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[Exeunt GLOSTER and BEDFORD.
Erp Shall I attend your grace?
K. Hen.
No, my good knight;
Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
I and my bosom must debate a while,
And then I would no other company.
Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
[Erit ERPINGHAM.

K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speakest
cheerfully.

Pist. Qui va lá?

Enter PISTOL.

K. Hen. A friend.

Pist. Discuss unto me; Art thou officer?
Or art thou base, common, and popular?
K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company.
Pist. Trailest thou the puissant pike?
K. Hen. Even so: What are you?

Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor.
K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king.
Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame;

Of parents good, of fist most valiant:

I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
K. Hen. Harry le Roy.

K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour in this Welshman.

Enter BATES, COURT, and WILLIAMS. Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?

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

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

K. Hen. A friend.

Will. Under what captain serve you?

K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham.

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

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

Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? K. Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I speak it to you, I think, the king is but a man, as I am; the violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions: his ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing; therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by

Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name; art thou of showing it, should dishearten his army.

Cornish crew?

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman.

Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen?

K. Hen. Yes.

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

K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your rap that day, lest he knock that about yours.

Pist. Art thou his friend?

K. Hen. And his kinsman too.

Pist. The figo for thee then!

K. Hen. I thank you: God be with you!
Pist. My name is Pistol called.

K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness.

Enter FLUELLEN and GoWER, severally.

Gow. Captain Fluellen!

[Exit.

Flu. So in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak lower. It is the greatest admiration in the universal 'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp; I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be other

wise.

Gow. Why, the enemy is loud; you heard him all night.

Flu. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating toxcomb; in your own conscie: ce now?

Gow. I will speak lower.

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

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

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king; I think, he would not wish himself any where but where he is.

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

K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone: howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's minds: Methinks, I could not die any where so contented, as in the king's company; his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable. Will. That's more than we know.

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

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

cm to it; whom to disobey, were against all propo of subjection.

K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sect [Exeunt GowER and FLUZLAN. ↑ Lice..handise, do sinfully miscarry upc 1 253

ear.

K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it,
Will. Thou darest as well be hanged.

K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king's company.

Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well.

Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how to reckon.

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

Will. "Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it.

Pates. I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ransomed.

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

K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty
French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they
bear them on their shoulders: But it is no English
treason, to cut French crowns; and, to-morrow, the
king himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers
Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and
Our sins, lay on the king;- we must bear all.
O hard condition! twin-born with greatness,
Subjected to the breath of every fool,
Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing
What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect,
That private men enjoy?
And what have kings, that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs, than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in ?
O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is the soul of adoration?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Than they in fearing.

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?

Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar'ı
knee,

Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;
I am a king, that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tissued robe of gold and pearl,

K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his The farced title running 'fore the king, word after.

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

K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round; I should be angry with you, if the time were con

venient.

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The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world,
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave;
Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread ;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell;
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,
Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows so the ever-rurning year
With profitable labour, to his grave:
Ard, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king,
The slave, a member of the country's peace,
Bars ; but in gross brain little wots,

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The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them. 'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords, That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants, Good old knight, Who, in unnecessary action, swarm

Seek through your camp to find you.

K. Hen. Collect them all together at my tent: I'll be before thee.

Erp.

I shall do't, my lord. [Exit. K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my soldiers hearts!

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

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About our squares of battle, - were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe:
Though we, upon this mountain's basis by
Took stand for idle speculation:
But that our honours must not.
What's to say?
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket-sonuance, and the note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter GRANDPRÉ.

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of
France?

Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field :
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
With torch-staves in their hand and their poor

jades

:

Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips;
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes;
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
Lies foul with chewed grass, still and motionless :
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words,
To démonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

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

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresa suits,

And give their fasting horses provender,

And after fight with them?

Con. I stay but for my guard; On, to the field. I will the banner from a trumpet take,

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Sal. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds. God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge: If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven, Then, joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford, My dear lord Gloster,and my good lord Exeter, And my kind kinsman, -warriors, all adieu Bed. Fa ewell, good Salisbury; and good luck

with thee!

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But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to-day!

K. Hen.

My cousin Westmoreland?

What's he, that wishes so?
No, my fair cousin :
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold;
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not, if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires :
But, if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one

more:

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,

And say

That he, which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse :
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd-the feast of Crispian :
He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He, that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,
-to-morrow is saint Crispian :
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,
And say, these wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day: Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words, -
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, -
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd:
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition :
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Enter SALISBURY.

West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward

now!

K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from
England, cousin?

West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I
alone,

Without more help, might fight this battle out!
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five
thousand men ;

Which likes me better, than to wish us one. —
You know your places: God be with you all!
Tucket. Enter MONTJOY.

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king
Harry,

If for thy ransome thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured overthrow :
For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf,
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
The constable desires thee-thou wilt mind
Thy followers of repentance; that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor
bodies

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The man, that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast lived, was kill'd with hunting him
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt,
Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work :
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet
them,

And draw their honours reeking up to heaven;
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then a bounding valour in our English;
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.

Let me speak proudly ;- Tell the Constable,"
We are but warriors for the working-day :
Our gayness, and our gilt, are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host,
(Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,)
And time hath worn us into slovenry :
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim:
And my poor soldiers tell me y
- yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads,
And turn them out of service. If they do this,
(As, if God please, they shall,) my ransome then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
Come thou no more for ransome, gentle herald;
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints:
Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them.

Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

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

K. Hon. Take it, brave York. -Now, soldiers, march away:

And how thou pleascst, God, dispose the day!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The Field of Battle. Alarums: Excursions. Enter French Soldier, PISTOL, and Boy.

Pist. Yield cur.

Fr. Sul. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

Pist. Quality, call you me?-Construe me, art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss. Fr. Sol. O seigneur Dieu!

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

Fr. Sol. O, prennez misericorde! ayez pitié de moy! Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat, In drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Est il impossible d'eschapper la force de ton bras?

Pist. Brass, cur!

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

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy!

Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys? Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French, What is his name.

Boy. Escoutez; Comment estes vous appellé ?
Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.

Boy. He says, his name is-master Fer.

Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him: - discuss the same in French unto him. Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.

Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat. Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous faites vous prest; car ce soldat icy est disposé tout à cette heure de couper vostre gorge.

Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant,
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol. 0, je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cent escus. Pist. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gentleman of a good house; and, for his ransome, he will give you two hundred crowns.

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

Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il?

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

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remerciemens: et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, et tres distingué seigneur d'Angleterre. Pist. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks: and he esteems himself happy that be hatu fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England. Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me, cur. [Exit PISTOL

Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine.

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[Erit French Soldier. I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart but the saying is true, the empty vesse makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and Nym, had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and sʊ would this be, if he durst steal any thing adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our camp: the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it, but boys. [Eri.

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Orl. O seigneur!-le jour est perdu, tout est perdu! Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our plumes.-0 meschante fortune!

Do not run away.
[A short alarum.
Con.
Why, all our ranks are broke.
Dau. O perdurable shame! - let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?

Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransome? Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!

Let us die instant: Once more back again;
And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand,
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door,
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminate.

Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives
Unto these English, or else die with fame.

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

Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng, Let life be short; else shame will be too long.

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