Chapter 2

Enter Prologue.O For a Muse of Fire, that would ascendThe brightest Heauen of Inuention:A Kingdome for a Stage, Princes to Act,And Monarchs to behold the swelling Scene.Then should the Warlike Harry, like himselfe,Assume the Port of Mars, and at his heeles(Leasht in, like Hounds) should Famine, Sword, and FireCrouch for employment. But pardon, Gentles all:The flat vnraysed Spirits, that hath dar'd,On this vnworthy Scaffold, to bring forthSo great an Obiect. Can this Cock-Pit holdThe vastie fields of France? Or may we crammeWithin this Woodden O, the very CaskesThat did affright the Ayre at Agincourt?O pardon: since a crooked Figure mayAttest in little place a Million,And let vs, Cyphers to this great Accompt,On your imaginarie Forces worke.Suppose within the Girdle of these WallsAre now confin'd two mightie Monarchies,Whose high, vp-reared, and abutting Fronts,The perillous narrow Ocean parts asunder.Peece out our imperfections with your thoughts:Into a thousand parts diuide one Man,And make imaginarie Puissance.Thinke when we talke of Horses, that you see themPrinting their prowd Hoofes i'th' receiuing Earth:For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our Kings,Carry them here and there: Iumping o're Times;Turning th' accomplishment of many yeeresInto an Howre-glasse: for the which supplie,Admit me Chorus to this Historie;Who Prologue-like, your humble patience pray,Gently to heare, kindly to iudge our Play.Enter.Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.Enter the two Bishops of Canterbury and Ely.Bish.Cant. My Lord, Ile tell you, that selfe Bill is vrg'd,Which in th' eleueth yere of y last Kings reignWas like, and had indeed against vs past,But that the scambling and vnquiet timeDid push it out of farther questionBish.Ely. But how my Lord shall we resist it now?Bish.Cant. It must be thought on: if it passe against vs,We loose the better halfe of our Possession:For all the Temporall Lands, which men deuoutBy Testament haue giuen to the Church,Would they strip from vs; being valu'd thus,As much as would maintaine, to the Kings honor,Full fifteene Earles, and fifteene hundred Knights,Six thousand and two hundred good Esquires:And to reliefe of Lazars, and weake ageOf indigent faint Soules, past corporall toyle,A hundred Almes-houses, right well supply'd:And to the Coffers of the King beside,A thousand pounds by th' yeere. Thus runs the BillBish.Ely. This would drinke deepeBish.Cant. 'Twould drinke the Cup and allBish.Ely. But what preuention?Bish.Cant. The King is full of grace, and faire regardBish.Ely. And a true louer of the holy ChurchBish.Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not.The breath no sooner left his Fathers body,But that his wildnesse, mortify'd in him,Seem'd to dye too: yea, at that very moment,Consideration like an Angell came,And whipt th' offending Adam out of him;Leauing his body as a Paradise,T' inuelop and containe Celestiall Spirits.Neuer was such a sodaine Scholler made:Neuer came Reformation in a Flood,With such a heady currance scowring faults:Nor neuer Hidra-headed WilfulnesseSo soone did loose his Seat; and all at once;As in this KingBish.Ely. We are blessed in the ChangeBish.Cant. Heare him but reason in Diuinitie;And all-admiring, with an inward wishYou would desire the King were made a Prelate:Heare him debate of Common-wealth Affaires;You would say, it hath been all in all his study:List his discourse of Warre; and you shall heareA fearefull Battaile rendred you in Musique.Turne him to any Cause of Pollicy,The Gordian Knot of it he will vnloose,Familiar as his Garter: that when he speakes,The Ayre, a Charter'd Libertine, is still,And the mute Wonder lurketh in mens eares,To steale his sweet and honyed Sentences:So that the Art and Practique part of Life,Must be the Mistresse to this Theorique.Which is a wonder how his Grace should gleane it,Since his addiction was to Courses vaine,His Companies vnletter'd, rude, and shallow,His Houres fill'd vp with Ryots, Banquets, Sports;And neuer noted in him any studie,Any retyrement, any sequestration,From open Haunts and PopularitieB.Ely. The Strawberry growes vnderneath the Nettle,And holesome Berryes thriue and ripen best,Neighbour'd by Fruit of baser qualitie:And so the Prince obscur'd his ContemplationVnder the Veyle of Wildnesse, which (no doubt)Grew like the Summer Grasse, fastest by Night,Vnseene, yet cressiue in his facultieB.Cant. It must be so; for Miracles are ceast:And therefore we must needes admit the meanes,How things are perfectedB.Ely. But my good Lord:How now for mittigation of this Bill,Vrg'd by the Commons? doth his MaiestieIncline to it, or no?B.Cant. He seemes indifferent:Or rather swaying more vpon our part,Then cherishing th' exhibiters against vs:For I haue made an offer to his Maiestie,Vpon our Spirituall Conuocation,And in regard of Causes now in hand,Which I haue open'd to his Grace at large,As touching France, to giue a greater Summe,Then euer at one time the Clergie yetDid to his Predecessors part withallB.Ely. How did this offer seeme receiu'd, my Lord?B.Cant. With good acceptance of his Maiestie:Saue that there was not time enough to heare,As I perceiu'd his Grace would faine haue done,The seueralls and vnhidden passagesOf his true Titles to some certaine Dukedomes,And generally, to the Crowne and Seat of France,Deriu'd from Edward, his great GrandfatherB.Ely. What was th' impediment that broke this off?B.Cant. The French Embassador vpon that instantCrau'd audience; and the howre I thinke is come,To giue him hearing: Is it foure a Clock?B.Ely. It isB.Cant. Then goe we in, to know his Embassie:Which I could with a ready guesse declare,Before the Frenchman speake a word of itB.Ely. Ile wait vpon you, and I long to heare it.Exeunt.Enter the King, Humfrey, Bedford, Clarence, Warwick,Westmerland, andExeter.King. Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?Exeter. Not here in presenceKing. Send for him, good VnckleWestm. Shall we call in th' Ambassador, my Liege?King. Not yet, my Cousin: we would be resolu'd,Before we heare him, of some things of weight,That taske our thoughts, concerning vs and France.Enter two Bishops.B.Cant. God and his Angels guard your sacred Throne,And make you long become itKing. Sure we thanke you.My learned Lord, we pray you to proceed,And iustly and religiously vnfold,Why the Law Salike, that they haue in France,Or should or should not barre vs in our Clayme:And God forbid, my deare and faithfull Lord,That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,Or nicely charge your vnderstanding Soule,With opening Titles miscreate, whose rightSutes not in natiue colours with the truth:For God doth know, how many now in health,Shall drop their blood, in approbationOf what your reuerence shall incite vs to.Therefore take heed how you impawne our Person,How you awake our sleeping Sword of Warre;We charge you in the Name of God take heed:For neuer two such Kingdomes did contend,Without much fall of blood, whose guiltlesse dropsAre euery one, a Woe, a sore Complaint,'Gainst him, whose wrongs giues edge vnto the Swords,That makes such waste in briefe mortalitie.Vnder this Coniuration, speake my Lord:For we will heare, note, and beleeue in heart,That what you speake, is in your Conscience washt,As pure as sinne with BaptismeB.Can. Then heare me gracious Soueraign, & you Peers,That owe your selues, your liues, and seruices,To this Imperiall Throne. There is no barreTo make against your Highnesse Clayme to France,But this which they produce from Pharamond,In terram Salicam Mulieres ne succedant,No Woman shall succeed in Salike Land:Which Salike Land, the French vniustly glozeTo be the Realme of France, and PharamondThe founder of this Law, and Female Barre.Yet their owne Authors faithfully affirme,That the Land Salike is in Germanie,Betweene the Flouds of Sala and of Elue:Where Charles the Great hauing subdu'd the Saxons,There left behind and settled certaine French:Who holding in disdaine the German Women,For some dishonest manners of their life,Establisht then this Law; to wit, No FemaleShould be Inheritrix in Salike Land:Which Salike (as I said) 'twixt Elue and Sala,Is at this day in Germanie, call'd Meisen.Then doth it well appeare, the Salike LawWas not deuised for the Realme of France:Nor did the French possesse the Salike Land,Vntill foure hundred one and twentie yeeresAfter defunction of King Pharamond,Idly suppos'd the founder of this Law,Who died within the yeere of our Redemption,Foure hundred twentie six: and Charles the GreatSubdu'd the Saxons, and did seat the FrenchBeyond the Riuer Sala, in the yeereEight hundred fiue. Besides, their Writers say,King Pepin, which deposed Childerike,Did as Heire Generall, being descendedOf Blithild, which was Daughter to King Clothair,Make Clayme and Title to the Crowne of France.Hugh Capet also, who vsurpt the CrowneOf Charles the Duke of Loraine, sole Heire maleOf the true Line and Stock of Charles the Great:To find his Title with some shewes of truth,Though in pure truth it was corrupt and naught,Conuey'd himselfe as th' Heire to th' Lady Lingare,Daughter to Charlemaine, who was the SonneTo Lewes the Emperour, and Lewes the SonneOf Charles the Great: also King Lewes the Tenth,Who was sole Heire to the Vsurper Capet,Could not keepe quiet in his conscience,Wearing the Crowne of France, 'till satisfied,That faire Queene Isabel, his Grandmother,Was Lineall of the Lady Ermengare,Daughter to Charles the foresaid Duke of Loraine:By the which Marriage, the Lyne of Charles the GreatWas re-vnited to the Crowne of France.So, that as cleare as is the Summers Sunne,King Pepins Title, and Hugh Capets Clayme,King Lewes his satisfaction, all appeareTo hold in Right and Title of the Female:So doe the Kings of France vnto this day.Howbeit, they would hold vp this Salique Law,To barre your Highnesse clayming from the Female,And rather chuse to hide them in a Net,Then amply to imbarre their crooked Titles,Vsurpt from you and your ProgenitorsKing. May I with right and conscience make this claim?Bish.Cant. The sinne vpon my head, dread Soueraigne:For in the Booke of Numbers is it writ,When the man dyes, let the InheritanceDescend vnto the Daughter. Gracious Lord,Stand for your owne, vnwind your bloody Flagge,Looke back into your mightie Ancestors:Goe my dread Lord, to your great Grandsires Tombe,From whom you clayme; inuoke his Warlike Spirit,And your Great Vnckles, Edward the Black Prince,Who on the French ground play'd a Tragedie,Making defeat on the full Power of France:Whiles his most mightie Father on a HillStood smiling, to behold his Lyons WhelpeForrage in blood of French Nobilitie.O Noble English, that could entertaineWith halfe their Forces, the full pride of France,And let another halfe stand laughing by,All out of worke, and cold for actionBish. