Mess. Embassadors from Harry King of England,Doe craue admittance to your Maiestie
King. Weele giue them present audience.Goe, and bring them.You see this Chase is hotly followed, friends
Dolphin. Turne head, and stop pursuit: for coward DogsMost spend their mouths, whe[n] what they seem to threatenRuns farre before them. Good my SoueraigneTake vp the English short, and let them knowOf what a Monarchie you are the Head:Selfe-loue, my Liege, is not so vile a sinne,As selfe-neglecting.Enter Exeter.
King. From our Brother of England?Exe. From him, and thus he greets your Maiestie:He wills you in the Name of God Almightie,That you deuest your selfe, and lay apartThe borrowed Glories, that by gift of Heauen,By Law of Nature, and of Nations, longsTo him and to his Heires, namely, the Crowne,And all wide-stretched Honors, that pertaineBy Custome, and the Ordinance of Times,Vnto the Crowne of France: that you may know'Tis no sinister, nor no awkward Clayme,Pickt from the worme-holes of long-vanisht dayes,Nor from the dust of old Obliuion rakt,He sends you this most memorable Lyne,In euery Branch truly demonstratiue;Willing you ouer-looke this Pedigree:And when you find him euenly deriu'dFrom his most fam'd, of famous Ancestors,Edward the third; he bids you then resigneYour Crowne and Kingdome, indirectly heldFrom him, the Natiue and true Challenger
King. Or else what followes?Exe. Bloody constraint: for if you hide the CrowneEuen in your hearts, there will he rake for it.Therefore in fierce Tempest is he comming,In Thunder and in Earth-quake, like a Ioue:That if requiring faile, he will compell.And bids you, in the Bowels of the Lord,Deliuer vp the Crowne, and to take mercieOn the poore Soules, for whom this hungry WarreOpens his vastie Iawes: and on your headTurning the Widdowes Teares, the Orphans Cryes,The dead-mens Blood, the priuy Maidens Groanes,For Husbands, Fathers, and betrothed Louers,That shall be swallowed in this Controuersie.This is his Clayme, his Threatning, and my Message:Vnlesse the Dolphin be in presence here;To whom expressely I bring greeting to
King. For vs, we will consider of this further:To morrow shall you beare our full intentBack to our Brother of England
Dolph. For the Dolphin,I stand here for him: what to him from England?Exe. Scorne and defiance, sleight regard, contempt,And any thing that may not mis-becomeThe mightie Sender, doth he prize you at.Thus sayes my King: and if your Fathers HighnesseDoe not, in graunt of all demands at large,Sweeten the bitter Mock you sent his Maiestie;Hee'le call you to so hot an Answer of it,That Caues and Wombie Vaultages of FranceShall chide your Trespas, and returne your MockIn second Accent of his Ordinance
Dolph. Say: if my Father render faire returne,It is against my will: for I desireNothing but Oddes with England.To that end, as matching to his Youth and Vanitie,I did present him with the Paris-Balls
Exe. Hee'le make your Paris Louer shake for it,Were it the Mistresse Court of mightie Europe:And be assur'd, you'le find a diff'rence,As we his Subiects haue in wonder found,Betweene the promise of his greener dayes,And these he masters now: now he weighes TimeEuen to the vtmost Graine: that you shall readeIn your owne Losses, if he stay in France
King. To morrow shall you know our mind at full.
Flourish.
Exe. Dispatch vs with all speed, least that our KingCome here himselfe to question our delay;For he is footed in this Land already
King. You shalbe soone dispatcht, with faire conditions.A Night is but small breathe, and little pawse,To answer matters of this consequence.
Exeunt.
Actus Secundus.
Flourish. Enter Chorus.
Thus with imagin'd wing our swift Scene flyes,In motion of no lesse celeritie then that of Thought.Suppose, that you haue seeneThe well-appointed King at Douer Peer,Embarke his Royaltie: and his braue Fleet,With silken Streamers, the young Phebus fayning;Play with your Fancies: and in them behold,Vpon the Hempen Tackle, Ship-boyes climbing;Heare the shrill Whistle, which doth order giueTo sounds confus'd: behold the threaden Sayles,Borne with th' inuisible and creeping Wind,Draw the huge Bottomes through the furrowed Sea,Bresting the loftie Surge. O, doe but thinkeYou stand vpon the Riuage, and beholdA Citie on th' inconstant Billowes dauncing:For so appeares this Fleet Maiesticall,Holding due course to Harflew. Follow, follow:Grapple your minds to sternage of this Nauie,And leaue your England as dead Mid-night, still,Guarded with Grandsires, Babyes, and old Women,Eyther past, or not arriu'd to pyth and puissance:For who is he, whose Chin is but enrichtWith one appearing Hayre, that will not followThese cull'd and choyse-drawne Caualiers to France?Worke, worke your Thoughts, and therein see a Siege:Behold the Ordenance on their Carriages,With fatall mouthes gaping on girded Harflew.Suppose th' Embassador from the French comes back:Tells Harry, That the King doth offer himKatherine his Daughter, and with her to Dowrie,Some petty and vnprofitable Dukedomes.The offer likes not: and the nimble GunnerWith Lynstock now the diuellish Cannon touches,
Alarum, and Chambers goe off.
