad Neighbour makes vs early stirrers,
Which is both healthfull, and good husbandry.
Besides, they are our outward Consciences,
And Preachers to vs all; admonishing,
That we should dresse vs fairely for our end.
Thus may we gather Honey from the Weed,
And make a Morall of the Diuell himselfe.
Enter Erpingham.
Good morrow old Sir Thomas Erpingham:
A good soft Pillow for that good white Head,
Were better then a churlish turfe of France.

Erping.
Not so my Liege, this Lodging likes me better,
Since I may say, now lye I like a King.

King.
'Tis good for men to loue their present paines,
Vpon example, so the Spirit is eased:
And when the Mind is quickned, out of doubt
The Organs, though defunct and dead before,
Breake vp their drowsie Graue, and newly moue
With casted slough, and fresh legeritie.
Lend me thy Cloake Sir Thomas: Brothers both,
Commend me to the Princes in our Campe;
Doe my good morrow to them, and anon
Desire them all to my Pauillion.

Gloster.
We shall, my Liege.

Erping.
Shall I attend your Grace?

King.
No, my good Knight:
Goe with my Brothers to my Lords of England:
I and my Bosome must debate a while,
And then I would no other company.

Erping.
The Lord in Heauen blesse thee, Noble Harry.
Exeunt.

King.
God a mercy old Heart, thou speak'st chearefully.
Enter Pistoll.

Pist.
Che vous la?

King.
A friend.

Pist.
Discusse vnto me, art thou Officer,
or art thou base, common, and popular?

King.
I am a Gentleman of a Company.

Pist.
Trayl'st thou the puissant Pyke?

King.
Euen so: what are you?

Pist.
As good a Gentleman as the Emperor.

King.
Then you are a better then the King.

Pist.
The King's a Bawcock, and a Heart of Gold,
a Lad of Life, an Impe of Fame,
of Parents good, of Fist most valiant:
I kisse his durtie shooe, and from heartstring
I loue the louely Bully. What is thy Name?

King.
Harry le Roy.

Pist.
Le Roy? a Cornish Name: art thou of Cornish Crew?

King.
No, I am a Welchman.

Pist.
Know'st thou Fluellen?

King.
Yes.

Pist.
Tell him Ile knock his Leeke about his Pate
vpon S. Dauies day.

King.
Doe not you weare your Dagger in your Cappe
that day, least he knock that about yours.

Pist.
Art thou his friend?

King.
And his Kinsman too.

Pist.
The Figo for thee then.

King.
I thanke you: God be with you.

Pist.
My name is Pistol call'd.
Exit.

King.
It sorts well with your fiercenesse.
Manet King. Enter Fluellen and Gower.

Gower.
Captaine Fluellen.

Flu.
'So, in the Name of Iesu Christ, speake fewer:
it is the greatest admiration in the vniuersall World,
when the true and aunchient Prerogatifes and Lawes of
the Warres is not kept: if you would take the paines but to
examine the Warres of Pompey the Great,you shall finde,
I warrant you, that there is no tiddle tadle nor pibble bable
in Pompeyes Campe: I warrant you, you shall
finde the Ceremonies of the Warres, and the Cares of it, and
the Formes of it, and the Sobrietie of it, and the Modestie
of it, to be otherwise.

Gower.
Why the Enemie is lowd, you heare him all Night.

Flu.
If the Enemie is an Asse and a Foole, and a
prating Coxcombe; is it meet, thinke you, that wee should
also, looke you, be an Asse and a Foole, and a prating
Coxcombe, in your owne conscience now?

Gow.
I will speake lower.

Flu.
I pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
Exit.

King.
Though it appeare a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welchman.
Enter three Souldiers, Iohn Bates, Alexander Court,
and Michael Williams.

Court.
Brother Iohn Bates, is not that the Morning which
breakes yonder?

Bates.
I thinke it be: but wee haue no great cause to desire
the approach of day.

Williams.
Wee see yonder the beginning of the day, but I
thinke wee shall neuer see the end of it. Who goes there?

King.
A Friend.

Williams.
Vnder what Captaine serue you?

King.
Vnder Sir Iohn Erpingham.

Williams.
A good old Commander, and a most kinde
Gentleman: I pray you, what thinkes he of our estate?

King.
Euen as men wrackt vpon a Sand, that
looke to be washt off the next Tyde.

Bates.
He hath not told his thought to the King?

King.
No: nor it is not meet he should: for
though I speake it to you, I thinke the King is but a man,
as I am: the Violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the
Element shewes to him, as it doth to me; all his Sences haue
but humane Conditions: his Ceremonies layd by, in his
Nakednesse he appeares but a man; and though his
affections are higher mounted then ours, yet when they
stoupe, they stoupe with the like wing: therefore, when
he sees reason of feares, as we doe; his feares, out of doubt,
be of the same rellish as ours are: yet in reason, no
man should possesse him with any appearance of feare;
least hee, by shewing it, should dis-hearten his Army.

Bates.
He may shew what outward courage he will: but I
beleeue, as cold a Night as 'tis, hee could wish himselfe in
Thames vp to the Neck; and so I would he were, and
I by him, at all aduentures, so we were quit here.

King.
By my troth, I will speake my conscience of
the King: I thinke hee would not wish himselfe any where,
but where hee is.

Bates.
Then I would he were here alone; so should he be
sure to be ransomed, and a many poore mens liues
saued.

King.
I dare say, you loue him not so ill, to wish
him here alone: howsoeuer you speake this to feele other
mens minds, me thinks I could not dye any where so
contented, as in the Kings company; his Cause being
iust, and his Quarrell honorable.

Williams.
That's more then we know.

Bates.
I, or more then wee should seeke after; for wee know
enough, if wee know wee are the Kings Subiects: if his
Cause be wrong, our obedience to the King wipes the
Cryme of it out of vs.

Williams.
But if the Cause be not good, the King himselfe
hath a heauie Reckoning to make, when all those Legges,
and Armes, and Heads, chopt off in a Battaile, shall ioyne
together at the latter day, and cry all, Wee dyed at such
a place, some swearing, some crying for a Surgean;
some vpon their Wiues, left poore behind them; some vpon
the Debts they owe, some vpon their Children rawly left:
I am afear'd, there are few dye well, that dye in a Battaile:
for how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when
Blood is their argument? Now, if these men doe not dye
well, it will be a black matter for the King, that led them
to it; who to disobey, were against all proportion of
subiection.

King.
So, if a Sonne that is by his Father sent about
Merchandize, doe sinfully miscarry vpon the Sea; the
imputation of his wickednesse, by your rule, should be
imposed vpon his Father that sent him: or if a Seruant,
vnder his Masters command, transporting a summe of
Money, be assayled by Robbers, and dye in many irreconcil'd
Iniquities; you may call the businesse of the Master
the author of the Seruants damnation: but this is not so:
The King is not bound to answer the particular endings
of his Souldiers, the Father of his Sonne, nor the Master of
his Seruant; for they purpose not their death, when they
purpose their seruices. Besides, there is no King, be
his Cause neuer so spotlesse, if it come to the arbitrement
of Swords, can trye it out with all vnspotted Souldiers:
some (peraduenture) haue on them the guilt of
premeditated and contriued Murther; some, of beguiling
Virgins with the broken Seales of Periurie; some, making
the Warres their Bulwarke, that haue before gored the
gentle Bosome of Peace with Pillage and Robberie. Now,
if these men haue defeated the Law, and out-runne Natiue
punishment; though they can out-strip men, they haue no
wings to flye from God. Warre is his Beadle, Warre is his
Vengeance: so that here men are punisht, for before breach
of the Kings Lawes, in now the Kings Quarrell:
where they feared the death, they haue borne life away;
and where they would bee safe, they perish. Then if
they dye vnprouided, no more is the King guiltie of their
damnation, then hee was before guiltie of those Impieties,
for the which they are now visited. Euery Subiects Dutie
is the Kings, but euery Subiects Soule is his owne. Therefore
should euery Souldier in the Warres doe as euery sicke
man in his Bed, wash euery Moth out of his Conscience:
and dying so, Death is to him aduantage; or not dying,
the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation
was gayned: and in him that escapes, it were not sinne to
thinke, that making God so free an offer, he let him
out-liue that day, to see his Greatnesse, and to teach others
how they should prepare.

Will.
'Tis certaine, euery man that dyes ill, the ill
vpon his owne head, the King is not to answer it.

Bates.
I doe not desire hee should answer for me, and yet I
determine to fight lustily for him.

King.
I my selfe heard the King say he would not be
ransom'd.

Will.
I, hee said so, to make vs fight chearefully:
but when our throats are cut, hee may be ransom'd. and
wee ne're the wiser.

King.
If I liue to see it, I will neuer trust his word
after.