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead,And with your puissant Arme renew their Feats;You are their Heire, you sit vpon their Throne:The Blood and Courage that renowned them,Runs in your Veines: and my thrice-puissant LiegeIs in the very May-Morne of his Youth,Ripe for Exploits and mightie EnterprisesExe. Your Brother Kings and Monarchs of the EarthDoe all expect, that you should rowse your selfe,As did the former Lyons of your BloodWest. They know your Grace hath cause, and means, and might;So hath your Highnesse: neuer King of EnglandHad Nobles richer, and more loyall Subiects,Whose hearts haue left their bodyes here in England,And lye pauillion'd in the fields of FranceBish.Can. O let their bodyes follow my deare LiegeWith Bloods, and Sword and Fire, to win your Right:In ayde whereof, we of the SpiritualtieWill rayse your Highnesse such a mightie Summe,As neuer did the Clergie at one timeBring in to any of your AncestorsKing. We must not onely arme t' inuade the French,But lay downe our proportions, to defendAgainst the Scot, who will make roade vpon vs,With all aduantagesBish.Can. They of those Marches, gracious Soueraign,Shall be a Wall sufficient to defendOur in-land from the pilfering BorderersKing. We do not meane the coursing snatchers onely,But feare the maine intendment of the Scot,Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to vs:For you shall reade, that my great GrandfatherNeuer went with his forces into France,But that the Scot, on his vnfurnisht Kingdome,Came pouring like the Tyde into a breach,With ample and brim fulnesse of his force,Galling the gleaned Land with hot Assayes,Girding with grieuous siege, Castles and Townes:That England being emptie of defence,Hath shooke and trembled at th' ill neighbourhoodB.Can. She hath bin the more fear'd the harm'd, my Liege:For heare her but exampl'd by her selfe,When all her Cheualrie hath been in France,And shee a mourning Widdow of her Nobles,Shee hath her selfe not onely well defended,But taken and impounded as a Stray,The King of Scots: whom shee did send to France,To fill King Edwards fame with prisoner Kings,And make their Chronicle as rich with prayse,As is the Owse and bottome of the SeaWith sunken Wrack, and sum-lesse TreasuriesBish.Ely. But there's a saying very old and true,If that you will France win, then with Scotland first begin.For once the Eagle (England) being in prey,To her vnguarded Nest, the Weazell (Scot)Comes sneaking, and so sucks her Princely Egges,Playing the Mouse in absence of the Cat,To tame and hauocke more then she can eateExet. It followes then, the Cat must stay at home,Yet that is but a crush'd necessity,Since we haue lockes to safegard necessaries,And pretty traps to catch the petty theeues.While that the Armed hand doth fight abroad,Th' aduised head defends it selfe at home:For Gouernment, though high, and low, and lower,Put into parts, doth keepe in one consent,Congreeing in a full and natural close,Like MusickeCant. Therefore doth heauen diuideThe state of man in diuers functions,Setting endeuour in continual motion:To which is fixed as an ayme or butt,Obedience: for so worke the Hony Bees,Creatures that by a rule in Nature teachThe Act of Order to a peopled Kingdome.They haue a King, and Officers of sorts,Where some like Magistrates correct at home:Others, like Merchants venter Trade abroad:Others, like Souldiers armed in their stings,Make boote vpon the Summers Veluet buddes:Which pillage, they with merry march bring homeTo the Tent-royal of their Emperor:Who busied in his Maiesties surueyesThe singing Masons building roofes of Gold,The ciuil Citizens kneading vp the hony;The poore Mechanicke Porters, crowding inTheir heauy burthens at his narrow gate:The sad-ey'd Iustice with his surly humme,Deliuering ore to Executors paleThe lazie yawning Drone: I this inferre,That many things hauing full referenceTo one consent, may worke contrariously,As many Arrowes loosed seuerall wayesCome to one marke: as many wayes meet in one towne,As many fresh streames meet in one salt sea;As many Lynes close in the Dials center:So may a thousand actions once a foote,And in one purpose, and be all well borneWithout defeat. Therefore to France, my Liege,Diuide your happy England into foure,Whereof, take you one quarter into France,And you withall shall make all Gallia shake.If we with thrice such powers left at home,Cannot defend our owne doores from the dogge,Let vs be worried, and our Nation loseThe name of hardinesse and policieKing. Call in the Messengers sent from the Dolphin.Now are we well resolu'd, and by Gods helpeAnd yours, the noble sinewes of our power,France being ours, wee'l bend it to our Awe,Or breake it all to peeces. Or there wee'l sit,(Ruling in large and ample Emperie,Ore France, and all her (almost) Kingly Dukedomes)Or lay these bones in an vnworthy Vrne,Tomblesse, with no remembrance ouer them:Either our History shall with full mouthSpeake freely of our Acts, or else our graueLike Turkish mute, shall haue a tonguelesse mouth,Not worshipt with a waxen Epitaph.Enter Ambassadors of France.Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasureOf our faire Cosin Dolphin: for we heare,Your greeting is from him, not from the KingAmb. May't please your Maiestie to giue vs leaueFreely to render what we haue in charge:Or shall we sparingly shew you farre offThe Dolphins meaning, and our EmbassieKing. We are no Tyrant, but a Christian King,Vnto whose grace our passion is as subiectAs is our wretches fettred in our prisons,Therefore with franke and with vncurbed plainnesse,Tell vs the Dolphins mindeAmb. Thus than in few:Your Highnesse lately sending into France,Did claime some certaine Dukedomes, in the rightOf your great Predecessor, King Edward the third.In answer of which claime, the Prince our MasterSayes, that you sauour too much of your youth,And bids you be aduis'd: There's nought in France,That can be with a nimble Galliard wonne:You cannot reuell into Dukedomes there.He therefore sends you meeter for your spiritThis Tun of Treasure; and in lieu of this,Desires you let the dukedomes that you claimeHeare no more of you. This the Dolphin speakesKing. What Treasure Vncle?Exe. Tennis balles, my LiegeKin. We are glad the Dolphin is so pleasant with vs,His Present, and your paines we thanke you for:When we haue matcht our Rackets to these Balles,We will in France (by Gods grace) play a set,Shall strike his fathers Crowne into the hazard.Tell him, he hath made a match with such a Wrangler,That all the Courts of France will be disturb'dWith Chaces. And we vnderstand him well,How he comes o're vs with our wilder dayes,Not measuring what vse we made of them.We neuer valew'd this poore seate of England,And therefore liuing hence, did giue our selfeTo barbarous license: As 'tis euer common,That men are merriest, when they are from home.But tell the Dolphin, I will keepe my State,Be like a King, and shew my sayle of Greatnesse,When I do rowse me in my Throne of France.For that I haue layd by my Maiestie,And plodded like a man for working dayes:But I will rise there with so full a glorie,That I will dazle all the eyes of France,Yea strike the Dolphin blinde to looke on vs,And tell the pleasant Prince, this Mocke of hisHath turn'd his balles to Gun-stones, and his souleShall stand sore charged, for the wastefull vengeanceThat shall flye with them: for many a thousand widowsShall this his Mocke, mocke out of their deer husbands;Mocke mothers from their sonnes, mock Castles downe:And some are yet vngotten and vnborne,That shal haue cause to curse the Dolphins scorne.But this lyes all within the wil of God,To whom I do appeale, and in whose nameTel you the Dolphin, I am comming on,To venge me as I may, and to put forthMy rightfull hand in a wel-hallow'd cause.So get you hence in peace: And tell the Dolphin,His Iest will sauour but of shallow wit,When thousands weepe more then did laugh at it.Conuey them with safe conduct. Fare you well.Exeunt. Ambassadors.Exe. This was a merry MessageKing. We hope to make the Sender blush at it:Therefore, my Lords, omit no happy howre,That may giue furth'rance to our Expedition:For we haue now no thought in vs but France,Saue those to God, that runne before our businesse.Therefore let our proportions for these WarresBe soone collected, and all things thought vpon,That may with reasonable swiftnesse addeMore Feathers to our Wings: for God before,Wee'le chide this Dolphin at his fathers doore.Therefore let euery man now taske his thought,That this faire Action may on foot be brought.Exeunt.Flourish. Enter Chorus.Now all the Youth of England are on fire,And silken Dalliance in the Wardrobe lyes:Now thriue the Armorers, and Honors thoughtReignes solely in the breast of euery man.They sell the Pasture now, to buy the Horse;Following the Mirror of all Christian Kings,With winged heeles, as English Mercuries.For now sits Expectation in the Ayre,And hides a Sword, from Hilts vnto the Point,With Crownes Imperiall, Crownes and Coronets,Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.The French aduis'd by good intelligenceOf this most dreadfull preparation,Shake in their feare, and with pale PollicySeeke to diuert the English purposes.O England: Modell to thy inward Greatnesse,Like little Body with a mightie Heart:What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,Were all thy children kinde and naturall:But see, thy fault France hath in thee found out,A nest of hollow bosomes, which he fillesWith treacherous Crownes, and three corrupted men:One, Richard Earle of Cambridge, and the secondHenry Lord Scroope of Masham, and the thirdSir Thomas Grey Knight of Northumberland,Haue for the Gilt of France (O guilt indeed)Confirm'd Conspiracy with fearefull France,And by their hands, this grace of Kings must dye.If Hell and Treason hold their promises,Ere he take ship for France; and in Southampton.Linger your patience on, and wee'l digestTh' abuse of distance; force a play:The summe is payde, the Traitors are agreed,The King is set from London, and the SceneIs now transported (Gentles) to Southampton,There is the Play-house now, there must you sit,And thence to France shall we conuey you safe,And bring you backe: Charming the narrow seasTo giue you gentle Passe: for if we may,Wee'l not offend one stomacke with our Play.But till the King come forth, and not till then,Vnto Southampton do we shift our Scene.ExitEnter Corporall Nym, and Lieutenant Bardolfe.Bar. Well met Corporall NymNym. Good morrow Lieutenant BardolfeBar. What, are Ancient Pistoll and you friends yet? Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little: but when time shall serue, there shall be smiles, but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I will winke and holde out mine yron: it is a simple one, but what though? It will toste Cheese, and it will endure cold, as another mans sword will: and there's an endBar. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friendes, and wee'l bee all three sworne brothers to France: Let't be so good Corporall NymNym. Faith, I will liue so long as I may, that's the certaine of it: and when I cannot liue any longer, I will doe as I may: That is my rest, that is the rendeuous of itBar. It is certaine Corporall, that he is marryed to Nell Quickly, and certainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to herNym. I cannot tell, Things must be as they may: men may sleepe, and they may haue their throats about them at that time, and some say, kniues haue edges: It must be as it may, though patience be a tyred name, yet shee will plodde, there must be Conclusions, well, I cannot tell. Enter Pistoll, & Quickly.Bar. Heere comes Ancient Pistoll and his wife: goodCorporall be patient heere. How now mine Hoaste Pistoll?Pist. Base Tyke, cal'st thou mee Hoste, now by thishand I sweare I scorne the terme: nor shall my Nel keepLodgersHost. No by my troth, not long: For we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteene Gentlewomen that liue honestly by the pricke of their Needles, but it will bee thought we keepe a Bawdy-house straight. O welliday Lady, if he be not hewne now, we shall see wilful adultery and murther committedBar. Good Lieutenant, good Corporal offer nothing heereNym. PishPist. Pish for thee, Island dogge: thou prickeard curof IslandHost. Good Corporall Nym shew thy valor, and putvp your swordNym. Will you shogge off? I would haue you solusPist. Solus, egregious dog? O Viper vile; The solus in thy most meruailous face, the solus in thy teeth, and in thy throate, and in thy hatefull Lungs, yea in thy Maw perdy; and which is worse, within thy nastie mouth. I do retort the solus in thy bowels, for I can take, and Pistols cocke is vp, and flashing fire will followNym. I am not Barbason, you cannot coniure mee: I haue an humor to knocke you indifferently well: If you grow fowle with me Pistoll, I will scoure you with my Rapier, as I may, in fayre tearmes. If you would walke off, I would pricke your guts a little in good tearmes, as I may, and that's the humor of itPist. O Braggard vile, and damned furious wight,The Graue doth gape, and doting death is neere,Therefore exhaleBar. Heare me, heare me what I say: Hee that strikesthe first stroake, Ile run him vp to the hilts, as I am a soldierPist. An oath of mickle might, and fury shall abate. Giue me thy fist, thy fore-foote to me giue: Thy spirites are most tallNym. I will cut thy throate one time or other in fairetermes, that is the humor of itPistoll. Couple a gorge, that is the word. I defie thee againe.O hound of Creet, think'st thou my spouse to get?No, to the spittle goe, and from the Poudring tub of infamy,fetch forth the Lazar Kite of Cressids kinde, DollTeare-sheete, she by name, and her espouse. I haue, and Iwill hold the Quondam Quickely for the onely shee: andPauca, there's enough to go to.Enter the Boy.Boy. Mine Hoast Pistoll, you must come to my Mayster, and your Hostesse: He is very sicke, & would to bed. Good Bardolfe, put thy face betweene his sheets, and do the Office of a Warming-pan: Faith, he's very illBard. Away you RogueHost. By my troth he'l yeeld the Crow a pudding one of these dayes: the King has kild his heart. Good Husband come home presently.ExitBar. Come, shall I make you two friends. Wee must to France together: why the diuel should we keep kniues to cut one anothers throats? Pist. Let floods ore-swell, and fiends for food howle onNym. You'l pay me the eight shillings I won of youat Betting?Pist. Base is the Slaue that payesNym. That now I wil haue: that's the humor of itPist. As manhood shal compound: push home.DrawBard. By this sword, hee that makes the first thrust,Ile kill him: By this sword, I wilPi. Sword is an Oath, & Oaths must haue their courseBar. Coporall Nym, & thou wilt be friends be frends,and thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me to: pretheeput vpPist. A Noble shalt thou haue, and present pay, and Liquor likewise will I giue to thee, and friendshippe shall combyne, and brotherhood. Ile liue by Nymme, & Nymme shall liue by me, is not this iust? For I shal Sutler be vnto the Campe, and profits will accrue. Giue mee thy handNym. I shall haue my Noble?Pist. In cash, most iustly paydNym. Well, then that the humor of't.Enter Hostesse.Host. As euer you come of women, come in quickly to sir Iohn: A poore heart, hee is so shak'd of a burning quotidian Tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to himNym. The King hath run bad humors on the Knight,that's the euen of itPist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right, his heart is fractedand corroborateNym. The King is a good King, but it must bee as itmay: he passes some humors, and carreeresPist. Let vs condole the Knight, for (Lambekins) wewill liue.Enter Exeter, Bedford, & Westmerland.Bed. Fore God his Grace is bold to trust these traitorsExe. They shall be apprehended by and byWest. How smooth and euen they do bear themselues,As if allegeance in their bosomes sateCrowned with faith, and constant loyaltyBed. The King hath note of all that they intend,By interception, which they dreame not ofExe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious fauours;That he should for a forraigne purse, so sellHis Soueraignes life to death and treachery.Sound Trumpets.Enter the King, Scroope, Cambridge, and Gray.King. Now sits the winde faire, and we will aboord.My Lord of Cambridge, and my kinde Lord of Masham,And you my gentle Knight, giue me your thoughts:Thinke you not that the powres we beare with vsWill cut their passage through the force of France?Doing the execution, and the acte,For which we haue in head assembled themScro. No doubt my Liege, if each man do his bestKing. I doubt not that, since we are well perswadedWe carry not a heart with vs from hence,That growes not in a faire consent with ours:Nor leaue not one behinde, that doth not wishSuccesse and Conquest to attend on vsCam. Neuer was Monarch better fear'd and lou'd,Then is your Maiesty; there's not I thinke a subiectThat sits in heart-greefe and vneasinesseVnder the sweet shade of your gouernmentKni. True: those that were your Fathers enemies,Haue steep'd their gauls in hony, and do serue youWith hearts create of duty, and of zealeKing. We therefore haue great cause of thankfulnes,And shall forget the office of our handSooner then quittance of desert and merit,According to the weight and worthinesseScro. So seruice shall with steeled sinewes toyle,And labour shall refresh it selfe with hopeTo do your Grace incessant seruicesKing. We Iudge no lesse. Vnkle of Exeter,Inlarge the man committed yesterday,That rayl'd against our person: We considerIt was excesse of Wine that set him on,And on his more aduice, We pardon himScro. That's mercy, but too much security:Let him be punish'd Soueraigne, least exampleBreed (by his sufferance) more of such a kindKing. O let vs yet be mercifullCam. So may your Highnesse, and yet punish tooGrey. Sir, you shew great mercy if you giue him life,After the taste of much correctionKing. Alas, your too much loue and care of me,Are heauy Orisons 'gainst this poore wretch:If little faults proceeding on distemper,Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eyeWhen capitall crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested,Appeare before vs? Wee'l yet inlarge that man,Though Cambridge, Scroope, and Gray, in their deere careAnd tender preseruation of our personWold haue him punish'd. And now to our French causes,Who are the late Commissioners?Cam. I one my Lord,Your Highnesse bad me aske for it to dayScro. So did you me my LiegeGray. And I my Royall SoueraigneKing. Then Richard Earle of Cambridge, there is yours:There yours Lord Scroope of Masham, and Sir Knight:Gray of Northumberland, this same is yours:Reade them, and know I know your worthinesse.My Lord of Westmerland, and Vnkle Exeter,We will aboord to night. Why how now Gentlemen?What see you in those papers, that you looseSo much complexion? Looke ye how they change:Their cheekes are paper. Why, what reade you there,That haue so cowarded and chac'd your bloodOut of apparanceCam. I do confesse my fault,And do submit me to your Highnesse mercyGray. Scro. To which we all appealeKing. The mercy that was quicke in vs but late,By your owne counsaile is supprest and kill'd:You must not dare (for shame) to talke of mercy,For your owne reasons turne into your bosomes,As dogs vpon their maisters, worrying you:See you my Princes, and my Noble Peeres,These English monsters: My Lord of Cambridge heere,You know how apt our loue was, to accordTo furnish with all appertinentsBelonging to his Honour; and this man,Hath for a few light Crownes, lightly conspir'dAnd sworne vnto the practises of FranceTo kill vs heere in Hampton. To the which,This Knight no lesse for bounty bound to VsThen Cambridge is, hath likewise sworne. But O,What shall I say to thee Lord Scroope, thou cruell,Ingratefull, sauage, and inhumane Creature?Thou that didst beare the key of all my counsailes,That knew'st the very bottome of my soule,That (almost) might'st haue coyn'd me into Golde,Would'st thou haue practis'd on me, for thy vse?May it be possible, that forraigne hyerCould out of thee extract one sparke of euillThat might annoy my finger? 'Tis so strange,That though the truth of it stands off as grosseAs black and white, my eye will scarsely see it.Treason, and murther, euer kept together,As two yoake diuels sworne to eythers purpose,Working so grossely in an naturall cause,That admiration did not hoope at them.But thou (gainst all proportion) didst bring inWonder to waite on treason, and on murther:And whatsoeuer cunning fiend it wasThat wrought vpon thee so preposterously,Hath got the voyce in hell for excellence:And other diuels that suggest by treasons,Do botch and bungle vp damnation,With patches, colours, and with formes being fetchtFrom glist'ring semblances of piety:But he that temper'd thee, bad thee stand vp,Gaue thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,Vnlesse to dub thee with the name of Traitor.If that same Daemon that hath gull'd thee thus,Should with his Lyon-gate walke the whole world,He might returne to vastie Tartar backe,And tell the Legions, I can neuer winA soule so easie as that Englishmans.Oh, how hast thou with iealousie infectedThe sweetnesse of affiance? Shew men dutifull,Why so didst thou: seeme they graue and learned?Why so didst thou. Come they of Noble Family?Why so didst thou. Seeme they religious?Why so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,Free from grosse passion, or of mirth, or anger,Constant in spirit, not sweruing with the blood,Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement,Not working with the eye, without the eare,And but in purged iudgement trusting neither,Such and so finely boulted didst thou seeme:And thus thy fall hath left a kinde of blot,To make thee full fraught man, and best induedWith some suspition, I will weepe for thee.For this reuolt of thine, me thinkes is likeAnother fall of Man. Their faults are open,Arrest them to the answer of the Law,And God acquit them of their practisesExe. I arrest thee of High Treason, by the name ofRichard Earle of Cambridge.I arrest thee of High Treason, by the name of ThomasLord Scroope of Marsham.I arrest thee of High Treason, by the name of ThomasGrey, Knight of NorthumberlandScro. Our purposes, God iustly hath discouer'd,And I repent my fault more then my death,Which I beseech your Highnesse to forgiue,Although my body pay the price of itCam. For me, the Gold of France did not seduce,Although I did admit it as a motiue,The sooner to effect what I intended:But God be thanked for preuention,Which in sufferance heartily will reioyce,Beseeching God, and you, to pardon meeGray. Neuer did faithfull subiect more reioyceAt the discouery of most dangerous Treason,Then I do at this houre ioy ore my selfe,Preuented from a damned enterprize;My fault, but not my body, pardon SoueraigneKing. God quit you in his mercy: Hear your sentenceYou haue conspir'd against Our Royall person,Ioyn'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his Coffers,Receyu'd the Golden Earnest of Our death:Wherein you would haue sold your King to slaughter,His Princes, and his Peeres to seruitude,His Subiects to oppression, and contempt,And his whole Kingdome into desolation:Touching our person, seeke we no reuenge,But we our Kingdomes safety must so tender,Whose ruine you sought, that to her LawesWe do deliuer you. Get you therefore hence,(Poore miserable wretches) to your death:The taste whereof, God of his mercy giueYou patience to indure, and true RepentanceOf all your deare offences. Beare them hence.Enter.Now Lords for France: the enterprise whereofShall be to you as vs, like glorious.We doubt not of a faire and luckie Warre,Since God so graciously hath brought to lightThis dangerous Treason, lurking in our way,To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now,But euery Rubbe is smoothed on our way.Then forth, deare Countreymen: Let vs deliuerOur Puissance into the hand of God,Putting it straight in expedition.Chearely to Sea, the signes of Warre aduance,No King of England, if not King of France.Flourish.Enter Pistoll, Nim, Bardolph, Boy, and Hostesse.Hostesse. 