And downe goes all before them. Still be kind,And eech out our performance with your mind.Enter.
Enter the King, Exeter, Bedford, and Gloucester. Alarum: Scaling Ladders at Harflew.
King. Once more vnto the Breach,Deare friends, once more;Or close the Wall vp with our English dead:In Peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,As modest stillnesse, and humilitie:But when the blast of Warre blowes in our eares,Then imitate the action of the Tyger:Stiffen the sinewes, commune vp the blood,Disguise faire Nature with hard-fauour'd Rage:Then lend the Eye a terrible aspect:Let it pry through the portage of the Head,Like the Brasse Cannon: let the Brow o'rewhelme it,As fearefully, as doth a galled RockeO're-hang and iutty his confounded Base,Swill'd with the wild and wastfull Ocean.Now set the Teeth, and stretch the Nosthrill wide,Hold hard the Breath, and bend vp euery SpiritTo his full height. On, on, you Noblish English,Whose blood is fet from Fathers of Warre-proofe:Fathers, that like so many Alexanders,Haue in these parts from Morne till Euen fought,And sheath'd their Swords, for lack of argument.Dishonour not your Mothers: now attest,That those whom you call'd Fathers, did beget you.Be Coppy now to men of grosser blood,And teach them how to Warre. And you good Yeomen,Whose Lyms were made in England; shew vs hereThe mettell of your Pasture: let vs sweare,That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not:For there is none of you so meane and base,That hath not Noble luster in your eyes.I see you stand like Grey-hounds in the slips,Straying vpon the Start. The Game's afoot:Follow your Spirit; and vpon this Charge,Cry, God for Harry, England, and S[aint]. George.
Alarum, and Chambers goe off.
Enter Nim, Bardolph, Pistoll, and Boy.
Bard. On, on, on, on, on, to the breach, to the breach
Nim. 'Pray thee Corporall stay, the Knocks are too hot: and for mine owne part, I haue not a Case of Liues: the humor of it is too hot, that is the very plaine-Song of it
Pist. The plaine-Song is most iust: for humors doe abound: Knocks goe and come: Gods Vassals drop and dye: and Sword and Shield, in bloody Field, doth winne immortall fame
Boy. Would I were in a Ale-house in London, I would giue all my fame for a Pot of Ale, and safetie
Pist. And I: If wishes would preuayle with me, my purpose should not fayle with me; but thither would I high
Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as Bird doth sing onbough.Enter Fluellen.
Flu. Vp to the breach, you Dogges; auaunt youCullions
Pist. Be mercifull great Duke to men of Mould: abate thy Rage, abate thy manly Rage; abate thy Rage, great Duke. Good Bawcock bate thy Rage: vse lenitie sweet Chuck
Nim. These be good humors: your Honor wins badhumors.Enter.
Boy. As young as I am, I haue obseru'd these three Swashers: I am Boy to them all three, but all they three, though they would serue me, could not be Man to me; for indeed three such Antiques doe not amount to a man: for Bardolph, hee is white-liuer'd, and red-fac'd; by the meanes whereof, a faces it out, but fights not: for Pistoll, hee hath a killing Tongue, and a quiet Sword; by the meanes whereof, a breakes Words, and keepes whole Weapons: for Nim, hee hath heard, that men of few Words are the best men, and therefore hee scornes to say his Prayers, lest a should be thought a Coward: but his few bad Words are matcht with as few good Deeds; for a neuer broke any mans Head but his owne, and that was against a Post, when he was drunke. They will steale any thing, and call it Purchase. Bardolph stole a Lute-case, bore it twelue Leagues, and sold it for three halfepence. Nim and Bardolph are sworne Brothers in filching: and in Callice they stole a fire-shouell. I knew by that peece of Seruice, the men would carry Coales. They would haue me as familiar with mens Pockets, as their Gloues or their Hand-kerchers: which makes much against my Manhood, if I should take from anothers Pocket, to put into mine; for it is plaine pocketting vp of Wrongs. I must leaue them, and seeke some better Seruice: their Villany goes against my weake stomacke, and therefore I must cast it vp. Enter.
Enter Gower.
Gower. Captaine Fluellen, you must come presently to the Mynes; the Duke of Gloucester would speake with you
Flu. To the Mynes? Tell you the Duke, it is not so good to come to the Mynes: for looke you, the Mynes is not according to the disciplines of the Warre; the concauities of it is not sufficient: for looke you, th' athuersarie, you may discusse vnto the Duke, looke you, is digt himselfe foure yard vnder the Countermines: by Cheshu, I thinke a will plowe vp all, if there is not better directions
Gower. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the Order of the Siege is giuen, is altogether directed by an Irish man, a very valiant Gentleman yfaith
Welch. It is Captaine Makmorrice, is it not?Gower. I thinke it be
Welch. By Cheshu he is an Asse, as in the World, I will verifie as much in his Beard: he ha's no more directions in the true disciplines of the Warres, looke you, of the Roman disciplines, then is a Puppy-dog. Enter Makmorrice, and Captaine Iamy.