Will.
You pay him then: that's a perillous shot out
of an Elder Gunne, that a poore and a priuate displeasure
can doe against a Monarch: you may as well goe about to
turne the Sunne to yce, with fanning in his face with a
Peacocks feather: You'le neuer trust his word after; come,
'tis a foolish saying.

King.
Your reproofe is something too round, I
should be angry with you, if the time were conuenient.

Will.
Let it bee a Quarrell betweene vs, if you liue.

King.
I embrace it.

Will.
How shall I know thee againe?

King.
Giue me any Gage of thine, and I will weare
it in my Bonnet: Then if euer thou dar'st acknowledge it,
I will make it my Quarrell.

Will.
Heere's my Gloue: Giue mee another of thine.

King.
There.

Will.
This will I also weare in my Cap: if euer thou
come to me, and say, after to morrow, This is my Gloue,
by this Hand I will take thee a box on the eare.

King.
If euer I liue to see it, I will challenge it.

Will.
Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.

King.
Well, I will doe it, though I take thee in the
Kings companie.

Will.
Keepe thy word: fare thee well.

Bates.
Be friends you English fooles, be friends, wee haue
French Quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

King.
Indeede the French may lay twentie French
Crownes to one, they will beat vs, for they beare them on
their shoulders: but it is no English Treason to cut
French Crownes, and to morrow the King himselfe will be
a Clipper.
Exit Souldiers.
Vpon the King, let vs our Liues, our Soules,
Our Debts, our carefull Wiues,
Our Children, and our Sinnes, lay on the King:
We must beare all. / O hard Condition,
Twin-borne with Greatnesse, / Subiect to the breath
of euery foole, whose sence / No more can feele,
but his owne wringing. / What infinite hearts-ease
must Kings neglect, / That priuate men enioy?
And what haue Kings, that Priuates haue not too,
Saue Ceremonie, saue generall Ceremonie?
And what art thou, thou Idoll Ceremonie?
What kind of God art thou? that suffer'st more
Of mortall griefes, then doe thy worshippers.
What are thy Rents? what are thy Commings in?
O Ceremonie, shew me but thy worth.
What? is thy Soule of Odoration?
Art thou ought else but Place, Degree, and Forme,
Creating awe and feare in other men?
Wherein thou art lesse happy, being fear'd,
Then they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, in stead of Homage sweet,
But poyson'd flatterie? O, be sick, great Greatnesse,
And bid thy Ceremonie giue thee cure.
Thinks thou the fierie Feuer will goe out
With Titles blowne from Adulation?
Will it giue place to flexure and low bending?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggers knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou prowd Dreame,
That play'st so subtilly with a Kings Repose.
I am a King that find thee: and I know,
'Tis not the Balme, the Scepter, and the Ball,
The Sword, the Mase, the Crowne Imperiall,
The enter-tissued Robe of Gold and Pearle,
The farsed Title running 'fore the King,
The Throne he sits on: nor the Tyde of Pompe,
That beates vpon the high shore of this World:
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous Ceremonie;
Not all these, lay'd in Bed Maiesticall,
Can sleepe so soundly, as the wretched Slaue:
Who with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cram'd with distressefull bread,
Neuer sees horride Night, the Child of Hell:
But like a Lacquey, from the Rise to Set,
Sweates in the eye of Phebus; and all Night
Sleepes in Elizium: next day after dawne,
Doth rise and helpe Hiperiõ to his Horse,
And followes so the euer-running yeere
With profitable labour to his Graue:
And but for Ceremonie, such a Wretch,
Winding vp Dayes with toyle, and Nights with sleepe,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a King.
The Slaue, a Member of the Countreyes peace,
Enioyes it; but in grosse braine little wots,
What watch the King keepes, to maintaine the peace;
Whose howres, the Pesant best aduantages.
Enter Erpingham.

Erp.
My Lord, your Nobles iealous of your absence,
Seeke through your Campe to find you.

King.
Good old Knight,
collect them all together / At my Tent:
Ile be before thee.

Erp.
I shall doo't, my Lord.
Exit.

King.
O God of Battailes, steele my Souldiers hearts,
Possesse them not with feare: Take from them now
The sence of reckning of th'opposed numbers:
Pluck their hearts from them. Not to day, O Lord,
O not to day, thinke not vpon the fault
My Father made, in compassing the Crowne.
I Richards body haue interred new,
And on it haue bestowed more contrite teares,
Then from it issued forced drops of blood.
Fiue hundred poore I haue in yeerely pay,
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold vp
Toward Heauen, to pardon blood: / And I haue built
two Chauntries, / Where the sad and solemne Priests
sing still / For Richards Soule. More will Idoe:
Though all that I can doe, is nothing worth;
Since that my Penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.
Enter Gloucester.

Glouc.
My Liege.

King.
My Brother Gloucesters voyce? I:
I know thy errand, I will goe with thee:
The day, my friend, and all things stay for me.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act IV, Scene II
Enter the Dolphin, Orleance, Ramburs, and Beaumont.

Orleance.
The Sunne doth gild our Armour vp, my Lords.

Dolph.
Monte Cheual: My Horse, Verlot Lacquay:
Ha.

Orleance.
Oh braue Spirit.

Dolph.
Via les ewes & terre.

Orleance.
Rien puis le air & feu.

Dolph.
Cein, Cousin Orleance.
Enter Constable.
Now my Lord Constable?

Const.
Hearke how our Steedes, for present Seruice neigh.

Dolph.
Mount them, and make incision in their Hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And doubt them with superfluous courage: ha.

Ram.
What, wil you haue them weep our Horses blood?
How shall we then behold their naturall teares?
Enter Messenger.

Messeng.
The English are embattail'd, you French Peeres.

Const.
To Horse you gallant Princes, straight to Horse.
Doe but behold yond poore and starued Band,
And your faire shew shall suck away their Soules,
Leauing them but the shales and huskes of men.
There is not worke enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly Veines,
To giue each naked Curtleax a stayne,
That our French Gallants shall to day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport. Let vs but blow on them,
The vapour of our Valour will o're-turne them.
'Tis positiue against all exceptions, Lords,
That our superfluous Lacquies, and our Pesants,
Who in vnnecessarie action swarme
About our Squares of Battaile, were enow
To purge this field of such a hilding Foe;
Though we vpon this Mountaines Basis by,
Tooke stand for idle speculation:
But that our Honours must not. What's to say?
A very little little let vs doe,
And all is done: then let the Trumpets sound
The Tucket Sonuance, and the Note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch downe in feare, and yeeld.
Enter Graundpree.

Grandpree.
Why do you stay so long, my Lords of France?
Yond Iland Carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-fauoredly become the Morning field:
Their ragged Curtaines poorely are let loose,
And our Ayre shakes them passing scornefully.
Bigge Mars seemes banqu'rout in their begger'd Hoast,
And faintly through a rustie Beuer peepes.
The Horsemen sit like fixed Candlesticks,
With Torch-staues in their hand: and their poore Iades
Lob downe their heads, dropping the hides and hips:
The gumme downe roping from their pale-dead eyes,
And in their pale dull mouthes the Iymold Bitt
Lyes foule with chaw'd-grasse, still and motionlesse.
And their executors, the knauish Crowes,
Flye o're them all, impatient for their howre.
Description cannot sute it selfe in words,
To demonstrate the Life of such a Battaile,
In life so liuelesse, as it shewes it selfe.

Const.
They haue said their prayers, / And they stay for death.

Dolph.
Shall we goe send them Dinners, and fresh Sutes,
And giue their fasting Horses Prouender,
And after fight with them?

Const.
I stay but for my Guard: on / To the field,
I will the Banner from a Trumpet take,
And vse it for my haste. Come, come away,
The Sunne is high, and we out-weare the day.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act IV, Scene III
Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham with
all his Hoast: Salisbury, and Westmerland.

Glouc.
Where is the King?

Bedf.
The King himselfe is rode to view their Battaile.

West.
Of fighting men they haue full threescore thousand.

Exe.
There's fiue to one, besides they all are fresh.

Salisb.
Gods Arme strike with vs, 'tis a fearefull oddes.
God buy' you Princes all; Ile to my Charge:
If we no more meet, till we meet in Heauen;
Then ioyfully, my Noble Lord of Bedford,
My deare Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
And my kind Kinsman, Warriors all, adieu.

Bedf.
Farwell good Salisbury, & good luck go with thee:

Exe.
Farwell kind Lord: fight valiantly to day.
And yet I doe thee wrong, to mind thee of it,
For thou art fram'd of the firme truth of valour.

Bedf.
He is as full of Valour as of Kindnesse,
Princely in both.
Enter the King.

West.
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That doe no worke to day.