'Prythee honey sweet Husband, let me bring thee to StainesPistoll. No: for my manly heart doth erne. Bardolph, be blythe: Nim, rowse thy vaunting Veines: Boy, brissle thy Courage vp: for Falstaffe hee is dead, and wee must erne thereforeBard. Would I were with him, wheresomere hee is, eyther in Heauen, or in HellHostesse. Nay sure, hee's not in Hell: hee's in Arthurs Bosome, if euer man went to Arthurs Bosome: a made a finer end, and went away and it had beene any Christome Childe: a parted eu'n iust betweene Twelue and One, eu'n at the turning o'th' Tyde: for after I saw him fumble with the Sheets, and play with Flowers, and smile vpon his fingers end, I knew there was but one way: for his Nose was as sharpe as a Pen, and a Table of greene fields. How now Sir Iohn (quoth I?) what man? be a good cheare: so a cryed out, God, God, God, three or foure times: now I, to comfort him, bid him a should not thinke of God; I hop'd there was no neede to trouble himselfe with any such thoughts yet: so a bad me lay more Clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the Bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone: then I felt to his knees, and so vp-peer'd, and vpward, and all was as cold as any stoneNim. They say he cryed out of SackHostesse. I, that a didBard. And of WomenHostesse. Nay, that a did notBoy. Yes that a did, and said they were Deules incarnateWoman. A could neuer abide Carnation, 'twas a Colourhe neuer lik'dBoy. A said once, the Deule would haue him aboutWomenHostesse. A did in some sort (indeed) handle Women: but then hee was rumatique, and talk'd of the Whore of BabylonBoy. Doe you not remember a saw a Flea sticke vpon Bardolphs Nose, and a said it was a blacke Soule burning in HellBard. Well, the fuell is gone that maintain'd that fire:that's all the Riches I got in his seruiceNim. Shall wee shogg? the King will be gone fromSouthamptonPist. Come, let's away. My Loue, giue me thy Lippes: Looke to my Chattels, and my Moueables: Let Sences rule: The world is, Pitch and pay: trust none: for Oathes are Strawes, mens Faiths are Wafer-Cakes, and hold-fast is the onely Dogge: My Ducke, therefore Caueto bee thy Counsailor. Goe, cleare thy Chrystalls. Yokefellowes in Armes, let vs to France, like Horseleeches my Boyes, to sucke, to sucke, the very blood to suckeBoy. And that's but vnwholesome food, they sayPist. Touch her soft mouth, and marchBard. Farwell HostesseNim. I cannot kisse, that is the humor of it: butadieuPist. Let Huswiferie appeare: keepe close, I theecommandHostesse. Farwell: adieu.Exeunt.Flourish.Enter the French King, the Dolphin, the Dukes of Berry andBritaine.King. Thus comes the English with full power vpon vs,And more then carefully it vs concernes,To answer Royally in our defences.Therefore the Dukes of Berry and of Britaine,Of Brabant and of Orleance, shall make forth,And you Prince Dolphin, with all swift dispatchTo lyne and new repayre our Townes of WarreWith men of courage, and with meanes defendant:For England his approaches makes as fierce,As Waters to the sucking of a Gulfe.It fits vs then to be as prouident,As feare may teach vs, out of late examplesLeft by the fatall and neglected English,Vpon our fieldsDolphin. My most redoubted Father,It is most meet we arme vs 'gainst the Foe:For Peace it selfe should not so dull a Kingdome,(Though War nor no knowne Quarrel were in question)But that Defences, Musters, Preparations,Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected,As were a Warre in expectation.Therefore I say, 'tis meet we all goe forth,To view the sick and feeble parts of France:And let vs doe it with no shew of feare,No, with no more, then if we heard that EnglandWere busied with a Whitson Morris-dance:For, my good Liege, shee is so idly King'd,Her Scepter so phantastically borne,By a vaine giddie shallow humorous Youth,That feare attends her notConst. O peace, Prince Dolphin,You are too much mistaken in this King:Question your Grace the late Embassadors,With what great State he heard their Embassie,How well supply'd with Noble Councellors,How modest in exception; and withall,How terrible in constant resolution:And you shall find, his Vanities fore-spent,Were but the out-side of the Roman Brutus,Couering Discretion with a Coat of Folly;As Gardeners doe with Ordure hide those RootsThat shall first spring, and be most delicateDolphin. Well, 'tis not so, my Lord High Constable.But though we thinke it so, it is no matter:In cases of defence, 'tis best to weighThe Enemie more mightie then he seemes,So the proportions of defence are fill'd:Which of a weake and niggardly proiection,Doth like a Miser spoyle his Coat, with scantingA little ClothKing. Thinke we King Harry strong:And Princes, looke you strongly arme to meet him.The Kindred of him hath beene flesht vpon vs:And he is bred out of that bloodie straine,That haunted vs in our familiar Pathes:Witnesse our too much memorable shame,When Cressy Battell fatally was strucke,And all our Princes captiu'd, by the handOf that black Name, Edward, black Prince of Wales:Whiles that his Mountaine Sire, on Mountaine standingVp in the Ayre, crown'd with the Golden Sunne,Saw his Heroicall Seed, and smil'd to see himMangle the Worke of Nature, and defaceThe Patternes, that by God and by French FathersHad twentie yeeres been made. This is a StemOf that Victorious Stock: and let vs feareThe Natiue mightinesse and fate of him.Enter a Messenger.Mess. Embassadors from Harry King of England,Doe craue admittance to your MaiestieKing. Weele giue them present audience.Goe, and bring them.You see this Chase is hotly followed, friendsDolphin. Turne head, and stop pursuit: for coward DogsMost spend their mouths, whe 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 ChallengerKing. 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 toKing. For vs, we will consider of this further:To morrow shall you beare our full intentBack to our Brother of EnglandDolph. 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 OrdinanceDolph. 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-BallsExe. 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 FranceKing. 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 alreadyKing. 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. George.Alarum, and Chambers goe off.Enter Nim, Bardolph, Pistoll, and Boy.Bard. On, on, on, on, on, to the breach, to the breachNim. '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 itPist. 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 fameBoy. Would I were in a Ale-house in London, I would giue all my fame for a Pot of Ale, and safetiePist. And I: If wishes would preuayle with me, my purpose should not fayle with me; but thither would I highBoy. As duly, but not as truly, as Bird doth sing onbough.Enter Fluellen.Flu. Vp to the breach, you Dogges; auaunt youCullionsPist. 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 ChuckNim. 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 youFlu. 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 directionsGower. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the Order of the Siege is giuen, is altogether directed by an Irish man, a very valiant Gentleman yfaithWelch. It is Captaine Makmorrice, is it not?Gower. I thinke it beWelch. 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 himWelch. 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 RomansScot. I say gudday, Captaine FluellenWelch. Godden to your Worship, good CaptaineIamesGower. 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 doneWelch. 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 PointScot. 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 maryIrish. 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 lawScot. 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 twayWelch. Captaine Mackmorrice, I thinke, looke you, vnder your correction, there is not many of your NationIrish. 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 particularitiesIrish. I doe not know you so good a man as my selfe: so Chrish saue me, I will cut off your HeadGower. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each otherScot. A, that's a foule fault.A Parley.Gower. The Towne sounds a ParleyWelch. 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 defensibleKing. 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 LanguageAlice. En peu MadameKath. 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 HandKath. De HandAlice. E le doytsKat. Le doyts, ma foy Ie oublie, e doyt mays, ie me souemerayle doyts ie pense qu'ils ont appelle de fingres, ou de fingresAlice. Le main de Hand, le doyts le Fingres, ie pense que iesuis le bon escholierKath. I'ay gaynie diux mots d' Anglois vistement, comentappelle vous le ongles?Alice. Le ongles, les appellons de NaylesKath. De Nayles escoute: dites moy, si ie parle bien: deHand, de Fingres, e de NaylesAlice. C'est bien dict Madame, il & fort bon AngloisKath. Dites moy l' Anglois pour le brasAlice. De Arme, MadameKath. E de coudeeAlice. D' ElbowKath. D' Elbow: Ie men fay le repiticio de touts les mots que vous maves, apprins des a presentAlice. Il & trop difficile Madame, comme Ie penseKath. Excuse moy Alice escoute, d' Hand, de Fingre, deNayles, d' Arma, de BilbowAlice. D' Elbow, MadameKath. O Seigneur Dieu, ie men oublie d' Elbow, coment appelle vous le colAlice. De Nick, MadameKath. De Nick, e le mentonAlice. De ChinKath. De Sin: le col de Nick, le menton de SinAlice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur en verite vous pronounciesles mots ausi droict, que le Natifs d' AngleterreKath. Ie ne doute point d' apprendre par de grace de Dieu,& en peu de tempsAlice. N' aue vos y desia oublie ce que ie vous a ensignieKath. Nome ie recitera a vous promptement, d' Hand, deFingre, de MayleesAlice. De Nayles, MadameKath. De Nayles, de Arme, de IlbowAlice. Sans vostre honeus d' ElbowKath. Ainsi de ie d' Elbow, de Nick, & de Sin: coment appelle vous les pied & de robaAlice. Le Foot Madame, & le CountKath. 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 CountAlice. Excellent, MadameKath. 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 SomeConst. 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 PeopleDolph. 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 AlbionConst. 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 LordsDolphin. 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 WarriorsBrit. 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-awayesKing. 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