Gower. Here a comes, and the Scots Captaine, CaptaineIamy, with him
Welch. Captaine Iamy is a maruellous falorous Gentleman, that is certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchiant Warres, vpon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu he will maintaine his Argument as well as any Militarie man in the World, in the disciplines of the Pristine Warres of the Romans
Scot. I say gudday, Captaine Fluellen
Welch. Godden to your Worship, good CaptaineIames
Gower. How now Captaine Mackmorrice, haue you quit the Mynes? haue the Pioners giuen o're? Irish. By Chrish Law tish ill done: the Worke ish giue ouer, the Trompet sound the Retreat. By my Hand I sweare, and my fathers Soule, the Worke ish ill done: it ish giue ouer: I would haue blowed vp the Towne, so Chrish saue me law, in an houre. O tish ill done, tish ill done: by my Hand tish ill done
Welch. Captaine Mackmorrice, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, looke you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the Warre, the Roman Warres, in the way of Argument, looke you, and friendly communication: partly to satisfie my Opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, looke you, of my Mind: as touching the direction of the Militarie discipline, that is the Point
Scot. It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud Captens bath, and I sall quit you with gud leue, as I may pick occasion: that sall I mary
Irish. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish saue me: the day is hot, and the Weather, and the Warres, and the King, and the Dukes: it is no time to discourse, the Town is beseech'd: and the Trumpet call vs to the breech, and we talke, and be Chrish do nothing, tis shame for vs all: so God sa'me tis shame to stand still, it is shame by my hand: and there is Throats to be cut, and Workes to be done, and there ish nothing done, so Christ sa'me law
Scot. By the Mes, ere theise eyes of mine take themselues to slomber, ayle de gud seruice, or Ile ligge i'th' grund for it; ay, or goe to death: and Ile pay't as valorously as I may, that sal I suerly do, that is the breff and the long: mary, I wad full faine heard some question tween you tway
Welch. Captaine Mackmorrice, I thinke, looke you, vnder your correction, there is not many of your Nation
Irish. Of my Nation? What ish my Nation? Ish a Villaine, and a Basterd, and a Knaue, and a Rascall. What ish my Nation? Who talkes of my Nation? Welch. Looke you, if you take the matter otherwise then is meant, Captaine Mackmorrice, peraduenture I shall thinke you doe not vse me with that affabilitie, as in discretion you ought to vse me, looke you, being as good a man as your selfe, both in the disciplines of Warre, and in the deriuation of my Birth, and in other particularities
Irish. I doe not know you so good a man as my selfe: so Chrish saue me, I will cut off your Head
Gower. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other
Scot. A, that's a foule fault.
A Parley.
Gower. The Towne sounds a Parley
Welch. Captaine Mackmorrice, when there is more better oportunitie to be required, looke you, I will be so bold as to tell you, I know the disciplines of Warre: and there is an end. Enter.
Enter the King and all his Traine before the Gates.
King. How yet resolues the Gouernour of the Towne?This is the latest Parle we will admit:Therefore to our best mercy giue your selues,Or like to men prowd of destruction,Defie vs to our worst: for as I am a Souldier,A Name that in my thoughts becomes me best;If I begin the batt'rie once againe,I will not leaue the halfe-atchieued Harflew,Till in her ashes she lye buryed.The Gates of Mercy shall be all shut vp,And the flesh'd Souldier, rough and hard of heart,In libertie of bloody hand, shall raungeWith Conscience wide as Hell, mowing like GrasseYour fresh faire Virgins, and your flowring Infants.What is it then to me, if impious Warre,Arrayed in flames like to the Prince of Fiends,Doe with his smyrcht complexion all fell feats,Enlynckt to wast and desolation?What is't to me, when you your selues are cause,If your pure Maydens fall into the handOf hot and forcing Violation?What Reyne can hold licentious Wickednesse,When downe the Hill he holds his fierce Carriere?We may as bootlesse spend our vaine CommandVpon th' enraged Souldiers in their spoyle,As send Precepts to the Leuiathan, to come ashore.Therefore, you men of Harflew,Take pitty of your Towne and of your People,Whiles yet my Souldiers are in my Command,Whiles yet the coole and temperate Wind of GraceO're-blowes the filthy and contagious CloudsOf heady Murther, Spoyle, and Villany.If not: why in a moment looke to seeThe blind and bloody Souldier, with foule handDesire the Locks of your shrill-shriking Daughters:Your Fathers taken by the siluer Beards,And their most reuerend Heads dasht to the Walls:Your naked Infants spitted vpon Pykes,Whiles the mad Mothers, with their howles confus'd,Doe breake the Clouds; as did the Wiues of Iewry,At Herods bloody-hunting slaughter-men.What say you? Will you yeeld, and this auoyd?Or guiltie in defence, be thus destroy'd.Enter Gouernour.