King.
What's he that wishes so?
My Cousin Westmerland. No, my faire Cousin:
If we are markt to dye, we are enow
To doe our Countrey losse: and if to liue,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
Gods will, I pray thee wish not one man more.
By Ioue, I am not couetous for Gold,
Nor care I who doth feed vpon my cost:
It yernes me not, if men my Garments weare;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sinne to couet Honor,
I am the most offending Soule aliue.
No 'faith, my Couze, wish not a man from England:
Gods peace, I would not loose so great an Honor,
As one man more me thinkes would share from me,
For the best hope I haue. O, doe not wish one more:
Rather proclaime it (Westmerland) through my Hoast,
That he which hath no stomack to this fight,
Let him depart, his Pasport shall be made,
And Crownes for Conuoy put into his Purse:
We would not dye in that mans companie,
That feares his fellowship, to dye with vs.
This day is call'd the Feast of Crispian:
He that out-liues this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rowse him at the Name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day, and liue old age,
Will yeerely on the Vigil feast his neighbours,
And say, to morrow is Saint Crispian.
Then will he strip his sleeue, and shew his skarres:
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot:
But hee'le remember, with aduantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our Names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing Cups freshly remembred.
This story shall the good man teach his sonne:
And Crispine Crispian shall ne're goe by,
From this day to the ending of the World,
But we in it shall be remembred;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he to day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother: be he ne're so vile,
This day shall gentle his Condition.
And Gentlemen in England, now a bed,
Shall thinke themselues accurst they were not here;
And hold their Manhoods cheape, whiles any speakes,
That fought with vs vpon Saint Crispines day.
Enter Salisbury.

Sal.
My Soueraign Lord, bestow your selfe with speed:
The French are brauely in their battailes set,
And will with all expedience charge on vs.

King.
All things are ready, if our minds be so.

West.
Perish the man, whose mind is backward now.

King.
Thou do'st not wish more helpe from England, Couze?

West.
Gods will, my Liege, would you and I alone,
Without more helpe, could fight this Royall battaile.

King.
Why now thou hast vnwisht fiue thousand men:
Which likes me better, then to wish vs one.
You know your places: God be with you all.
Tucket. Enter Montioy.

Mont.
Once more I come to know of thee King Harry,
If for thy Ransome thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured Ouerthrow:
For certainly, thou art so neere the Gulfe,
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy
The Constable desires thee, thou wilt mind
Thy followers of Repentance; that their Soules
May make a peacefull and a sweet retyre
From off these fields: where (wretches) their poore bodies
Must lye and fester.

King.
Who hath sent thee now?

Mont.
The Constable of France.

King.
I pray thee beare my former Answer back:
Bid them atchieue me, and then sell my bones.
Good God, why should they mock poore fellowes thus?
The man that once did sell the Lyons skin
While the beast liu'd, was kill'd with hunting him.
A many of our bodyes shall no doubt
Find Natiue Graues: vpon the which, I trust
Shall witnesse liue in Brasse of this dayes worke.
And those that leaue their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buryed in your Dunghills,
They shall be fam'd: for there the Sun shall greet them,
And draw their honors reeking vp to Heauen,
Leauing their earthly parts to choake your Clyme,
The smell whereof shall breed a Plague in France.
Marke then abounding valour in our English:
That being dead, like to the bullets crasing,
Breake out into a second course of mischiefe,
Killing in relapse of Mortalitie.
Let me speake prowdly: Tell the Constable,
We are but Warriors for the working day:
Our Gaynesse and our Gilt are all besmyrcht
With raynie Marching in the painefull field.
There's not a piece of feather in our Hoast:
Good argument (I hope) we will not flye:
And time hath worne vs into slouenrie.
But by the Masse, our hearts are in the trim:
And my poore Souldiers tell me, yet ere Night,
They'le be in fresher Robes, or they will pluck
The gay new Coats o're the French Souldiers heads,
And turne them out of seruice. If they doe this,
As if God please, they shall; my Ransome then
Will soone be leuyed. / Herauld, saue thou thy labour:
Come thou no more for Ransome, gentle Herauld,
They shall haue none, I sweare, but these my ioynts:
Which if they haue, as I will leaue vm them,
Shall yeeld them little, tell the Constable.

Mont.
I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well:
Thou neuer shalt heare Herauld any more.
Exit.

King.
I feare thou wilt once more come againe for a Ransome.
Enter Yorke.

Yorke.
My Lord, most humbly on my knee I begge
The leading of the Vaward.

King.
Take it, braue Yorke. / Now Souldiers march away,
And how thou pleasest God, dispose the day.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act IV, Scene IV
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistoll, French Souldier, Boy.

Pist.
Yeeld Curre.

French.
Ie pense que vous estes le Gentilhome de
bon qualitee.

Pist.
Qualtitie calmie custure me.
Art thou a Gentleman? What is thy Name? discusse.

French.
O Seigneur Dieu.

Pist.
O Signieur Dewe should be a Gentleman:
perpend my words O Signieur Dewe, and marke:
O Signieur Dewe, thou dyest on point of Fox,
except O Signieur thou doe giue to me
egregious Ransome.

French.
O prennes miserecordie aye pitez de
moy.

Pist.
Moy shall not serue, I will haue fortie Moyes:
for I will fetch thy rymme out at thy Throat,
in droppes of Crimson blood.

French.
Est il impossible d' eschapper le force de
ton bras.

Pist.
Brasse, Curre?
thou damned and luxurious Mountaine Goat,
offer'st me Brasse?

French.
O perdonne moy.

Pist.
Say'st thou me so? is that a Tonne of Moyes?
Come hither boy, aske me this slaue in French
what is his Name.

Boy.
Escoute comment estes vous appelle?

French.
Mounsieur le Fer.

Boy.
He sayes his Name is M. Fer.

Pist.
M. Fer: Ile fer him, and firke him, and ferret
him: discusse the same in French vnto him.

Boy.
I doe not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firke.

Pist.
Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.

French.
Que dit il Mounsieur?

Boy.
Il me commande a vous dire que vous faite vous prest,
car ce soldat icy est disposee tout asture de couppes
vostre gorge.

Pist.
Owy, cuppele gorge permafoy
pesant, vnlesse thou giue me Crownes, braue Crownes;
or mangled shalt thou be by this my Sword.

French.
O Ie vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu:
ma pardonner, Ie suis le Gentilhome de bonmaison,
garde ma vie, & Ie vous donneray deux cent escus.

Pist.
What are his words?

Boy.
He prayes you to saue his life, he is a Gentleman of a
good house, and for his ransom he will giue you two
hundred Crownes.

Pist.
Tell him my fury shall abate, and I
the Crownes will take.

Fren.
Petit Monsieur que dit il?

Boy.
Encore qu'il et contra son Iurement, de pardonner aucune
prisonner: neant-mons pour les escues que vous layt a
promets, il est content a vous donnes le libertele
franchisement.

Fre.
Sur mes genoux se vous donnes milles
remercious, et Ie me estime heurex que Ie intombe,
entre les main d'vn Cheualier Ie peuse le plus braue
valiant et tres distinie signieur d'Angleterre.

Pist.
Expound vnto me boy.

Boy.
He giues you vpon his knees a thousand thanks, and
he esteemes himselfe happy, that he hath falne into the
hands of one (as he thinkes) the most braue, valorous
and thrice-worthy signeur of England.

Pist.
As I sucke blood, I will some mercy shew.
Follow mee.

Boy.
Saaue vous le grand Capitaine?
I did neuer know so full a voyce issue from so emptie a
heart: but the saying is true, The empty vessel makes
the greatest sound, Bardolfe and Nym hadtenne times
more valour, then this roaring diuell i'th olde play, that
euerie one may payre his nayles with a woodden dagger, and
they are both hang'd, and so would this be, if hee durst
steale any thing aduenturously. I must stay with the
Lackies with the luggage of our camp, the French
might haue a good pray of vs, if he knew of it, for there
is none to guard it but boyes.
Exit.
Original text
Act IV, Scene V
Enter Constable, Orleance, Burbon, Dolphin,
and Ramburs.

Con.
O Diable.

Orl.
O signeur le iour et perdia, toute et perdie.

Dol.
Mor Dieu ma vie, all is confounded all,
Reproach, and euerlasting shame
Sits mocking in our Plumes. O meschante Fortune,
A short Alarum.
do not runne away.

Con.
Why all our rankes are broke.

Dol,
O perdurable shame, let's stab our selues:
Be these the wretches that we plaid at dice for?

Orl.
Is this the King we sent too, for his ransome?

Bur.
Shame, and eternall shame, nothing but shame,
Let vs dye in once more backe againe,
And he that will not follow Burbon now,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand
Like a base Pander hold the Chamber doore,
Whilst a base slaue, no gentler then my dogge,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.