Enter Prologue.

O For a Muse of Fire, that would ascendThe brightest Heauen of Inuention:A Kingdome for a Stage, Princes to Act,And Monarchs to behold the swelling Scene.Then should the Warlike Harry, like himselfe,Assume the Port of Mars, and at his heeles(Leasht in, like Hounds) should Famine, Sword, and FireCrouch for employment. But pardon, Gentles all:The flat vnraysed Spirits, that hath dar'd,On this vnworthy Scaffold, to bring forthSo great an Obiect. Can this Cock-Pit holdThe vastie fields of France? Or may we crammeWithin this Woodden O, the very CaskesThat did affright the Ayre at Agincourt?O pardon: since a crooked Figure mayAttest in little place a Million,And let vs, Cyphers to this great Accompt,On your imaginarie Forces worke.Suppose within the Girdle of these WallsAre now confin'd two mightie Monarchies,Whose high, vp-reared, and abutting Fronts,The perillous narrow Ocean parts asunder.Peece out our imperfections with your thoughts:Into a thousand parts diuide one Man,And make imaginarie Puissance.Thinke when we talke of Horses, that you see themPrinting their prowd Hoofes i'th' receiuing Earth:For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our Kings,Carry them here and there: Iumping o're Times;Turning th' accomplishment of many yeeresInto an Howre-glasse: for the which supplie,Admit me Chorus to this Historie;Who Prologue-like, your humble patience pray,Gently to heare, kindly to iudge our Play.Enter.

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter the two Bishops of Canterbury and Ely.

Bish.Cant. My Lord, Ile tell you, that selfe Bill is vrg'd,Which in th' eleueth yere of y last Kings reignWas like, and had indeed against vs past,But that the scambling and vnquiet timeDid push it out of farther question

Bish.Ely. But how my Lord shall we resist it now?Bish.Cant. It must be thought on: if it passe against vs,We loose the better halfe of our Possession:For all the Temporall Lands, which men deuoutBy Testament haue giuen to the Church,Would they strip from vs; being valu'd thus,As much as would maintaine, to the Kings honor,Full fifteene Earles, and fifteene hundred Knights,Six thousand and two hundred good Esquires:And to reliefe of Lazars, and weake ageOf indigent faint Soules, past corporall toyle,A hundred Almes-houses, right well supply'd:And to the Coffers of the King beside,A thousand pounds by th' yeere. Thus runs the Bill

Bish.Ely. This would drinke deepe

Bish.Cant. 'Twould drinke the Cup and all

Bish.Ely. But what preuention?Bish.Cant. The King is full of grace, and faire regard

Bish.Ely. And a true louer of the holy Church

Bish.Cant. The courses of his youth promis'd it not.The breath no sooner left his Fathers body,But that his wildnesse, mortify'd in him,Seem'd to dye too: yea, at that very moment,Consideration like an Angell came,And whipt th' offending Adam out of him;Leauing his body as a Paradise,T' inuelop and containe Celestiall Spirits.Neuer was such a sodaine Scholler made:Neuer came Reformation in a Flood,With such a heady currance scowring faults:Nor neuer Hidra-headed WilfulnesseSo soone did loose his Seat; and all at once;As in this King

Bish.Ely. We are blessed in the Change

Bish.Cant. Heare him but reason in Diuinitie;And all-admiring, with an inward wishYou would desire the King were made a Prelate:Heare him debate of Common-wealth Affaires;You would say, it hath been all in all his study:List his discourse of Warre; and you shall heareA fearefull Battaile rendred you in Musique.Turne him to any Cause of Pollicy,The Gordian Knot of it he will vnloose,Familiar as his Garter: that when he speakes,The Ayre, a Charter'd Libertine, is still,And the mute Wonder lurketh in mens eares,To steale his sweet and honyed Sentences:So that the Art and Practique part of Life,Must be the Mistresse to this Theorique.Which is a wonder how his Grace should gleane it,Since his addiction was to Courses vaine,His Companies vnletter'd, rude, and shallow,His Houres fill'd vp with Ryots, Banquets, Sports;And neuer noted in him any studie,Any retyrement, any sequestration,From open Haunts and Popularitie

B.Ely. The Strawberry growes vnderneath the Nettle,And holesome Berryes thriue and ripen best,Neighbour'd by Fruit of baser qualitie:And so the Prince obscur'd his ContemplationVnder the Veyle of Wildnesse, which (no doubt)Grew like the Summer Grasse, fastest by Night,Vnseene, yet cressiue in his facultie

B.Cant. It must be so; for Miracles are ceast:And therefore we must needes admit the meanes,How things are perfected

B.Ely. But my good Lord:How now for mittigation of this Bill,Vrg'd by the Commons? doth his MaiestieIncline to it, or no?B.Cant. He seemes indifferent:Or rather swaying more vpon our part,Then cherishing th' exhibiters against vs:For I haue made an offer to his Maiestie,Vpon our Spirituall Conuocation,And in regard of Causes now in hand,Which I haue open'd to his Grace at large,As touching France, to giue a greater Summe,Then euer at one time the Clergie yetDid to his Predecessors part withall

B.Ely. How did this offer seeme receiu'd, my Lord?B.Cant. With good acceptance of his Maiestie:Saue that there was not time enough to heare,As I perceiu'd his Grace would faine haue done,The seueralls and vnhidden passagesOf his true Titles to some certaine Dukedomes,And generally, to the Crowne and Seat of France,Deriu'd from Edward, his great Grandfather

B.Ely. What was th' impediment that broke this off?B.Cant. The French Embassador vpon that instantCrau'd audience; and the howre I thinke is come,To giue him hearing: Is it foure a Clock?B.Ely. It is

B.Cant. Then goe we in, to know his Embassie:Which I could with a ready guesse declare,Before the Frenchman speake a word of it

B.Ely. Ile wait vpon you, and I long to heare it.

Exeunt.

Enter the King, Humfrey, Bedford, Clarence, Warwick,Westmerland, andExeter.

King. Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?Exeter. Not here in presence

King. Send for him, good Vnckle

Westm. Shall we call in th' Ambassador, my Liege?King. Not yet, my Cousin: we would be resolu'd,Before we heare him, of some things of weight,That taske our thoughts, concerning vs and France.Enter two Bishops.

B.Cant. God and his Angels guard your sacred Throne,And make you long become it

King. Sure we thanke you.My learned Lord, we pray you to proceed,And iustly and religiously vnfold,Why the Law Salike, that they haue in France,Or should or should not barre vs in our Clayme:And God forbid, my deare and faithfull Lord,That you should fashion, wrest, or bow your reading,Or nicely charge your vnderstanding Soule,With opening Titles miscreate, whose rightSutes not in natiue colours with the truth:For God doth know, how many now in health,Shall drop their blood, in approbationOf what your reuerence shall incite vs to.Therefore take heed how you impawne our Person,How you awake our sleeping Sword of Warre;We charge you in the Name of God take heed:For neuer two such Kingdomes did contend,Without much fall of blood, whose guiltlesse dropsAre euery one, a Woe, a sore Complaint,'Gainst him, whose wrongs giues edge vnto the Swords,That makes such waste in briefe mortalitie.Vnder this Coniuration, speake my Lord:For we will heare, note, and beleeue in heart,That what you speake, is in your Conscience washt,As pure as sinne with Baptisme

B.Can. Then heare me gracious Soueraign, & you Peers,That owe your selues, your liues, and seruices,To this Imperiall Throne. There is no barreTo make against your Highnesse Clayme to France,But this which they produce from Pharamond,In terram Salicam Mulieres ne succedant,No Woman shall succeed in Salike Land:Which Salike Land, the French vniustly glozeTo be the Realme of France, and PharamondThe founder of this Law, and Female Barre.Yet their owne Authors faithfully affirme,That the Land Salike is in Germanie,Betweene the Flouds of Sala and of Elue:Where Charles the Great hauing subdu'd the Saxons,There left behind and settled certaine French:Who holding in disdaine the German Women,For some dishonest manners of their life,Establisht then this Law; to wit, No FemaleShould be Inheritrix in Salike Land:Which Salike (as I said) 'twixt Elue and Sala,Is at this day in Germanie, call'd Meisen.Then doth it well appeare, the Salike LawWas not deuised for the Realme of France:Nor did the French possesse the Salike Land,Vntill foure hundred one and twentie yeeresAfter defunction of King Pharamond,Idly suppos'd the founder of this Law,Who died within the yeere of our Redemption,Foure hundred twentie six: and Charles the GreatSubdu'd the Saxons, and did seat the FrenchBeyond the Riuer Sala, in the yeereEight hundred fiue. Besides, their Writers say,King Pepin, which deposed Childerike,Did as Heire Generall, being descendedOf Blithild, which was Daughter to King Clothair,Make Clayme and Title to the Crowne of France.Hugh Capet also, who vsurpt the CrowneOf Charles the Duke of Loraine, sole Heire maleOf the true Line and Stock of Charles the Great:To find his Title with some shewes of truth,Though in pure truth it was corrupt and naught,Conuey'd himselfe as th' Heire to th' Lady Lingare,Daughter to Charlemaine, who was the SonneTo Lewes the Emperour, and Lewes the SonneOf Charles the Great: also King Lewes the Tenth,Who was sole Heire to the Vsurper Capet,Could not keepe quiet in his conscience,Wearing the Crowne of France, 'till satisfied,That faire Queene Isabel, his Grandmother,Was Lineall of the Lady Ermengare,Daughter to Charles the foresaid Duke of Loraine:By the which Marriage, the Lyne of Charles the GreatWas re-vnited to the Crowne of France.So, that as cleare as is the Summers Sunne,King Pepins Title, and Hugh Capets Clayme,King Lewes his satisfaction, all appeareTo hold in Right and Title of the Female:So doe the Kings of France vnto this day.Howbeit, they would hold vp this Salique Law,To barre your Highnesse clayming from the Female,And rather chuse to hide them in a Net,Then amply to imbarre their crooked Titles,Vsurpt from you and your Progenitors