Gouer. Our expectation hath this day an end:The Dolphin, whom of Succours we entreated,Returnes vs, that his Powers are yet not ready,To rayse so great a Siege: Therefore great King,We yeeld our Towne and Liues to thy soft Mercy:Enter our Gates, dispose of vs and ours,For we no longer are defensible
King. Open your Gates: Come Vnckle Exeter,Goe you and enter Harflew; there remaine,And fortifie it strongly 'gainst the French:Vse mercy to them all for vs, deare Vnckle.The Winter comming on, and Sicknesse growingVpon our Souldiers, we will retyre to Calis.To night in Harflew will we be your Guest,To morrow for the March are we addrest.
Flourish, and enter the Towne.
Enter Katherine and an old Gentlewoman.
Kathe. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre, & tu bien parlas le Language
Alice. En peu Madame
Kath. Ie te prie m' ensigniez, il faut que ie apprend a parlen:Comient appelle vous le main en Anglois?Alice. Le main il & appelle de Hand
Kath. De Hand
Alice. E le doyts
Kat. Le doyts, ma foy Ie oublie, e doyt mays, ie me souemerayle doyts ie pense qu'ils ont appelle de fingres, ou de fingres
Alice. Le main de Hand, le doyts le Fingres, ie pense que iesuis le bon escholier
Kath. I'ay gaynie diux mots d' Anglois vistement, comentappelle vous le ongles?Alice. Le ongles, les appellons de Nayles
Kath. De Nayles escoute: dites moy, si ie parle bien: deHand, de Fingres, e de Nayles
Alice. C'est bien dict Madame, il & fort bon Anglois
Kath. Dites moy l' Anglois pour le bras
Alice. De Arme, Madame
Kath. E de coudee
Alice. D' Elbow
Kath. D' Elbow: Ie men fay le repiticio de touts les mots que vous maves, apprins des a present
Alice. Il & trop difficile Madame, comme Ie pense
Kath. Excuse moy Alice escoute, d' Hand, de Fingre, deNayles, d' Arma, de Bilbow
Alice. D' Elbow, Madame
Kath. O Seigneur Dieu, ie men oublie d' Elbow, coment appelle vous le col
Alice. De Nick, Madame
Kath. De Nick, e le menton
Alice. De Chin
Kath. De Sin: le col de Nick, le menton de Sin
Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur en verite vous pronounciesles mots ausi droict, que le Natifs d' Angleterre
Kath. Ie ne doute point d' apprendre par de grace de Dieu,& en peu de temps
Alice. N' aue vos y desia oublie ce que ie vous a ensignie
Kath. Nome ie recitera a vous promptement, d' Hand, deFingre, de Maylees
Alice. De Nayles, Madame
Kath. De Nayles, de Arme, de Ilbow
Alice. Sans vostre honeus d' Elbow
Kath. Ainsi de ie d' Elbow, de Nick, & de Sin: coment appelle vous les pied & de roba
Alice. Le Foot Madame, & le Count
Kath. Le Foot, & le Count: O Seignieur Dieu, il sont le mots de son mauvais corruptible grosse & impudique, & non pour le Dames de Honeur d' vser: Ie ne voudray pronouncer ce mots deuant le Seigneurs de France, pour toute le monde, fo le Foot & le Count, neant moys, Ie recitera vn autrefoys ma lecon ensembe, d' Hand, de Fingre, de Nayles, d' Arme, d' Elbow, de Nick, de Sin, de Foot, le Count
Alice. Excellent, Madame
Kath. C'est asses pour vne foyes, alons nous a diner.Enter.
Enter the King of France, the Dolphin, the Constable of France, and others.