Con.
Disorder that hath spoyl'd vs, friend vs now,
Let vs on heapes go offer vp our liues.

Orl.
We are enow yet liuing in the Field,
To smother vp the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought vpon.

Bur.
The diuell take Order now, Ile to the throng;
Let life be short, else shame will be too long.
Exit.
Original text
Act IV, Scene VI
Alarum. Enter the King and his trayne,
with Prisoners.

King.
Well haue we done, thrice-valiant Countrimen,
But all's not done, yet keepe the French the field.

Exe.
The D. of York commends him to your Maiesty

King.
Liues he good Vnckle: thrice within this houre
I saw him downe; thrice vp againe, and fighting,
From Helmet to the spurre, all blood he was.

Exe.
In which array (braue Soldier) doth he lye,
Larding the plaine: and by his bloody side,
(Yoake-fellow to his honour-owing-wounds)
The Noble Earle of Suffolke also lyes.
Suffolke first dyed, and Yorke all hagled ouer
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped,
And takes him by the Beard, kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawne vpon his face.
He cryes aloud; Tarry my Cosin Suffolke,
My soule shall thine keepe company to heauen:
Tarry (sweet soule) for mine, then flye a-brest:
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our Chiualrie.
Vpon these words I came, and cheer'd him vp,
He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand,
And with a feeble gripe, sayes: Deere my Lord,
Commend my seruice to my Soueraigne,
So did he turne, and ouer Suffolkes necke
He threw his wounded arme, and kist his lippes,
And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A Testament of Noble-ending-loue:
The prettie and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me, which I would haue stop'd,
But I had not so much of man in mee,
And all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gaue me vp to teares.

King.
I blame you not,
For hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mixtfull eyes, or they will issue to.
Alarum
But hearke, what new alarum is this same?
The French haue re-enforc'd their scatter'd men:
Then euery souldiour kill his Prisoners,
Giue the word through.
Exit
Original text
Act IV, Scene VII
Enter Fluellen and Gower.

Flu.
Kill the poyes and the luggage, 'Tis expressely
against the Law of Armes, tis as arrant a peece of knauery
marke you now, as can bee offert in your Conscience now,
is it not?

Gow.
Tis certaine, there's not a boy left aliue, and the
Cowardly Rascalls that ranne from the battaile ha' done this
slaughter: besides they haue burned and carried away
all that was in the Kings Tent, wherefore the King most
worthily hath caus'd euery soldiour to cut his prisoners
throat. O 'tis a gallant King.

Flu.
I, hee was porne at Monmouth Captaine
Gower: What call you the Townes name where Alexander
the pig was borne?

Gow.
Alexander the Great.

Flu.
Why I pray you, is not pig, great? The pig,
or the grear, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous,
are all one reckonings, saue the phrase is a litle
variations.

Gower.
I thinke Alexander the Great was borne in Macedon,
his Father was called Phillip of Macedon,as I take it.

Fln.
I thinke it is in Macedon where Alexander is
porne: I tell you Captaine, if you looke in the Maps of the
Orld, I warrant you sall finde in the comparisons betweene
Macedon & Monmouth, that the situations looke you,
is both alike. There is a Riuer in Macedon, & there is
also moreouer a Riuer at Monmouth, it is call'd Wye
at Monmouth: but it is out of my praines, what is the
name of the other Riuer: but 'tis all one, tis alike as my
fingers is to my fingers, and there is Salmons in both.
If you marke Alexanders life well, Harry of Monmouthes
life is come after it indifferent well, for there is figures in
all things. Alexander God knowes, and you know, in his
rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his chollers,
and his moodes, and his displeasures, and his indignations,
and also being a little intoxicates in his praines,
did in his Ales and his angers (looke you) kill his best
friend Clytus.

Gow.
Our King is not like him in that, he neuer kill'd
any of his friends.

Flu.
It is not well done (marke you now) to take the
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I
speak but in the figures, and comparisons of it: as
Alexander kild his friend Clytus, being in his Ales
and his Cuppes; so also Harry Monmouth being in his
right wittes, and his good iudgements, turn'd away the
fat Knight with the great-belly doublet: he was full of
iests, and gypes, and knaueries, and mockes, I haue forgot
his name.

Gow.
Sir Iohn Falstaffe.

Flu.
That is he: Ile tell you, there is good men porne
at Monmouth.

Gow.
Heere comes his Maiesty.
Alarum. Enter King Harry and Burbon
with prisoners.
Flourish.

King.
I was not angry since I came to France,
Vntill this instant. Take a Trumpet Herald,
Ride thou vnto the Horsemen on yond hill:
If they will fight with vs, bid them come downe,
Or voyde the field: they do offend our sight.
If they'l do neither, we will come to them,
And make them sker away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:
Besides, wee'l cut the throats of those we haue,
And not a man of them that we shall take,
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.
Enter Montioy.

Exe.
Here comes the Herald of the French, my Liege

Glou.
His eyes are humbler then they vs'd to be.

King.
How now, what meanes this Herald? Knowst thou not,
That I haue fin'd these bones of mine for ransome?
Com'st thou againe for ransome?

Her.
No great King:
I come to thee for charitable License,
That we may wander ore this bloody field,
To booke our dead, and then to bury them,
To sort our Nobles from our common men.
For many of our Princes (woe the while)
Lye drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood:
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbes
In blood of Princes, and with wounded steeds
Fret fet-locke deepe in gore, and with wilde rage
Yerke out their armed heeles at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O giue vs leaue great King,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies.

Kin.
I tell thee truly Herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no,
For yet a many of your horsemen peere,
And gallop ore the field.

Her.
The day is yours.

Kin.
Praised be God, and not our strength for it:
What is this Castle call'd that stands hard by.

Her.
They call it Agincourt.

King.
Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

Flu.
Your Grandfather of famous memory (an't
please your Maiesty) and your great Vncle Edward the
Placke Prince of Wales, as I haue read in the Chronicles,
fought a most praue pattle here in France.

Kin.
They did Fluellen.

Flu.
Your Maiesty sayes very true: If your Maiesties
is remembred of it, the Welchmen did good seruice in a
Garden where Leekes did grow, wearing Leekes in their
Monmouth caps, which your Maiesty know to this houre
is an honourable badge of the seruice: And I do beleeue
your Maiesty takes no scorne to weare the Leeke vppon S.
Tauies day.

King.
I weare it for a memorable honor:
For I am Welch you know good Countriman.

Flu.
All the water in Wye, cannot wash your
Maiesties Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you
that: God plesse it, and preserue it, as long as it pleases
his Grace, and his Maiesty too.

Kin.
Thankes good my Countrymen.

Flu.
By Ieshu, I am your Maiesties Countreyman, I
care not who know it: I will confesse it to all the Orld,
I need not to be ashamed of your Maiesty, praised be
God so long as your Maiesty is an honest man.

King.
Good keepe me so.
Enter Williams.
Our Heralds go with him,
Bring me iust notice of the numbers dead
On both our parts.
Call yonder fellow hither.

Exe.
Souldier, you must come to the King.

Kin.
Souldier, why wear'st thou that Gloue in thy
Cappe?

Will.
And't please your Maiesty, tis the gage of one
that I should fight withall, if he be aliue.

Kin.
An Englishman?

Wil.
And't please your Maiesty, a Rascall that
swagger'd with me last night: who if aliue, and euer
dare to challenge this Gloue, I haue sworne to take him a
boxe a'th ere: or if I can see my Gloue in his cappe, which he
swore as he was a Souldier he would weare (if aliue) I wil
strike it out soundly.

Kin.
What thinke you Captaine Fluellen, is it
fit this souldier keepe his oath.

Flu.
Hee is a Crauen and a Villaine else, and't please
your Maiesty in my conscience.

King.
It may bee, his enemy is a Gentleman of
great sort quite from the answer of his degree.

Flu.
Though he be as good a Ientleman as the
diuel is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himselfe, it is necessary
(looke your Grace) that he keepe his vow and his oath: If
hee bee periur'd (see you now) his reputation is as arrant
a villaine and a Iacke sawce, as euer his blacke shoo trodd
vpon Gods ground, and his earth, in my conscience law

King.
Then keepe thy vow sirrah, when thou
meet'st the fellow.

Wil.
So, I wil my Liege, as I liue.

King.
Who seru'st thou vnder?

Will.
Vnder Captaine Gower, my Liege.

Flu.
Gower is a good Captaine, and is good knowledge
and literatured in the Warres.

King.
Call him hither to me, Souldier.

Will.
I will my Liege.
Exit.