King. May I with right and conscience make this claim?Bish.Cant. The sinne vpon my head, dread Soueraigne:For in the Booke of Numbers is it writ,When the man dyes, let the InheritanceDescend vnto the Daughter. Gracious Lord,Stand for your owne, vnwind your bloody Flagge,Looke back into your mightie Ancestors:Goe my dread Lord, to your great Grandsires Tombe,From whom you clayme; inuoke his Warlike Spirit,And your Great Vnckles, Edward the Black Prince,Who on the French ground play'd a Tragedie,Making defeat on the full Power of France:Whiles his most mightie Father on a HillStood smiling, to behold his Lyons WhelpeForrage in blood of French Nobilitie.O Noble English, that could entertaineWith halfe their Forces, the full pride of France,And let another halfe stand laughing by,All out of worke, and cold for action

Bish. Awake remembrance of these valiant dead,And with your puissant Arme renew their Feats;You are their Heire, you sit vpon their Throne:The Blood and Courage that renowned them,Runs in your Veines: and my thrice-puissant LiegeIs in the very May-Morne of his Youth,Ripe for Exploits and mightie Enterprises

Exe. Your Brother Kings and Monarchs of the EarthDoe all expect, that you should rowse your selfe,As did the former Lyons of your Blood

West. They know your Grace hath cause, and means, and might;So hath your Highnesse: neuer King of EnglandHad Nobles richer, and more loyall Subiects,Whose hearts haue left their bodyes here in England,And lye pauillion'd in the fields of France

Bish.Can. O let their bodyes follow my deare LiegeWith Bloods, and Sword and Fire, to win your Right:In ayde whereof, we of the SpiritualtieWill rayse your Highnesse such a mightie Summe,As neuer did the Clergie at one timeBring in to any of your Ancestors

King. We must not onely arme t' inuade the French,But lay downe our proportions, to defendAgainst the Scot, who will make roade vpon vs,With all aduantages

Bish.Can. They of those Marches, gracious Soueraign,Shall be a Wall sufficient to defendOur in-land from the pilfering Borderers

King. We do not meane the coursing snatchers onely,But feare the maine intendment of the Scot,Who hath been still a giddy neighbour to vs:For you shall reade, that my great GrandfatherNeuer went with his forces into France,But that the Scot, on his vnfurnisht Kingdome,Came pouring like the Tyde into a breach,With ample and brim fulnesse of his force,Galling the gleaned Land with hot Assayes,Girding with grieuous siege, Castles and Townes:That England being emptie of defence,Hath shooke and trembled at th' ill neighbourhood

B.Can. She hath bin the more fear'd the harm'd, my Liege:For heare her but exampl'd by her selfe,When all her Cheualrie hath been in France,And shee a mourning Widdow of her Nobles,Shee hath her selfe not onely well defended,But taken and impounded as a Stray,The King of Scots: whom shee did send to France,To fill King Edwards fame with prisoner Kings,And make their Chronicle as rich with prayse,As is the Owse and bottome of the SeaWith sunken Wrack, and sum-lesse Treasuries

Bish.Ely. But there's a saying very old and true,If that you will France win, then with Scotland first begin.For once the Eagle (England) being in prey,To her vnguarded Nest, the Weazell (Scot)Comes sneaking, and so sucks her Princely Egges,Playing the Mouse in absence of the Cat,To tame and hauocke more then she can eate

Exet. It followes then, the Cat must stay at home,Yet that is but a crush'd necessity,Since we haue lockes to safegard necessaries,And pretty traps to catch the petty theeues.While that the Armed hand doth fight abroad,Th' aduised head defends it selfe at home:For Gouernment, though high, and low, and lower,Put into parts, doth keepe in one consent,Congreeing in a full and natural close,Like Musicke

Cant. Therefore doth heauen diuideThe state of man in diuers functions,Setting endeuour in continual motion:To which is fixed as an ayme or butt,Obedience: for so worke the Hony Bees,Creatures that by a rule in Nature teachThe Act of Order to a peopled Kingdome.They haue a King, and Officers of sorts,Where some like Magistrates correct at home:Others, like Merchants venter Trade abroad:Others, like Souldiers armed in their stings,Make boote vpon the Summers Veluet buddes:Which pillage, they with merry march bring homeTo the Tent-royal of their Emperor:Who busied in his Maiesties surueyesThe singing Masons building roofes of Gold,The ciuil Citizens kneading vp the hony;The poore Mechanicke Porters, crowding inTheir heauy burthens at his narrow gate:The sad-ey'd Iustice with his surly humme,Deliuering ore to Executors paleThe lazie yawning Drone: I this inferre,That many things hauing full referenceTo one consent, may worke contrariously,As many Arrowes loosed seuerall wayesCome to one marke: as many wayes meet in one towne,As many fresh streames meet in one salt sea;As many Lynes close in the Dials center:So may a thousand actions once a foote,And in one purpose, and be all well borneWithout defeat. Therefore to France, my Liege,Diuide your happy England into foure,Whereof, take you one quarter into France,And you withall shall make all Gallia shake.If we with thrice such powers left at home,Cannot defend our owne doores from the dogge,Let vs be worried, and our Nation loseThe name of hardinesse and policie

King. Call in the Messengers sent from the Dolphin.Now are we well resolu'd, and by Gods helpeAnd yours, the noble sinewes of our power,France being ours, wee'l bend it to our Awe,Or breake it all to peeces. Or there wee'l sit,(Ruling in large and ample Emperie,Ore France, and all her (almost) Kingly Dukedomes)Or lay these bones in an vnworthy Vrne,Tomblesse, with no remembrance ouer them:Either our History shall with full mouthSpeake freely of our Acts, or else our graueLike Turkish mute, shall haue a tonguelesse mouth,Not worshipt with a waxen Epitaph.Enter Ambassadors of France.

Now are we well prepar'd to know the pleasureOf our faire Cosin Dolphin: for we heare,Your greeting is from him, not from the King

Amb. May't please your Maiestie to giue vs leaueFreely to render what we haue in charge:Or shall we sparingly shew you farre offThe Dolphins meaning, and our Embassie

King. We are no Tyrant, but a Christian King,Vnto whose grace our passion is as subiectAs is our wretches fettred in our prisons,Therefore with franke and with vncurbed plainnesse,Tell vs the Dolphins minde

Amb. Thus than in few:Your Highnesse lately sending into France,Did claime some certaine Dukedomes, in the rightOf your great Predecessor, King Edward the third.In answer of which claime, the Prince our MasterSayes, that you sauour too much of your youth,And bids you be aduis'd: There's nought in France,That can be with a nimble Galliard wonne:You cannot reuell into Dukedomes there.He therefore sends you meeter for your spiritThis Tun of Treasure; and in lieu of this,Desires you let the dukedomes that you claimeHeare no more of you. This the Dolphin speakes

King. What Treasure Vncle?Exe. Tennis balles, my Liege

Kin. We are glad the Dolphin is so pleasant with vs,His Present, and your paines we thanke you for:When we haue matcht our Rackets to these Balles,We will in France (by Gods grace) play a set,Shall strike his fathers Crowne into the hazard.Tell him, he hath made a match with such a Wrangler,That all the Courts of France will be disturb'dWith Chaces. And we vnderstand him well,How he comes o're vs with our wilder dayes,Not measuring what vse we made of them.We neuer valew'd this poore seate of England,And therefore liuing hence, did giue our selfeTo barbarous license: As 'tis euer common,That men are merriest, when they are from home.But tell the Dolphin, I will keepe my State,Be like a King, and shew my sayle of Greatnesse,When I do rowse me in my Throne of France.For that I haue layd by my Maiestie,And plodded like a man for working dayes:But I will rise there with so full a glorie,That I will dazle all the eyes of France,Yea strike the Dolphin blinde to looke on vs,And tell the pleasant Prince, this Mocke of hisHath turn'd his balles to Gun-stones, and his souleShall stand sore charged, for the wastefull vengeanceThat shall flye with them: for many a thousand widowsShall this his Mocke, mocke out of their deer husbands;Mocke mothers from their sonnes, mock Castles downe:And some are yet vngotten and vnborne,That shal haue cause to curse the Dolphins scorne.But this lyes all within the wil of God,To whom I do appeale, and in whose nameTel you the Dolphin, I am comming on,To venge me as I may, and to put forthMy rightfull hand in a wel-hallow'd cause.So get you hence in peace: And tell the Dolphin,His Iest will sauour but of shallow wit,When thousands weepe more then did laugh at it.Conuey them with safe conduct. Fare you well.

Exeunt. Ambassadors.

Exe. This was a merry Message

King. We hope to make the Sender blush at it:Therefore, my Lords, omit no happy howre,That may giue furth'rance to our Expedition:For we haue now no thought in vs but France,Saue those to God, that runne before our businesse.Therefore let our proportions for these WarresBe soone collected, and all things thought vpon,That may with reasonable swiftnesse addeMore Feathers to our Wings: for God before,Wee'le chide this Dolphin at his fathers doore.Therefore let euery man now taske his thought,That this faire Action may on foot be brought.