King. 'Tis certaine he hath past the Riuer Some
Const. And if he be not fought withall, my Lord,Let vs not liue in France: let vs quit all,And giue our Vineyards to a barbarous People
Dolph. O Dieu viuant: Shall a few Sprayes of vs,The emptying of our Fathers Luxurie,Our Syens, put in wilde and sauage Stock,Spirt vp so suddenly into the Clouds,And ouer-looke their Grafters?Brit. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards:Mort du ma vie, if they march alongVnfought withall, but I will sell my Dukedome,To buy a slobbry and a durtie FarmeIn that nooke-shotten Ile of Albion
Const. Dieu de Battailes, where haue they this mettell?Is not their Clymate foggy, raw, and dull?On whom, as in despight, the Sunne lookes pale,Killing their Fruit with frownes. Can sodden Water,A Drench for sur-reyn'd Iades, their Barly broth,Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?And shall our quick blood, spirited with Wine,Seeme frostie? O, for honor of our Land,Let vs not hang like roping IsycklesVpon our Houses Thatch, whiles a more frostie PeopleSweat drops of gallant Youth in our rich fields:Poore we call them, in their Natiue Lords
Dolphin. By Faith and Honor,Our Madames mock at vs, and plainely say,Our Mettell is bred out, and they will giueTheir bodyes to the Lust of English Youth,To new-store France with Bastard Warriors
Brit. They bid vs to the English Dancing-Schooles,And teach Lauolta's high, and swift Carranto's,Saying, our Grace is onely in our Heeles,And that we are most loftie Run-awayes
King. Where is Montioy the Herald? speed him hence,Let him greet England with our sharpe defiance.Vp Princes, and with spirit of Honor edged,More sharper then your Swords, high to the field:Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France,You Dukes of Orleance, Burbon, and of Berry,Alanson, Brabant, Bar, and Burgonie,Iaques Chattillion, Rambures, Vandemont,Beumont, Grand Pree, Roussi, and Faulconbridge,Loys, Lestrale, Bouciquall, and Charaloyes,High Dukes, great Princes, Barons, Lords, and Kings;For your great Seats, now quit you of great shames:Barre Harry England, that sweepes through our LandWith Penons painted in the blood of Harflew:Rush on his Hoast, as doth the melted SnowVpon the Valleyes, whose low Vassall Seat,The Alpes doth spit, and void his rhewme vpon.Goe downe vpon him, you haue Power enough,And in a Captiue Chariot, into RoanBring him our Prisoner
Const. This becomes the Great.Sorry am I his numbers are so few,His Souldiers sick, and famisht in their March:For I am sure, when he shall see our Army,Hee'le drop his heart into the sinck of feare,And for atchieuement, offer vs his Ransome
King. Therefore Lord Constable, hast on Montioy,And let him say to England, that we send,To know what willing Ransome he will giue.Prince Dolphin, you shall stay with vs in Roan
Dolph. Not so, I doe beseech your Maiestie
King. Be patient, for you shall remaine with vs.Now forth Lord Constable, and Princes all,And quickly bring vs word of Englands fall.
Exeunt.
Enter Captaines, English and Welch, Gower and Fluellen.
Gower. How now Captaine Fluellen, come you fromthe Bridge?Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent Seruices committedat the Bridge
Gower. Is the Duke of Exeter safe? Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon, and a man that I loue and honour with my soule, and my heart, and my dutie, and my liue, and my liuing, and my vttermost power. He is not, God be praysed and blessed, any hurt in the World, but keepes the Bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient Lieutenant there at the Pridge, I thinke in my very conscience hee is as valiant a man as Marke Anthony, and hee is a man of no estimation in the World, but I did see him doe as gallant seruice
Gower. What doe you call him?Flu. Hee is call'd aunchient Pistoll
Gower. I know him not.Enter Pistoll.
Flu. Here is the man
Pist. Captaine, I thee beseech to doe me fauours: theDuke of Exeter doth loue thee well
Flu. I, I prayse God, and I haue merited some loue athis hands
Pist. Bardolph, a Souldier firme and sound of heart, and of buxome valour, hath by cruell Fate, and giddie Fortunes furious fickle Wheele, that Goddesse blind, that stands vpon the rolling restlesse Stone
Flu. By your patience, aunchient Pistoll: Fortune is painted blinde, with a Muffler afore his eyes, to signifie to you, that Fortune is blinde; and shee is painted also with a Wheele, to signifie to you, which is the Morall of it, that shee is turning and inconstant, and mutabilitie, and variation: and her foot, looke you, is fixed vpon a Sphericall Stone, which rowles, and rowles, and rowles: in good truth, the Poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent Morall
Pist. Fortune is Bardolphs foe, and frownes on him: for he hath stolne a Pax, and hanged must a be: a damned death: let Gallowes gape for Dogge, let Man goe free, and let not Hempe his Wind-pipe suffocate: but Exeter hath giuen the doome of death, for Pax of little price. Therefore goe speake, the Duke will heare thy voyce; and let not Bardolphs vitall thred bee cut with edge of Penny-Cord, and vile reproach. Speake Captaine for his Life, and I will thee requite
Flu. Aunchient Pistoll, I doe partly vnderstand your meaning
Pist. Why then reioyce therefore
Flu. Certainly Aunchient, it is not a thing to reioyce at: for if, looke you, he were my Brother, I would desire the Duke to vse his good pleasure, and put him to execution; for discipline ought to be vsed
Pist. Dye, and be dam'd, and Figo for thy friendship
Flu. It is well
Pist. The Figge of Spaine.Enter.
Flu. Very good
Gower. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit Rascall, I remember him now: a Bawd, a Cut-purse
Flu. Ile assure you, a vtt'red as praue words at the Pridge, as you shall see in a Summers day: but it is very well: what he ha's spoke to me, that is well I warrant you, when time is serue
Gower. Why 'tis a Gull, a Foole, a Rogue, that now and then goes to the Warres, to grace himselfe at his returne into London, vnder the forme of a Souldier: and such fellowes are perfit in the Great Commanders Names, and they will learne you by rote where Seruices were done; at such and such a Sconce, at such a Breach, at such a Conuoy: who came off brauely, who was shot, who disgrac'd, what termes the Enemy stood on: and this they conne perfitly in the phrase of Warre; which they tricke vp with new-tuned Oathes: and what a Beard of the Generalls Cut, and a horride Sute of the Campe, will doe among foming Bottles, and Ale-washt Wits, is wonderfull to be thought on: but you must learne to know such slanders of the age, or else you may be maruellously mistooke
Flu. I tell you what, Captaine Gower: I doe perceiue hee is not the man that hee would gladly make shew to the World hee is: if I finde a hole in his Coat, I will tell him my minde: hearke you, the King is comming, and I must speake with him from the Pridge.