King.
Here Fluellen, weare thou this fauour for
me, and sticke it in thy Cappe: when Alanson and my selfe
were downe together, I pluckt this Gloue from his
Helme: If any man challenge this, hee is a friend to Alanson,
and an enemy to our Person; if thou encounter any such,
apprehend him, and thou do'st me loue.

Flu.
Your Grace doo's me as great Honors as can
be desir'd in the hearts of his Subiects: I would faine see
the man, that ha's but two legges, that shall find himselfe
agreefd at this Gloue; that is all: but I would faine see it
once, and please God of his grace that I might see.

King.
Know'st thou Gower?

Flu.
He is my deare friend, and please you.

King.
Pray thee goe seeke him, and bring him to
my Tent.

Flu.
I will fetch him.
Exit.

King.
My Lord of Warwick, and my Brother Gloster,
Follow Fluellen closely at the heeles.
The Gloue which I haue giuen him for a fauour,
May haply purchase him a box a'th'eare.
It is the Souldiers: I by bargaine should
Weare it my selfe. Follow good Cousin Warwick:
If that the Souldier strike him, as I iudge
By his blunt bearing, he will keepe his word;
Some sodaine mischiefe may arise of it:
For I doe know Fluellen valiant,
And toucht with Choler, hot as Gunpowder,
And quickly will returne an iniurie.
Follow, and see there be no harme betweene them.
Goe you with me, Vnckle of Exeter.
Exeunt.
Original text
Act IV, Scene VIII
Enter Gower and Williams.

Will.
I warrant it is to Knight you, Captaine.
Enter Fluellen.

Flu.
Gods will, and his pleasure, Captaine, I
beseech you now, come apace to the King: there is
more good toward you peraduenture, then is in your
knowledge to dreame of.

Will.
Sir, know you this Gloue?

Flu.
Know the Gloue? I know the Gloue is a Gloue.

Will.
I know this, and thus I challenge it.
Strikes him.

Flu.
'Sblud, an arrant Traytor as anyes in the
Vniuersall World, or in France, or in England.

Gower.
How now Sir? you Villaine.

Will.
Doe you thinke Ile be forsworne?

Flu.
Stand away Captaine Gower, I will giue Treason
his payment into plowes, I warrant you.

Will.
I am no Traytor.

Flu.
That's a Lye in thy Throat. I charge you in his
Maiesties Name apprehend him, he's a friend of the
Duke Alansons.
Enter Warwick and Gloucester.

Warw.
How now, how now, what's the matter?

Flu.
My Lord of Warwick, heere is, praysed be
God for it, a most contagious Treason come to light,
looke you, as you shall desire in a Summers day. Heere is
his Maiestie.
Enter King and Exeter.

King.
How now, what's the matter?

Flu.
My Liege, heere is a Villaine, and a Traytor, that
looke your Grace, ha's strooke the Gloue which your Maiestie
is take out of the Helmet of Alanson.

Will.
My Liege, this was my Gloue, here is the fellow
of it: and he that I gaue it to in change, promis'd to weare
it in his Cappe: I promis'd to strike him, if he did: I met
this man with my Gloue in his Cappe, and I haue been as
good as my word.

Flu.
Your Maiestie heare now, sauing your Maiesties
Manhood, what an arrant rascally, beggerly, lowsie Knaue
it is: I hope your Maiestie is peare me testimonie and
witnesse, and will auouchment, that this is the Gloue of
Alanson, that your Maiestie is giue me, in your Conscience
now.

King.
Giue me thy Gloue Souldier; / Looke, heere is the
fellow of it:
'Twas I indeed thou promised'st to strike,
And thou hast giuen me most bitter termes.

Flu.
And please your Maiestie, let his Neck answere for
it, if there is any Marshall Law in the World.

King.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?

Will.
All offences, my Lord, come from the heart:
neuer came any from mine, that might offend your
Maiestie.

King.
It was our selfe thou didst abuse.

Will.
Your Maiestie came not like your selfe: you
appear'd to me but as a common man; witnesse the
Night, your Garments, your Lowlinesse: and what your
Highnesse suffer'd vnder that shape, I beseech you take
it for your owne fault, and not mine: for had you beene
as I tooke you for, I made no offence; therefore I
beseech your Highnesse pardon me.

King.
Here Vnckle Exeter, fill this Gloue with Crownes,
And giue it to this fellow. Keepe it fellow,
And weare it for an Honor in thy Cappe,
Till I doe challenge it. Giue him the Crownes:
And Captaine, you must needs be friends with him.

Flu.
By this Day and this Light, the fellow ha's
mettell enough in his belly: Hold, there is twelue-pence
for you, and I pray you to serue God, and keepe you out
of prawles and prabbles, and quarrels and dissentions,
and I warrant you it is the better for you.

Will.
I will none of your Money.

Flu.
It is with a good will: I can tell you it will serue
you to mend your shooes: come, wherefore should you
be so pashfull, your shooes is not so good: 'tis a good
silling I warrant you, or I will change it.
Enter Herauld.

King.
Now Herauld, are the dead numbred?

Herald.
Heere is the number of the slaught'red French.

King.
What Prisoners of good sort are taken, Vnckle?

Exe.
Charles Duke of Orleance, Nephew to the King,
Iohn Duke of Burbon, and Lord Bouchiquald:
Of other Lords and Barons, Knights and Squires,
Full fifteene hundred, besides common men.

King.
This Note doth tell me of ten thousand French
That in the field lye slaine: of Princes in this number,
And Nobles bearing Banners, there lye dead
One hundred twentie six: added to these,
Of Knights, Esquires, and gallant Gentlemen,
Eight thousand and foure hundred: of the which,
Fiue hundred were but yesterday dubb'd Knights.
So that in these ten thousand they haue lost,
There are but sixteene hundred Mercenaries:
The rest are Princes, Barons, Lords, Knights, Squires,
And Gentlemen of bloud and qualitie.
The Names of those their Nobles that lye dead:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France,
Iaques of Chatilion, Admirall of France,
The Master of the Crosse-bowes, Lord Rambures,
Great Master of France, the braue Sir Guichard Dolphin,
Iohn Duke of Alanson, Anthonie Duke ofBrabant,
The Brother to the Duke of Burgundie,
And Edward Duke of Barr: of lustie Earles,
Grandpree and Roussie, Fauconbridge and Foyes,
Beaumont and Marle, Vandemont and Lestrale.
Here was a Royall fellowship of death.
Where is the number of our English dead?
Edward the Duke of Yorke, the Earle of Suffolke,
Sir Richard Ketly, Dauy Gam Esquire;
None else of name: and of all other men,
But fiue and twentie. / O God, thy Arme was heere:
And not to vs, but to thy Arme alone,
Ascribe we all: when, without stratagem,
But in plaine shock, and euen play of Battaile,
Was euer knowne so great and little losse?
On one part and on th'other, take it God,
For it is none but thine.

Exet.
'Tis wonderfull.

King.
Come, goe we in procession to the Village:
And be it death proclaymed through our Hoast,
To boast of this, or take that prayse from God,
Which is his onely.

Flu.
Is it not lawfull and please your Maiestie, to tell
how many is kill'd?

King.
Yes Captaine: but with this acknowledgement,
That God fought for vs.

Flu.
Yes, my conscience, he did vs great good.

King.
Doe we all holy Rights:
Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum,
The dead with charitie enclos'd in Clay:
And then to Callice, and to England then,
Where ne're from France arriu'd more happy men.
Exeunt.
Modern text
Flourish. Enter Chorus

CHORUS
Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fixed sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch.
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umbered face.
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs,
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice,
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night
Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger; and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold
The royal Captain of this ruined band
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry, ‘ Praise and glory on his head!’
For forth he goes and visits all his host,
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,
And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note
How dread an army hath enrounded him,
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night,
But freshly looks, and overbears attaint
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;
That every wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
A largess universal, like the sun,
His liberal eye doth give to every one,
Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all
Behold, as may unworthiness define,
A little touch of Harry in the night.
And so our scene must to the battle fly;
Where – O for pity! – we shall much disgrace,
With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous,
The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
Minding true things by what their mockeries be.
Exit
Modern text
Act IV, Scene I
Enter the King, Bedford, and Gloucester

KING HENRY
Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger:
The greater therefore should our courage be.
Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out;
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry.
Besides, they are our outward consciences,
And preachers to us all, admonishing
That we should dress us fairly for our end.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.
Enter Erpingham
Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham!
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.

ERPINGHAM
Not so, my liege – this lodging likes me better,
Since I may say, ‘ Now lie I like a king.’

KING HENRY
'Tis good for men to love their present pains
Upon example: so the spirit is eased;
And when the mind is quickened, out of doubt
The organs, though defunct and dead before,
Break up their drowsy grave and newly move
With casted slough and fresh legerity.
Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp;
Do my good morrow to them, and anon
Desire them all to my pavilion.