Exeunt.

Flourish. Enter Chorus.

Now all the Youth of England are on fire,And silken Dalliance in the Wardrobe lyes:Now thriue the Armorers, and Honors thoughtReignes solely in the breast of euery man.They sell the Pasture now, to buy the Horse;Following the Mirror of all Christian Kings,With winged heeles, as English Mercuries.For now sits Expectation in the Ayre,And hides a Sword, from Hilts vnto the Point,With Crownes Imperiall, Crownes and Coronets,Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.The French aduis'd by good intelligenceOf this most dreadfull preparation,Shake in their feare, and with pale PollicySeeke to diuert the English purposes.O England: Modell to thy inward Greatnesse,Like little Body with a mightie Heart:What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do,Were all thy children kinde and naturall:But see, thy fault France hath in thee found out,A nest of hollow bosomes, which he fillesWith treacherous Crownes, and three corrupted men:One, Richard Earle of Cambridge, and the secondHenry Lord Scroope of Masham, and the thirdSir Thomas Grey Knight of Northumberland,Haue for the Gilt of France (O guilt indeed)Confirm'd Conspiracy with fearefull France,And by their hands, this grace of Kings must dye.If Hell and Treason hold their promises,Ere he take ship for France; and in Southampton.Linger your patience on, and wee'l digestTh' abuse of distance; force a play:The summe is payde, the Traitors are agreed,The King is set from London, and the SceneIs now transported (Gentles) to Southampton,There is the Play-house now, there must you sit,And thence to France shall we conuey you safe,And bring you backe: Charming the narrow seasTo giue you gentle Passe: for if we may,Wee'l not offend one stomacke with our Play.But till the King come forth, and not till then,Vnto Southampton do we shift our Scene.

Exit

Enter Corporall Nym, and Lieutenant Bardolfe.

Bar. Well met Corporall Nym

Nym. Good morrow Lieutenant Bardolfe

Bar. What, are Ancient Pistoll and you friends yet? Nym. For my part, I care not: I say little: but when time shall serue, there shall be smiles, but that shall be as it may. I dare not fight, but I will winke and holde out mine yron: it is a simple one, but what though? It will toste Cheese, and it will endure cold, as another mans sword will: and there's an end

Bar. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friendes, and wee'l bee all three sworne brothers to France: Let't be so good Corporall Nym

Nym. Faith, I will liue so long as I may, that's the certaine of it: and when I cannot liue any longer, I will doe as I may: That is my rest, that is the rendeuous of it

Bar. It is certaine Corporall, that he is marryed to Nell Quickly, and certainly she did you wrong, for you were troth-plight to her

Nym. I cannot tell, Things must be as they may: men may sleepe, and they may haue their throats about them at that time, and some say, kniues haue edges: It must be as it may, though patience be a tyred name, yet shee will plodde, there must be Conclusions, well, I cannot tell. Enter Pistoll, & Quickly.

Bar. Heere comes Ancient Pistoll and his wife: goodCorporall be patient heere. How now mine Hoaste Pistoll?Pist. Base Tyke, cal'st thou mee Hoste, now by thishand I sweare I scorne the terme: nor shall my Nel keepLodgers

Host. No by my troth, not long: For we cannot lodge and board a dozen or fourteene Gentlewomen that liue honestly by the pricke of their Needles, but it will bee thought we keepe a Bawdy-house straight. O welliday Lady, if he be not hewne now, we shall see wilful adultery and murther committed

Bar. Good Lieutenant, good Corporal offer nothing heere

Nym. Pish

Pist. Pish for thee, Island dogge: thou prickeard curof Island

Host. Good Corporall Nym shew thy valor, and putvp your sword

Nym. Will you shogge off? I would haue you solus

Pist. Solus, egregious dog? O Viper vile; The solus in thy most meruailous face, the solus in thy teeth, and in thy throate, and in thy hatefull Lungs, yea in thy Maw perdy; and which is worse, within thy nastie mouth. I do retort the solus in thy bowels, for I can take, and Pistols cocke is vp, and flashing fire will follow

Nym. I am not Barbason, you cannot coniure mee: I haue an humor to knocke you indifferently well: If you grow fowle with me Pistoll, I will scoure you with my Rapier, as I may, in fayre tearmes. If you would walke off, I would pricke your guts a little in good tearmes, as I may, and that's the humor of it

Pist. O Braggard vile, and damned furious wight,The Graue doth gape, and doting death is neere,Therefore exhale

Bar. Heare me, heare me what I say: Hee that strikesthe first stroake, Ile run him vp to the hilts, as I am a soldier

Pist. An oath of mickle might, and fury shall abate. Giue me thy fist, thy fore-foote to me giue: Thy spirites are most tall

Nym. I will cut thy throate one time or other in fairetermes, that is the humor of it

Pistoll. Couple a gorge, that is the word. I defie thee againe.O hound of Creet, think'st thou my spouse to get?No, to the spittle goe, and from the Poudring tub of infamy,fetch forth the Lazar Kite of Cressids kinde, DollTeare-sheete, she by name, and her espouse. I haue, and Iwill hold the Quondam Quickely for the onely shee: andPauca, there's enough to go to.Enter the Boy.

Boy. Mine Hoast Pistoll, you must come to my Mayster, and your Hostesse: He is very sicke, & would to bed. Good Bardolfe, put thy face betweene his sheets, and do the Office of a Warming-pan: Faith, he's very ill

Bard. Away you Rogue

Host. By my troth he'l yeeld the Crow a pudding one of these dayes: the King has kild his heart. Good Husband come home presently.

Exit

Bar. Come, shall I make you two friends. Wee must to France together: why the diuel should we keep kniues to cut one anothers throats? Pist. Let floods ore-swell, and fiends for food howle on

Nym. You'l pay me the eight shillings I won of youat Betting?Pist. Base is the Slaue that payes

Nym. That now I wil haue: that's the humor of it

Pist. As manhood shal compound: push home.

Draw

Bard. By this sword, hee that makes the first thrust,Ile kill him: By this sword, I wil

Pi. Sword is an Oath, & Oaths must haue their courseBar. Coporall Nym, & thou wilt be friends be frends,and thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me to: pretheeput vp

Pist. A Noble shalt thou haue, and present pay, and Liquor likewise will I giue to thee, and friendshippe shall combyne, and brotherhood. Ile liue by Nymme, & Nymme shall liue by me, is not this iust? For I shal Sutler be vnto the Campe, and profits will accrue. Giue mee thy hand

Nym. I shall haue my Noble?Pist. In cash, most iustly payd

Nym. Well, then that the humor of't.Enter Hostesse.

Host. As euer you come of women, come in quickly to sir Iohn: A poore heart, hee is so shak'd of a burning quotidian Tertian, that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him

Nym. The King hath run bad humors on the Knight,that's the euen of it

Pist. Nym, thou hast spoke the right, his heart is fractedand corroborate

Nym. The King is a good King, but it must bee as itmay: he passes some humors, and carreeres

Pist. Let vs condole the Knight, for (Lambekins) wewill liue.Enter Exeter, Bedford, & Westmerland.

Bed. Fore God his Grace is bold to trust these traitorsExe. They shall be apprehended by and by

West. How smooth and euen they do bear themselues,As if allegeance in their bosomes sateCrowned with faith, and constant loyalty

Bed. The King hath note of all that they intend,By interception, which they dreame not of

Exe. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious fauours;That he should for a forraigne purse, so sellHis Soueraignes life to death and treachery.

Sound Trumpets.

Enter the King, Scroope, Cambridge, and Gray.

King. Now sits the winde faire, and we will aboord.My Lord of Cambridge, and my kinde Lord of Masham,And you my gentle Knight, giue me your thoughts:Thinke you not that the powres we beare with vsWill cut their passage through the force of France?Doing the execution, and the acte,For which we haue in head assembled them

Scro. No doubt my Liege, if each man do his best

King. I doubt not that, since we are well perswadedWe carry not a heart with vs from hence,That growes not in a faire consent with ours:Nor leaue not one behinde, that doth not wishSuccesse and Conquest to attend on vs

Cam. Neuer was Monarch better fear'd and lou'd,Then is your Maiesty; there's not I thinke a subiectThat sits in heart-greefe and vneasinesseVnder the sweet shade of your gouernment

Kni. True: those that were your Fathers enemies,Haue steep'd their gauls in hony, and do serue youWith hearts create of duty, and of zeale

King. We therefore haue great cause of thankfulnes,And shall forget the office of our handSooner then quittance of desert and merit,According to the weight and worthinesse

Scro. So seruice shall with steeled sinewes toyle,And labour shall refresh it selfe with hopeTo do your Grace incessant seruices

King. We Iudge no lesse. Vnkle of Exeter,Inlarge the man committed yesterday,That rayl'd against our person: We considerIt was excesse of Wine that set him on,And on his more aduice, We pardon him

Scro. That's mercy, but too much security:Let him be punish'd Soueraigne, least exampleBreed (by his sufferance) more of such a kind

King. O let vs yet be mercifull

Cam. So may your Highnesse, and yet punish too

Grey. Sir, you shew great mercy if you giue him life,After the taste of much correction

King. Alas, your too much loue and care of me,Are heauy Orisons 'gainst this poore wretch:If little faults proceeding on distemper,Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eyeWhen capitall crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested,Appeare before vs? Wee'l yet inlarge that man,Though Cambridge, Scroope, and Gray, in their deere careAnd tender preseruation of our personWold haue him punish'd. And now to our French causes,Who are the late Commissioners?Cam. I one my Lord,Your Highnesse bad me aske for it to day

Scro. So did you me my Liege

Gray. And I my Royall Soueraigne

King. Then Richard Earle of Cambridge, there is yours:There yours Lord Scroope of Masham, and Sir Knight:Gray of Northumberland, this same is yours:Reade them, and know I know your worthinesse.My Lord of Westmerland, and Vnkle Exeter,We will aboord to night. Why how now Gentlemen?What see you in those papers, that you looseSo much complexion? Looke ye how they change:Their cheekes are paper. Why, what reade you there,That haue so cowarded and chac'd your bloodOut of apparance