Drum and Colours. Enter the King and his poore Souldiers.
Flu. God plesse your Maiestie
King. How now Fluellen, cam'st thou from the Bridge? Flu. I, so please your Maiestie: The Duke of Exeter ha's very gallantly maintain'd the Pridge; the French is gone off, looke you, and there is gallant and most praue passages: marry, th' athuersarie was haue possession of the Pridge, but he is enforced to retyre, and the Duke of Exeter is Master of the Pridge: I can tell your Maiestie, the Duke is a praue man
King. What men haue you lost, Fluellen? Flu. The perdition of th' athuersarie hath beene very great, reasonnable great: marry for my part, I thinke the Duke hath lost neuer a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a Church, one Bardolph, if your Maiestie know the man: his face is all bubukles and whelkes, and knobs, and flames a fire, and his lippes blowes at his nose, and it is like a coale of fire, sometimes plew, and sometimes red, but his nose is executed, and his fire's out
King. Wee would haue all such offendors so cut off: and we giue expresse charge, that in our Marches through the Countrey, there be nothing compell'd from the Villages; nothing taken, but pay'd for: none of the French vpbrayded or abused in disdainefull Language; for when Leuitie and Crueltie play for a Kingdome, the gentler Gamester is the soonest winner.
Tucket. Enter Mountioy.
Mountioy. You know me by my habit
King. Well then, I know thee: what shall I know ofthee?Mountioy. My Masters mind
King. Vnfold it
Mountioy. Thus sayes my King: Say thou to Harry of England, Though we seem'd dead, we did but sleepe: Aduantage is a better Souldier then rashnesse. Tell him, wee could haue rebuk'd him at Harflewe, but that wee thought not good to bruise an iniurie, till it were full ripe. Now wee speake vpon our Q. and our voyce is imperiall: England shall repent his folly, see his weakenesse, and admire our sufferance. Bid him therefore consider of his ransome, which must proportion the losses we haue borne, the subiects we haue lost, the disgrace we haue digested; which in weight to re-answer, his pettinesse would bow vnder. For our losses, his Exchequer is too poore; for th' effusion of our bloud, the Muster of his Kingdome too faint a number; and for our disgrace, his owne person kneeling at our feet, but a weake and worthlesse satisfaction. To this adde defiance: and tell him for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is pronounc't: So farre my King and Master; so much my Office
King. What is thy name? I know thy qualitie
Mount. Mountioy
King. Thou doo'st thy Office fairely. Turne thee backe,And tell thy King, I doe not seeke him now,But could be willing to march on to Callice,Without impeachment: for to say the sooth,Though 'tis no wisdome to confesse so muchVnto an enemie of Craft and Vantage,My people are with sicknesse much enfeebled,My numbers lessen'd: and those few I haue,Almost no better then so many French;Who when they were in health, I tell thee Herald,I thought, vpon one payre of English LeggesDid march three Frenchmen. Yet forgiue me God,That I doe bragge thus; this your ayre of FranceHath blowne that vice in me. I must repent:Goe therefore tell thy Master, heere I am;My Ransome, is this frayle and worthlesse Trunke;My Army, but a weake and sickly Guard:Yet God before, tell him we will come on,Though France himselfe, and such another NeighborStand in our way. There's for thy labour Mountioy.Goe bid thy Master well aduise himselfe.If we may passe, we will: if we be hindred,We shall your tawnie ground with your red bloodDiscolour: and so Mountioy, fare you well.The summe of all our Answer is but this:We would not seeke a Battaile as we are,Nor as we are, we say we will not shun it:So tell your Master
Mount. I shall deliuer so: Thankes to your Highnesse
Glouc. I hope they will not come vpon vs now
King. We are in Gods hand, Brother, not in theirs:March to the Bridge, it now drawes toward night,Beyond the Riuer wee'le encampe our selues,And on to morrow bid them march away.
Exeunt.
Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Ramburs, Orleance, Dolphin, with others.