GLOUCESTER
We shall, my liege.

ERPINGHAM
Shall I attend your grace?

KING HENRY
No, my good knight.
Go with my brothers to my lords of England.
I and my bosom must debate awhile,
And then I would no other company.

ERPINGHAM
The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
Exeunt all but the King

KING HENRY
God-a-mercy, old heart, thou speak'st cheerfully.
Enter Pistol

PISTOL
Qui va là?

KING HENRY
A friend.

PISTOL
Discuss unto me, art thou officer,
Or art thou base, common, and popular?

KING HENRY
I am a gentleman of a company.

PISTOL
Trail'st thou the puissant pike?

KING HENRY
Even so. What are you?

PISTOL
As good a gentleman as the Emperor.

KING HENRY
Then you are a better than the King.

PISTOL
The King's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame;
Of parents good, of fist most valiant.
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heartstring
I love the lovely bully. What is thy name?

KING HENRY
Harry le Roy.

PISTOL
Le Roy? A Cornish name. Art thou of Cornish crew?

KING HENRY
No, I am a Welshman.

PISTOL
Know'st thou Fluellen?

KING HENRY
Yes.

PISTOL
Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate
Upon Saint Davy's day.

KING HENRY
Do not you wear your dagger in your cap
that day, lest he knock that about yours.

PISTOL
Art thou his friend?

KING HENRY
And his kinsman too.

PISTOL
The figo for thee then!

KING HENRY
I thank you. God be with you!

PISTOL
My name is Pistol called.
Exit

KING HENRY
It sorts well with your fierceness.
Enter Fluellen and Gower

GOWER
Captain Fluellen!

FLUELLEN
So! In the name of Jesu Christ, speak fewer.
It is the greatest admiration in the universal world,
when the true and aunchient prerogatifes and laws of
the wars is not kept. If you would take the pains but to
examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find,
I warrant you, that there is no tiddle-taddle or pibble-pabble
in Pompey's camp. I warrant you, you shall
find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and
the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty
of it, to be otherwise.

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

FLUELLEN
If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a
prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should
also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating
coxcomb? In your own conscience now?

GOWER
I will speak lower.

FLUELLEN
I pray you and beseech you that you will.
Exeunt Gower and Fluellen

KING HENRY
Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
Enter three soldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court,
and Michael Williams

COURT
Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which
breaks yonder?

BATES
I think it be; but we have no great cause to desire
the approach of day.

WILLIAMS
We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I
think we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?

KING HENRY
A friend.

WILLIAMS
Under what captain serve you?

KING HENRY
Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.

WILLIAMS
A good old commander, and a most kind
gentleman. I pray you, what thinks he of our estate?

KING HENRY
Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that
look to be washed off the next tide.

BATES
He hath not told his thought to the King?

KING HENRY
No, nor it is not meet he should. For
though I speak it to you, I think the King is but a man,
as I am: the violet smells to him as it doth to me; the
element shows to him as it doth to me; all his senses have
but human conditions. His ceremonies laid by, in his
nakedness he appears but a man; and though his
affections are higher mounted than ours, yet when they
stoop, they stoop with the like wing. Therefore, when
he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt,
be of the same relish as ours are: yet, in reason, no
man should possess him with any appearance of fear,
lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army.

BATES
He may show what outward courage he will, but I
believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in
Thames up to the neck; and so I would he were, and
I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.

KING HENRY
By my troth, I will speak my conscience of
the King: I think he would not wish himself anywhere
but where he is.

BATES
Then I would he were here alone; so should he be
sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives
saved.

KING HENRY
I dare say you love him not so ill to wish
him here alone, howsoever you speak this to feel other
men's minds. Methinks I could not die anywhere so
contented as in the King's company, his cause being
just and his quarrel honourable.

WILLIAMS
That's more than we know.

BATES
Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know
enough if we know we are the King's subjects. If his
cause be wrong, our obedience to the King wipes the
crime of it out of us.

WILLIAMS
But if the cause be not good, the King himself
hath a heavy reckoning to make, when all those legs,
and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join
together at the latter day, and cry all, ‘ We died at such
a place;’ some swearing, some crying for a surgeon,
some upon their wives left poor behind them, some upon
the debts they owe, some upon their children rawly left.
I am afeard there are few die well that die in a battle,
for how can they charitably dispose of anything when
blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die
well, it will be a black matter for the King that led them
to it, who to disobey were against all proportion of
subjection.

KING HENRY
So, if a son that is by his father sent about
merchandise do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the
imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be
imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant,
under his master's command, transporting a sum of
money, be assailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled
iniquities, you may call the business of the master
the author of the servant's damnation. But this is not so.
The King is not bound to answer the particular endings
of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of
his servant; for they purpose not their death when they
purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be
his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement
of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers.
Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of
premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling
virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making
the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the
gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now,
if these men have defeated the law, and outrun native
punishment, though they can outstrip men they have no
wings to fly from God. War is His beadle, war is His
vengeance; so that here men are punished for before-breach
of the King's laws, in now the King's quarrel.
Where they feared the death, they have borne life away;
and where they would be safe, they perish. Then if
they die unprovided, no more is the King guilty of their
damnation than he was before guilty of those impieties
for the which they are now visited. Every subject's duty
is the King's, but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore
should every soldier in the wars do as every sick
man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience;
and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying,
the time was blessedly lost wherein such preparation
was gained; and in him that escapes, it were not sin to
think that, making God so free an offer, He let him
outlive that day to see His greatness, and to teach others
how they should prepare.

WILLIAMS
'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill
upon his own head – the King is not to answer it.

BATES
But I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I
determine to fight lustily for him.

KING HENRY
I myself heard the King say he would not be
ransomed.

WILLIAMS
Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully:
but when our throats are cut he may be ransomed, and
we ne'er the wiser.

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

WILLIAMS
You pay him then! That's a perilous shot out
of an elder-gun, that a poor and a private displeasure
can do against a monarch! You may as well go about to
turn the sun to ice, with fanning in his face with a
peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after! Come,
'tis a foolish saying.

KING HENRY
Your reproof is something too round. I
should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.

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

KING HENRY
I embrace it.

WILLIAMS
How shall I know thee again?

KING HENRY
Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear
it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou dar'st acknowledge it,
I will make it my quarrel.

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

KING HENRY
There.

WILLIAMS
This will I also wear in my cap. If ever thou
come to me and say, after tomorrow, ‘ This is my glove,’
by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear.

KING HENRY
If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.

WILLIAMS
Thou dar'st as well be hanged.

KING HENRY
Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the
King's company.

WILLIAMS
Keep thy word. Fare thee well.

BATES
Be friends, you English fools, be friends! We have
French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.

KING HENRY
Indeed, the French may lay twenty French
crowns to one they will beat us, for they bear them on
their shoulders; but it is no English treason to cut
French crowns, and tomorrow the King himself will be
a clipper.
Exeunt Soldiers
Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives,
Our children, and our sins, lay on the King!
We must bear all. O hard condition,
Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath
Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel
But his own wringing! What infinite heart's ease
Must kings neglect that private men enjoy!
And what have kings that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? What are thy comings-in?
O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is thy soul of adoration?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy being feared,
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
But poisoned flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
Thinks thou the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose.
I am a king that find thee, and I know
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farced title running fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world –
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,
Who, with a body filled, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave:
And but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
The slave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it, but in gross brain little wots
What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
Enter Erpingham

ERPINGHAM
My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
Seek through your camp to find you.

KING HENRY
Good old knight,
Collect them all together at my tent.
I'll be before thee.

ERPINGHAM
I shall do't, my lord.
Exit

KING HENRY
O God of battles, steel my soldiers' hearts;
Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if th' opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord,
O not today, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown!
I Richard's body have interred new,
And on it have bestowed more contrite tears
Than from it issued forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their withered hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood: and I have built
Two chantries where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do,
Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.
Enter Gloucester

GLOUCESTER
My liege!

KING HENRY
My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay,
I know thy errand, I will go with thee.
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act IV, Scene II
Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and others

ORLEANS
The sun doth gild our armour: up, my lords!

DAUPHIN
Montez à cheval! My horse! Varlet! Lacquais!
Ha!

ORLEANS
O brave spirit!

DAUPHIN
Via! Les eaux et la terre!

ORLEANS
Rien puis? L'air et le feu?

DAUPHIN
Ciel, cousin Orleans!
Enter the Constable
Now, my Lord Constable!

CONSTABLE
Hark how our steeds for present service neigh!

DAUPHIN
Mount them and make incision in their hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes
And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!

RAMBURES
What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears?
Enter a Messenger

MESSENGER
The English are embattled, you French peers.