Cam. I do confesse my fault,And do submit me to your Highnesse mercy

Gray. Scro. To which we all appeale

King. The mercy that was quicke in vs but late,By your owne counsaile is supprest and kill'd:You must not dare (for shame) to talke of mercy,For your owne reasons turne into your bosomes,As dogs vpon their maisters, worrying you:See you my Princes, and my Noble Peeres,These English monsters: My Lord of Cambridge heere,You know how apt our loue was, to accordTo furnish with all appertinentsBelonging to his Honour; and this man,Hath for a few light Crownes, lightly conspir'dAnd sworne vnto the practises of FranceTo kill vs heere in Hampton. To the which,This Knight no lesse for bounty bound to VsThen Cambridge is, hath likewise sworne. But O,What shall I say to thee Lord Scroope, thou cruell,Ingratefull, sauage, and inhumane Creature?Thou that didst beare the key of all my counsailes,That knew'st the very bottome of my soule,That (almost) might'st haue coyn'd me into Golde,Would'st thou haue practis'd on me, for thy vse?May it be possible, that forraigne hyerCould out of thee extract one sparke of euillThat might annoy my finger? 'Tis so strange,That though the truth of it stands off as grosseAs black and white, my eye will scarsely see it.Treason, and murther, euer kept together,As two yoake diuels sworne to eythers purpose,Working so grossely in an naturall cause,That admiration did not hoope at them.But thou (gainst all proportion) didst bring inWonder to waite on treason, and on murther:And whatsoeuer cunning fiend it wasThat wrought vpon thee so preposterously,Hath got the voyce in hell for excellence:And other diuels that suggest by treasons,Do botch and bungle vp damnation,With patches, colours, and with formes being fetchtFrom glist'ring semblances of piety:But he that temper'd thee, bad thee stand vp,Gaue thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,Vnlesse to dub thee with the name of Traitor.If that same Daemon that hath gull'd thee thus,Should with his Lyon-gate walke the whole world,He might returne to vastie Tartar backe,And tell the Legions, I can neuer winA soule so easie as that Englishmans.Oh, how hast thou with iealousie infectedThe sweetnesse of affiance? Shew men dutifull,Why so didst thou: seeme they graue and learned?Why so didst thou. Come they of Noble Family?Why so didst thou. Seeme they religious?Why so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,Free from grosse passion, or of mirth, or anger,Constant in spirit, not sweruing with the blood,Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement,Not working with the eye, without the eare,And but in purged iudgement trusting neither,Such and so finely boulted didst thou seeme:And thus thy fall hath left a kinde of blot,To make thee full fraught man, and best induedWith some suspition, I will weepe for thee.For this reuolt of thine, me thinkes is likeAnother fall of Man. Their faults are open,Arrest them to the answer of the Law,And God acquit them of their practises

Exe. I arrest thee of High Treason, by the name ofRichard Earle of Cambridge.I arrest thee of High Treason, by the name of ThomasLord Scroope of Marsham.I arrest thee of High Treason, by the name of ThomasGrey, Knight of Northumberland

Scro. Our purposes, God iustly hath discouer'd,And I repent my fault more then my death,Which I beseech your Highnesse to forgiue,Although my body pay the price of it

Cam. For me, the Gold of France did not seduce,Although I did admit it as a motiue,The sooner to effect what I intended:But God be thanked for preuention,Which in sufferance heartily will reioyce,Beseeching God, and you, to pardon mee

Gray. Neuer did faithfull subiect more reioyceAt the discouery of most dangerous Treason,Then I do at this houre ioy ore my selfe,Preuented from a damned enterprize;My fault, but not my body, pardon Soueraigne

King. God quit you in his mercy: Hear your sentenceYou haue conspir'd against Our Royall person,Ioyn'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his Coffers,Receyu'd the Golden Earnest of Our death:Wherein you would haue sold your King to slaughter,His Princes, and his Peeres to seruitude,His Subiects to oppression, and contempt,And his whole Kingdome into desolation:Touching our person, seeke we no reuenge,But we our Kingdomes safety must so tender,Whose ruine you sought, that to her LawesWe do deliuer you. Get you therefore hence,(Poore miserable wretches) to your death:The taste whereof, God of his mercy giueYou patience to indure, and true RepentanceOf all your deare offences. Beare them hence.Enter.

Now Lords for France: the enterprise whereofShall be to you as vs, like glorious.We doubt not of a faire and luckie Warre,Since God so graciously hath brought to lightThis dangerous Treason, lurking in our way,To hinder our beginnings. We doubt not now,But euery Rubbe is smoothed on our way.Then forth, deare Countreymen: Let vs deliuerOur Puissance into the hand of God,Putting it straight in expedition.Chearely to Sea, the signes of Warre aduance,No King of England, if not King of France.

Flourish.

Enter Pistoll, Nim, Bardolph, Boy, and Hostesse.

Hostesse. 'Prythee honey sweet Husband, let me bring thee to Staines

Pistoll. No: for my manly heart doth erne. Bardolph, be blythe: Nim, rowse thy vaunting Veines: Boy, brissle thy Courage vp: for Falstaffe hee is dead, and wee must erne therefore

Bard. Would I were with him, wheresomere hee is, eyther in Heauen, or in Hell

Hostesse. Nay sure, hee's not in Hell: hee's in Arthurs Bosome, if euer man went to Arthurs Bosome: a made a finer end, and went away and it had beene any Christome Childe: a parted eu'n iust betweene Twelue and One, eu'n at the turning o'th' Tyde: for after I saw him fumble with the Sheets, and play with Flowers, and smile vpon his fingers end, I knew there was but one way: for his Nose was as sharpe as a Pen, and a Table of greene fields. How now Sir Iohn (quoth I?) what man? be a good cheare: so a cryed out, God, God, God, three or foure times: now I, to comfort him, bid him a should not thinke of God; I hop'd there was no neede to trouble himselfe with any such thoughts yet: so a bad me lay more Clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the Bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone: then I felt to his knees, and so vp-peer'd, and vpward, and all was as cold as any stone

Nim. They say he cryed out of Sack

Hostesse. I, that a did

Bard. And of Women

Hostesse. Nay, that a did not

Boy. Yes that a did, and said they were Deules incarnate

Woman. A could neuer abide Carnation, 'twas a Colourhe neuer lik'd

Boy. A said once, the Deule would haue him aboutWomen

Hostesse. A did in some sort (indeed) handle Women: but then hee was rumatique, and talk'd of the Whore of Babylon

Boy. Doe you not remember a saw a Flea sticke vpon Bardolphs Nose, and a said it was a blacke Soule burning in Hell

Bard. Well, the fuell is gone that maintain'd that fire:that's all the Riches I got in his seruice

Nim. Shall wee shogg? the King will be gone fromSouthampton

Pist. Come, let's away. My Loue, giue me thy Lippes: Looke to my Chattels, and my Moueables: Let Sences rule: The world is, Pitch and pay: trust none: for Oathes are Strawes, mens Faiths are Wafer-Cakes, and hold-fast is the onely Dogge: My Ducke, therefore Caueto bee thy Counsailor. Goe, cleare thy Chrystalls. Yokefellowes in Armes, let vs to France, like Horseleeches my Boyes, to sucke, to sucke, the very blood to sucke

Boy. And that's but vnwholesome food, they say

Pist. Touch her soft mouth, and march

Bard. Farwell Hostesse

Nim. I cannot kisse, that is the humor of it: butadieu

Pist. Let Huswiferie appeare: keepe close, I theecommand

Hostesse. Farwell: adieu.

Exeunt.

Flourish.

Enter the French King, the Dolphin, the Dukes of Berry andBritaine.

King. Thus comes the English with full power vpon vs,And more then carefully it vs concernes,To answer Royally in our defences.Therefore the Dukes of Berry and of Britaine,Of Brabant and of Orleance, shall make forth,And you Prince Dolphin, with all swift dispatchTo lyne and new repayre our Townes of WarreWith men of courage, and with meanes defendant:For England his approaches makes as fierce,As Waters to the sucking of a Gulfe.It fits vs then to be as prouident,As feare may teach vs, out of late examplesLeft by the fatall and neglected English,Vpon our fields

Dolphin. My most redoubted Father,It is most meet we arme vs 'gainst the Foe:For Peace it selfe should not so dull a Kingdome,(Though War nor no knowne Quarrel were in question)But that Defences, Musters, Preparations,Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected,As were a Warre in expectation.Therefore I say, 'tis meet we all goe forth,To view the sick and feeble parts of France:And let vs doe it with no shew of feare,No, with no more, then if we heard that EnglandWere busied with a Whitson Morris-dance:For, my good Liege, shee is so idly King'd,Her Scepter so phantastically borne,By a vaine giddie shallow humorous Youth,That feare attends her not

Const. O peace, Prince Dolphin,You are too much mistaken in this King:Question your Grace the late Embassadors,With what great State he heard their Embassie,How well supply'd with Noble Councellors,How modest in exception; and withall,How terrible in constant resolution:And you shall find, his Vanities fore-spent,Were but the out-side of the Roman Brutus,Couering Discretion with a Coat of Folly;As Gardeners doe with Ordure hide those RootsThat shall first spring, and be most delicate

Dolphin. Well, 'tis not so, my Lord High Constable.But though we thinke it so, it is no matter:In cases of defence, 'tis best to weighThe Enemie more mightie then he seemes,So the proportions of defence are fill'd:Which of a weake and niggardly proiection,Doth like a Miser spoyle his Coat, with scantingA little Cloth

King. Thinke we King Harry strong:And Princes, looke you strongly arme to meet him.The Kindred of him hath beene flesht vpon vs:And he is bred out of that bloodie straine,That haunted vs in our familiar Pathes:Witnesse our too much memorable shame,When Cressy Battell fatally was strucke,And all our Princes captiu'd, by the handOf that black Name, Edward, black Prince of Wales:Whiles that his Mountaine Sire, on Mountaine standingVp in the Ayre, crown'd with the Golden Sunne,Saw his Heroicall Seed, and smil'd to see himMangle the Worke of Nature, and defaceThe Patternes, that by God and by French FathersHad twentie yeeres been made. This is a StemOf that Victorious Stock: and let vs feareThe Natiue mightinesse and fate of him.Enter a Messenger.

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 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. 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

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