Const. Tut, I haue the best Armour of the World:would it were day
Orleance. You haue an excellent Armour: but let myHorse haue his due
Const. It is the best Horse of Europe
Orleance. Will it neuer be Morning?Dolph. My Lord of Orleance, and my Lord High Constable,you talke of Horse and Armour?Orleance. You are as well prouided of both, as anyPrince in the World
Dolph. What a long Night is this? I will not change my Horse with any that treades but on foure postures: ch' ha: he bounds from the Earth, as if his entrayles were hayres: le Cheual volante, the Pegasus, ches les narines de feu. When I bestryde him, I soare, I am a Hawke: he trots the ayre: the Earth sings, when he touches it: the basest horne of his hoofe, is more Musicall then the Pipe of Hermes
Orleance. Hee's of the colour of the Nutmeg
Dolph. And of the heat of the Ginger. It is a Beast for Perseus: hee is pure Ayre and Fire; and the dull Elements of Earth and Water neuer appeare in him, but only in patient stillnesse while his Rider mounts him: hee is indeede a Horse, and all other Iades you may call Beasts
Const. Indeed my Lord, it is a most absolute and excellentHorse
Dolph. It is the Prince of Palfrayes, his Neigh is like the bidding of a Monarch, and his countenance enforces Homage
Orleance. No more Cousin
Dolph. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot from the rising of the Larke to the lodging of the Lambe, varie deserued prayse on my Palfray: it is a Theame as fluent as the Sea: Turne the Sands into eloquent tongues, and my Horse is argument for them all: 'tis a subiect for a Soueraigne to reason on, and for a Soueraignes Soueraigne to ride on: And for the World, familiar to vs, and vnknowne, to lay apart their particular Functions, and wonder at him, I once writ a Sonnet in his prayse, and began thus, Wonder of Nature
Orleance. I haue heard a Sonnet begin so to ones Mistresse
Dolph. Then did they imitate that which I compos'd to my Courser, for my Horse is my Mistresse
Orleance. Your Mistresse beares well
Dolph. Me well, which is the prescript prayse and perfectionof a good and particular Mistresse
Const. Nay, for me thought yesterday your Mistresseshrewdly shooke your back
Dolph. So perhaps did yours
Const. Mine was not bridled
Dolph. O then belike she was old and gentle, and you rode like a Kerne of Ireland, your French Hose off, and in your strait Strossers
Const. You haue good iudgement in Horsemanship
Dolph. Be warn'd by me then: they that ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foule Boggs: I had rather haue my Horse to my Mistresse
Const. I had as liue haue my Mistresse a Iade
Dolph. I tell thee Constable, my Mistresse weares hisowne hayre
Const. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had aSow to my Mistresse
Dolph. Le chien est retourne a son propre vemissement estla leuye lauee au bourbier: thou mak'st vse of any thing
Const. Yet doe I not vse my Horse for my Mistresse,or any such Prouerbe, so little kin to the purpose
Ramb. My Lord Constable, the Armour that I saw inyour Tent to night, are those Starres or Sunnes vpon it?Const. Starres my Lord
Dolph. Some of them will fall to morrow, I hope
Const. And yet my Sky shall not want
Dolph. That may be, for you beare a many superfluously,and 'twere more honor some were away
Const. Eu'n as your Horse beares your prayses, whowould trot as well, were some of your bragges dismounted
Dolph. Would I were able to loade him with his desert. Will it neuer be day? I will trot to morrow a mile, and my way shall be paued with English Faces
Const. I will not say so, for feare I should be fac't out of my way: but I would it were morning, for I would faine be about the eares of the English
Ramb. Who will goe to Hazard with me for twentiePrisoners?Const. You must first goe your selfe to hazard, ere youhaue them
Dolph. 'Tis Mid-night, Ile goe arme my selfe.Enter.
Orleance. The Dolphin longs for morning
Ramb. He longs to eate the English
Const. I thinke he will eate all he kills
Orleance. By the white Hand of my Lady, hee's a gallantPrince
Const. Sweare by her Foot, that she may tread out theOath
Orleance. He is simply the most actiue Gentleman ofFrance
Const. Doing is actiuitie, and he will still be doing
Orleance. He neuer did harme, that I heard of
Const. Nor will doe none to morrow: hee will keepe that good name still
Orleance. I know him to be valiant
Const. I was told that, by one that knowes him betterthen you
Orleance. What's hee?Const. Marry hee told me so himselfe, and hee sayd heecar'd not who knew it
Orleance. Hee needes not, it is no hidden vertue inhim
Const. By my faith Sir, but it is: neuer any body saw it, but his Lacquey: 'tis a hooded valour, and when it appeares, it will bate
Orleance. Ill will neuer sayd well
Const. I will cap that Prouerbe with, There is flatteriein friendship
Orleance. And I will take vp that with, Giue the Deuillhis due
Const. Well plac't: there stands your friend for theDeuill: haue at the very eye of that Prouerbe with, APox of the Deuill
Orleance. You are the better at Prouerbs, by how mucha Fooles Bolt is soone shot
Const. You haue shot ouer
Orleance. 'Tis not the first time you were ouer-shot.Enter a Messenger.