CONSTABLE
To horse, you gallant Princes, straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtle-axe a stain
That our French gallants shall today draw out,
And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle, were enow
To purge this field of such a hilding foe,
Though we upon this mountain's basis by
Took stand for idle speculation:
But that our honours must not. What's to say?
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonance and the note to mount;
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall couch down in fear and yield.
Enter Grandpré

GRANDPRÉ
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favouredly become the morning field.
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmaled bit
Lies foul with chawed grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

CONSTABLE
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

DAUPHIN
Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?

CONSTABLE
I stay but for my guidon. To the field!
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act IV, Scene III
Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham with
all his host; Salisbury and Westmorland

GLOUCESTER
Where is the King?

BEDFORD
The King himself is rode to view their battle.

WESTMORLAND
Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand.

EXETER
There's five to one: besides, they all are fresh.

SALISBURY
God's arm strike with us! 'Tis a fearful odds.
God bye you, Princes all: I'll to my charge.
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
Then joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!

BEDFORD
Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!

EXETER
Farewell, kind lord: fight valiantly today –
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.
Exit Salisbury

BEDFORD
He is as full of valour as of kindness,
Princely in both.
Enter the King

WESTMORLAND
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work today!

KING HENRY
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin.
If we are marked to die, we are enow
To do our country loss: and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart: his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse.
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day, and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say, ‘ Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.’
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,
And say, ‘ These wounds I had on Crispin's day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered –
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
Enter Salisbury

SALISBURY
My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.
The French are bravely in their battles set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.

KING HENRY
All things are ready, if our minds be so.

WESTMORLAND
Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

KING HENRY
Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?

WESTMORLAND
God's will, my liege, would you and I alone,
Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

KING HENRY
Why, now thou hast unwished five thousand men,
Which likes me better than to wish us one.
You know your places. God be with you all!
Tucket. Enter Montjoy

MONTJOY
Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured overthrow:
For certainly thou art so near the gulf
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind
Thy followers of repentance, that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies
Must lie and fester.

KING HENRY
Who hath sent thee now?

MONTJOY
The Constable of France.

KING HENRY
I pray thee bear my former answer back:
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones.
Good God, why should they mock poor fellows thus?
The man that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him.
A many of our bodies shall no doubt
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work.
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
They shall be famed; for there the sun shall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven,
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then abounding valour in our English,
That being dead, like to the bullet's crasing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.
Let me speak proudly: tell the Constable
We are but warriors for the working-day;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirched
With rainy marching in the painful field.
There's not a piece of feather in our host –
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly –
And time hath worn us into slovenry.
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads,
And turn them out of service. If they do this –
As, if God please, they shall – my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle Herald.
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints,
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

MONTJOY
I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well:
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
Exit

KING HENRY
I fear thou wilt once more come again for a ransom.
Enter York

YORK
My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.

KING HENRY
Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away:
And how Thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!
Exeunt
Modern text
Act IV, Scene IV
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier, Boy

PISTOL
Yield, cur!

FRENCH SOLDIER
Je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de
bonne qualité.

PISTOL
Calitie!Calen o custure me!
Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss.

FRENCH SOLDIER
O Seigneur Dieu!

PISTOL
O Signieur Dew should be a gentleman:
Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark.
O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.

FRENCH SOLDIER
O, prenez miséricorde! Ayez pitié de
moy!

PISTOL
Moy shall not serve: I will have forty moys,
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
In drops of crimson blood!

FRENCH SOLDIER
Est-il impossible d'échapper la force de
ton bras?

PISTOL
Brass, cur?
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,
Offer'st me brass?

FRENCH SOLDIER
O pardonne-moy!

PISTOL
Say'st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys?
Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French
What is his name.

BOY
Écoutez: comment êtes-vous appelé?

FRENCH SOLDIER
Monsieur le Fer.

BOY
He says his name is Master Fer.

PISTOL
Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret
him. Discuss the same in French unto him.

BOY
I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.

PISTOL
Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.

FRENCH SOLDIER
Que dit-il, monsieur?

BOY
Il me commande à vous dire que vous faites vous prêt
car ce soldat içi est disposé tout à cette heure de couper
votre gorge.

PISTOL
Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy,
Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

FRENCH SOLDIER
O, je vous supplie, pour l'amour de Dieu,
me pardonner! Je suis le gentilhomme de bonne maison.
Gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents écus.

PISTOL
What are his words?

BOY
He prays you to save his life. He is a gentleman of a
good house, and for his ransom he will give you two
hundred crowns.

PISTOL
Tell him my fury shall abate, and I
The crowns will take.

FRENCH SOLDIER
Petit monsieur, que dit-il?

BOY
Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun
prisonnier; néanmoins, pour les écus que vous l'avez
promis, il est content à vous donner la liberté, le
franchisement.

FRENCH SOLDIER
Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille
remercîments; et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombé
entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave,
vaillant, et très distingué seigneur d'Angleterre.

PISTOL
Expound unto me, boy.

BOY
He gives you upon his knees a thousand thanks; and
he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the
hands of one – as he thinks – the most brave, valorous,
and thrice-worthy signieur of England.

PISTOL
As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.
Follow me!
Exit

BOY
Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. (Exit French Soldier)
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a
heart; but the saying is true, ‘ The empty vessel makes
the greatest sound.’ Bardolph and Nym had ten times
more valour than this roaring devil i'th' old play, that
everyone may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and
they are both hanged – and so would this be, if he durst
steal anything adventurously. I must stay with the
lackeys, with the luggage of our camp. The French
might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it, for there
is none to guard it but boys.
Exit
Modern text
Act IV, Scene V
Enter the Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin,
and Rambures

CONSTABLE
O diable!

ORLEANS
O Seigneur! Le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!

DAUPHIN
Mort Dieu! Ma vie! All is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes. O méchante fortune!
A short alarum
Do not run away!

CONSTABLE
Why, all our ranks are broke.

DAUPHIN
O perdurable shame! Let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we played at dice for?

ORLEANS
Is this the King we sent to for his ransom?

BOURBON
Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let's die in honour! Once more back again!
And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand,
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.

CONSTABLE
Disorder that hath spoiled us, friend us now!
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

ORLEANS
We are enow yet living in the field
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.

BOURBON
The devil take order now! I'll to the throng.
Let life be short, else shame will be too long.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act IV, Scene VI
Alarum. Enter the King and his train, Exeter and
others, with prisoners

KING HENRY
Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen;
But all's not done – yet keep the French the field.

EXETER
The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.

KING HENRY
Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting.
From helmet to the spur all blood he was.

EXETER
In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped,
And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face.
And cries aloud, ‘ Tarry, my cousin Suffolk!
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven.
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry!’
Upon these words I came and cheered him up;
He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,
And, with a feeble grip, says, ‘ Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign.’
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kissed his lips,
And so espoused to death, with blood he sealed
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
Those waters from me which I would have stopped;
But I had not so much of man in me,
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears.

KING HENRY
I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.
Alarum
But hark! what new alarum is this same?
The French have reinforced their scattered men.
Then every soldier kill his prisoners!
Give the word through.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act IV, Scene VII
Enter Fluellen and Gower

FLUELLEN
Kill the poys and the luggage? 'Tis expressly
against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery,
mark you now, as can be offert – in your conscience now,
is it not?

GOWER
'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive, and the
cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha' done this
slaughter. Besides, they have burnt and carried away
all that was in the King's tent, wherefore the King most
worthily hath caused every soldier to cut his prisoner's
throat. O, 'tis a gallant King!

FLUELLEN
Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain
Gower. What call you the town's name where Alexander
the Pig was born!

GOWER
Alexander the Great.

FLUELLEN
Why, I pray you, is not ‘ pig ’ great? The pig,
or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous,
are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little
variations.

GOWER
I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon;
his father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.

FLUELLEN
I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is
porn. I tell you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the
'orld, I warrant you sall find, in the comparisons between
Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you,
is both alike. There is a river in Macedon, and there is
also moreover a river at Monmouth – it is called Wye
at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the
name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my
fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both.
If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's
life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in
all things. Alexander, God knows and you know, in his
rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers,
and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations,
and also being a little intoxicates in his prains,
did in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best
friend Cleitus.

GOWER
Our King is not like him in that: he never killed
any of his friends.

FLUELLEN
It is not well done, mark you now, to take the
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I
speak but in the figures and comparisons of it. As
Alexander killed his friend Cleitus, being in his ales
and his cups, so also Harry Monmouth, being in his
right wits and his good judgements, turned away the
fat knight with the great-belly doublet – he was full of
jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks: I have forgot
his name.

GOWER
Sir John Falstaff.

FLUELLEN
That is he. I'll tell you, there is good men porn
at Monmouth.