Mess. My Lord high Constable, the English lye withinfifteene hundred paces of your Tents
Const. Who hath measur'd the ground?Mess. The Lord Grandpree
Const. A valiant and most expert Gentleman. Would it were day? Alas poore Harry of England: hee longs not for the Dawning, as wee doe
Orleance. What a wretched and peeuish fellow is this King of England, to mope with his fat-brain'd followers so farre out of his knowledge
Const. If the English had any apprehension, theywould runne away
Orleance. That they lack: for if their heads had any intellectuallArmour, they could neuer weare such heauieHead-pieces
Ramb. That Iland of England breedes very valiantCreatures; their Mastiffes are of vnmatchable courage
Orleance. Foolish Curres, that runne winking into the mouth of a Russian Beare, and haue their heads crusht like rotten Apples: you may as well say, that's a valiant Flea, that dare eate his breakefast on the Lippe of a Lyon
Const. Iust, iust: and the men doe sympathize with the Mastiffes, in robustious and rough comming on, leauing their Wits with their Wiues: and then giue them great Meales of Beefe, and Iron and Steele; they will eate like Wolues, and fight like Deuils
Orleance. I, but these English are shrowdly out ofBeefe
Const. Then shall we finde to morrow, they haue only stomackes to eate, and none to fight. Now is it time to arme: come, shall we about it? Orleance. It is now two a Clock: but let me see, by ten Wee shall haue each a hundred English men.
Exeunt.
Actus Tertius.
Chorus.
Now entertaine coniecture of a time,When creeping Murmure and the poring DarkeFills the wide Vessell of the Vniuerse.From Camp to Camp, through the foule Womb of NightThe Humme of eyther Army stilly sounds;That the fixt Centinels almost receiueThe secret Whispers of each others Watch.Fire answers fire, and through their paly flamesEach Battaile sees the others vmber'd face.Steed threatens Steed, in high and boastfull NeighsPiercing 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 limpeSo tediously away. The poore condemned English,Like Sacrifices, by their watchfull FiresSit patiently, and inly ruminateThe Mornings danger: and their gesture sad,Inuesting lanke-leane Cheekes, and Warre-worne Coats,Presented them vnto the gazing MooneSo many horride Ghosts. O now, who will beholdThe Royall Captaine of this ruin'd BandWalking 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 ColourVnto 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 allBehold, 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.Enter.
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 doubtThe Organs, though defunct and dead before,Breake vp their drowsie Graue, and newly moueWith 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 anonDesire 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, NobleHarry.
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 thoubase, 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, aLad of Life, an Impe of Fame, of Parents good, of Fistmost valiant: I kisse his durtie shooe, and from heartstringI 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 vponS[aint]. Dauies day
King. Doe not you weare your Dagger in your Cappethat 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.Enter.
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 allNight
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.Enter.
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 MichaelWilliams.
Court. Brother Iohn Bates, is not that the Morningwhich breakes yonder?Bates. I thinke it be: but wee haue no great cause todesire 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 goesthere?King. A Friend
Williams. Vnder what Captaine serue you?King. Vnder Sir Iohn Erpingham
Williams. A good old Commander, and a most kindeGentleman: I pray you, what thinkes he of our estate?King. Euen as men wrackt vpon a Sand, that looke tobe 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 outrunne 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 outliue that day, to see his Greatnesse, and to teach others how they should prepare
Will. 'Tis certaine, euery man that dyes ill, the ill vponhis owne head, the King is not to answer it
Bates. I doe not desire hee should answer for me, andyet I determine to fight lustily for him
King. I my selfe heard the King say he would not beransom'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 shouldbe angry with you, if the time were conuenient
Will. Let it bee a Quarrell betweene vs, if youliue
King. I embrace it
Will. How shall I know thee againe?King. Giue me any Gage of thine, and I will weare itin my Bonnet: Then if euer thou dar'st acknowledge it,I will make it my Quarrell
Will. Heere's my Gloue: Giue mee another ofthine
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 theKings 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.
Exit Souldiers.
King. Indeede the French may lay twentie FrenchCrownes to one, they will beat vs, for they beare themon their shoulders: but it is no English Treason to cutFrench Crownes, and to morrow the King himselfe willbe a Clipper.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 senceNo 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 moreOf 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 outWith 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 NightSleepes in Elizium: next day after dawne,Doth rise and helpe Hiperio[n] to his Horse,And followes so the euer-running yeereWith 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 togetherAt my Tent: Ile be before thee
Erp. I shall doo't, my Lord.Enter.
King. O God of Battailes, steele my Souldiers hearts,Possesse them not with feare: Take from them nowThe 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 faultMy 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 vpToward Heauen, to pardon blood:And I haue built two Chauntries,Where the sad and solemne Priests sing stillFor Richards Soule. More will I doe: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.
Enter the Dolphin, Orleance, Ramburs, and Beaumont.
Orleance. The Sunne doth gild our Armour vp, myLords
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 FrenchPeeres
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 swarmeAbout our Squares of Battaile, were enowTo 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 soundThe 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 IadesLob 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 BittLyes 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: onTo 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.
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:And yet I doe thee wrong, to mind thee of it,For thou art fram'd of the firme truth of valour
Exe. Farwell kind Lord: fight valiantly to day
Bedf. He is as full of Valour as of Kindnesse,Princely in both.Enter the King.
West. O that we now had hereBut 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 enowTo 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.