GOWER
Here comes his majesty.
Alarum. Enter King Henry and Bourbon, with
prisoners; also Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter, and
others. Flourish

KING HENRY
I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, Herald;
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill.
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field: they do offend our sight.
If they'll do neither, we will come to them,
And make them skirr away as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings.
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have,
And not a man of them that we shall take
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.
Enter Montjoy

EXETER
Here comes the Herald of the French, my liege.

GLOUCESTER
His eyes are humbler than they used to be.

KING HENRY
How now, what means this, Herald? Know'st thou not
That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ransom?

MONTJOY
No, great King;
I come to thee for charitable licence,
That we may wander o'er this bloody field
To book our dead, and then to bury them,
To sort our nobles from our common men.
For many of our princes – woe the while! –
Lie drowned and soaked in mercenary blood;
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes, and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock-deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies!

KING HENRY
I tell thee truly, Herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o'er the field.

MONTJOY
The day is yours.

KING HENRY
Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
What is this castle called that stands hard by?

MONTJOY
They call it Agincourt.

KING HENRY
Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

FLUELLEN
Your grandfather of famous memory, an't
please your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the
Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles,
fought a most prave pattle here in France.

KING HENRY
They did, Fluellen.

FLUELLEN
Your majesty says very true. If your majesties
is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in a
garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their
Monmouth caps, which, your majesty know to this hour
is an honourable badge of the service; and I do believe
your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint
Tavy's day.

KING HENRY
I wear it for a memorable honour;
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.

FLUELLEN
All the water in Wye cannot wash your
majesty's Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you
that. God pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases
His grace, and His majesty too!

KING HENRY
Thanks, good my countryman.

FLUELLEN
By Jeshu, I am your majesty's countryman, I
care not who know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld.
I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be
God, so long as your majesty is an honest man.

KING HENRY
God keep me so!
Enter Williams
Our heralds go with him.
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
On both our parts.
Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy
Call yonder fellow hither.

EXETER
Soldier, you must come to the King.

KING HENRY
Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy
cap?

WILLIAMS
An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of one
that I should fight withal, if he be alive.

KING HENRY
An Englishman?

WILLIAMS
An't please your majesty, a rascal that
swaggered with me last night: who, if 'a live and ever
dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a
box o'th' ear: or if I can see my glove in his cap, which he
swore as he was a soldier he would wear if alive, I will
strike it out soundly.

KING HENRY
What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it
fit this soldier keep his oath?

FLUELLEN
He is a craven and a villain else, an't please
your majesty, in my conscience.

KING HENRY
It may be his enemy is a gentleman of
great sort, quite from the answer of his degree.

FLUELLEN
Though he be as good a gentleman as the
devil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary,
look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath. If
he be perjured, see you now, his reputation is as arrant
a villain and a Jack-sauce as ever his black shoe trod
upon God's ground and His earth, in my conscience, la!

KING HENRY
Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou
meet'st the fellow.

WILLIAMS
So I will, my liege, as I live.

KING HENRY
Who serv'st thou under?

WILLIAMS
Under Captain Gower, my liege.

FLUELLEN
Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge
and literatured in the wars.

KING HENRY
Call him hither to me, soldier.

WILLIAMS
I will, my liege.
Exit

KING HENRY
Here, Fluellen, wear thou this favour for
me, and stick it in thy cap. When Alençon and myself were
were down together, I plucked this glove from his
helm. If any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alençon,
and an enemy to our person: if thou encounter any such,
apprehend him, an thou dost me love.

FLUELLEN
Your grace doo's me as great honours as can
be desired in the hearts of his subjects. I would fain see
the man that has but two legs that shall find himself
aggriefed at this glove, that is all: but I would fain see it
once, an please God of His grace that I might see.

KING HENRY
Know'st thou Gower?

FLUELLEN
He is my dear friend, an please you.

KING HENRY
Pray thee go seek him, and bring him to
my tent.

FLUELLEN
I will fetch him.
Exit

KING HENRY
My Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester,
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels.
The glove which I have given him for a favour
May haply purchase him a box o'th' ear.
It is the soldier's: I by bargain should
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick.
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,
Some sudden mischief may arise of it;
For I do know Fluellen valiant,
And, touched with choler, hot as gunpowder,
And quickly will return an injury.
Follow, and see there be no harm between them.
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter.
Exeunt
Modern text
Act IV, Scene VIII
Enter Gower and Williams

WILLIAMS
I warrant it is to knight you, Captain.
Enter Fluellen

FLUELLEN
God's will and His pleasure, Captain, I
beseech you now, come apace to the King. There is
more good toward you, peradventure, than is in your
knowledge to dream of.

WILLIAMS
Sir, know you this glove?

FLUELLEN
Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove.

WILLIAMS
I know this; and thus I challenge it.
He strikes him

FLUELLEN
'Sblood! an arrant traitor as any's in the
universal world, or in France, or in England!

GOWER
How now, sir? You villain!

WILLIAMS
Do you think I'll be forsworn?

FLUELLEN
Stand away, Captain Gower: I will give treason
his payment into plows, I warrant you.

WILLIAMS
I am no traitor.

FLUELLEN
That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his
majesty's name, apprehend him: he's a friend of the
Duke Alençon's.
Enter Warwick and Gloucester

WARWICK
How now, how now, what's the matter?

FLUELLEN
My Lord of Warwick, here is – praised be
God for it! – a most contagious treason come to light,
look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is
his majesty.
Enter the King and Exeter

KING HENRY
How now, what's the matter?

FLUELLEN
My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that,
look your grace, has struck the glove which your majesty
is take out of the helmet of Alençon.

WILLIAMS
My liege, this was my glove, here is the fellow
of it; and he that I gave it to in change promised to wear
it in his cap. I promised to strike him if he did. I met
this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as
good as my word.

FLUELLEN
Your majesty hear now, saving your majesty's
manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave
it is. I hope your majesty is pear me testimony and
witness, and will avouchment, that this is the glove of
Alençon that your majesty is give me, in your conscience,
now.

KING HENRY
Give me thy glove, soldier. Look, here is the
fellow of it.
'Twas I indeed thou promised'st to strike,
And thou hast given me most bitter terms.

FLUELLEN
An please your majesty, let his neck answer for
it, if there is any martial law in the world.

KING HENRY
How canst thou make me satisfaction?

WILLIAMS
All offences, my lord, come from the heart:
never came any from mine that might offend your
majesty.

KING HENRY
It was ourself thou didst abuse.

WILLIAMS
Your majesty came not like yourself: you
appeared to me but as a common man – witness the
night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your
highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you take
it for your own fault, and not mine; for had you been
as I took you for, I made no offence: therefore, I
beseech your highness, pardon me.

KING HENRY
Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow,
And wear it for an honour in thy cap
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns;
And, Captain, you must needs be friends with him.

FLUELLEN
By this day and this light, the fellow has
mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there is twelve pence
for you, and I pray you to serve God, and keep you out
of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions,
and I warrant you it is the better for you.

WILLIAMS
I will none of your money.

FLUELLEN
It is with a good will: I can tell you it will serve
you to mend your shoes. Come, wherefore should you
be so pashful? – your shoes is not so good; 'tis a good
silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.
Enter an English Herald

KING HENRY
Now, Herald, are the dead numbered?

HERALD
Here is the number of the slaughtered French.
He gives him a paper

KING HENRY
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?

EXETER
Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt;
Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.

KING HENRY
This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
That in the field lie slain. Of princes, in this number,
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead
One hundred twenty-six: added to these,
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which,
Five hundred were but yesterday dubbed knights.
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France,
Jaques of Chatillon, Admiral of France,
The Master of the Cross-bows, Lord Rambures,
Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin,
John Duke of Alençon, Antony Duke of Brabant,
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy,
And Edward Duke of Bar: of lusty earls,
Grandpré and Roussi, Faulconbridge and Foix,
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrake.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!
Where is the number of our English dead?
The Herald gives him another paper
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Kikely, Davy Gam, esquire;
None else of name; and of all other men
But five-and-twenty. O God, Thy arm was here!
And not to us, but to Thy arm alone,
Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock and even play of battle,
Was ever known so great and little loss
On one part and on th' other? Take it, God,
For it is none but Thine!

EXETER
'Tis wonderful!

KING HENRY
Come, go we in procession to the village:
And be it death proclaimed through our host
To boast of this, or take the praise from God
Which is His only.

FLUELLEN
Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell
how many is killed?

KING HENRY
Yes, Captain, but with this acknowledgement,
That God fought for us.

FLUELLEN
Yes, my conscience, He did us great good.

KING HENRY
Do we all holy rites:
Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum,
The dead with charity enclosed in clay;
And then to Calais, and to England then,
Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men.
Exeunt
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