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Enter Chorus.

Now entertain conjecture of a time

When creeping murmur and the poring dark

Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp through the foul womb of night

The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fix'd sentinels almost receive

The secret whispers of each other's watch:

Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames

Each battle sees the other's umber'd face; (10)

Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs

Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents

The armorers, accomplishing the knights,

With busy hammers closing rivets up,

Give dreadful note of preparation:

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,

And the third hour of drowsy morning name.

Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,

The confident and over-lusty French

Do the low-rated English play at dice; (20)

And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night

Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp

So tediously away. The poor condemned English,

Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

Sit patiently and inly ruminate

The morning's danger, and their gesture sad

Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats

Presenteth them unto the gazing moon

So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold

The royal captain of this ruin'd band (30)

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,

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

For forth he goes and visits all his host,

Bids them good morrow with a modest smile

And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.

Upon his royal face there is no note

How dread an army hath enrounded him;

Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color

Unto the weary and all-watched night,

But freshly looks and over-bears attaint

With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; (41)

That every wretch, pining and pale before,

Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:

A largess universal like the sun

His liberal eye doth give to every one,

Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all

Behold, as may unworthiness define,

A little touch of Harry in the night.

And so our scene must to the battle fly;

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

With four or five most vile and ragged foils, (51)

Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous,

The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,

Minding true things by what their mockeries be. [Exit.


The English camp at Agincourt.

K. Hen.
Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger;

The greater therefore should our courage be.

Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!

There is some soul of goodness in things evil,

Would men observingly distil it out.

For our bad neighbor makes us early stirrers,

Which is both healthful and good husbandry:

Besides, they are our outward consciences,

And preachers to us all, admonishing (10)

That we should dress us fairly for our end.

Thus may we gather honey from the weed,

And make a moral of the devil himself. Enter ERPINGHAM.

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:

A good soft pillow for that good white head

Were better than a churlish turf of France.

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

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

K. Hen.
'Tis good for men to love their present pains

Upon example; so the spirit is eased:

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

The organs, though defunct and dead before,

Break up their drowsy grave and newly move;

With casted slough and fresh legerity.

Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both,

Commend me to the princes in our camp;

Do my good morrow to them, and anon

Desire them all to my pavilion.

We shall, my liege.

Shall I attend your grace?

K. Hen.
No, my good knight;

Go with my brothers to my lords of England: (31)

I and my bosom must debate a while,

And then I would no other company.

The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! [Exeunt all but King.

K. Hen.
God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully. Enter PISTOL.

Qui va la?

K. Hen.
A friend.

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

K. Hen.
I am a gentleman of a company. (40)

Trail'st thou the puissant pike?

K. Hen.
Even so. What are you?

As good a gentleman as the emperor.

K. Hen.
Then you are a better than the king.

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 heart-string

I love the lovely bully. What is thy name?

K. Hen.
Harry le Roy. (50)

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

K. Hen.
No, I am a Welshman.

Know'st thou Fluellen?

K. Hen.

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 cap that day, lest he knock that about

Art thou his friend?

K. Hen.
And his kinsman too. (60)

The figo for thee, then!

K. Hen.
I thank you: God be with you!

My name is Pistol call'd. [Exit.

K. Hen.
It sorts well with your fierceness. Enter FLUELLEN and COWER.

Captain Fluellen!

So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak
lower. It is the greatest admiration of the universal
world, when the true and aunchient
prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept:
if you would take the pains but to examine the
wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I
warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle nor
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

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

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

I will speak lower.

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

K. Hen.
Though it appear a little out of fashion,

There is much care and valor in this Welshman. Enter three soldiers, JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT, and MICHAEL WILLIAMS.

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

I think it be: but we have no great (90)
cause to desire the approach of day.

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.

Under what captain serve you?

K. Hen.
Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.

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, (101)
that look to be washed off the next tide.

He hath not told his thought to the

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 showing it, should dishearten
his army.

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

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.

Then I 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 honorable.

That's more than we know.

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.

But if the cause be not good, the
king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make,
when all those legs and arms and heads,
chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the
latter day and cry all 'We died at such a
place;' some swearing, some crying for a surgeon,
some upon their wives left poor behind
them, some upon the debts they owe, some
upon their children rawly left. I am afeard
there are few die well that die in a battle; for
how can they charitably dispose of 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 them to it; whom to disobey
were against all proportion of subjection.

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

'Tis certain, every man that dies ill,
the ill upon his own head, the king is not to (199)
answer it.

But 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.

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

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

You 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 convenient.

Let it be a quarrel between us, if you (220)

K. Hen.
I embrace it.

How shall I know thee again?

K. Hen.
Give me any gage of thine, and I
will wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou
darest acknowledge it, I will make it my

Here's my glove: give me another of

K. Hen.

This will I also wear in my cap: if
ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow,
'This is my glove,' by this hand, I will
take thee a box on the ear.

K. Hen.
If ever I live to see it, I will
challenge it.

Thou darest as well be hanged.

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

Keep thy word: fare thee well.

Be friends, you English fools, be
friends: we have French quarrels enow, if you (241)
could tell how to reckon.

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 tomorrow
the king himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers.

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

Our debts, our careful wives,

Our children and our sins lay on the king! (250)

We must bear all. O hard condition,

Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath

Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel

But his own wringing! What infinite heart'sease

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? (261)

O ceremony, show me but thy worth!

What is thy soul of adoration?

Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,

Creating awe and fear in other men?

Wherein thou art less happy being 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! (270)

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's knee,

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

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

I am a king that find thee, and I know

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

The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,

The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, (280)

The farced title running 'fore the king,

The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp

That beats upon the high shore of this world,

No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,

Not all these, laid in bed majestical,

Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,

Who with a body 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-running year,

With profitable labor, to his grave:

And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,

Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,

Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.

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

Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots (300)

What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,

Whose hours the peasant best advantages. Re-enter ERPINGHAM.

My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,

Seek through your camp to find you.

K. Hen.
Good old knight,

Collect them all together at my tent:

I'll be before thee.

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, (310)

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

My father made in compassing the crown!

I Richard's body have interred anew;

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; (320)

Though all that I can do is nothing worth,

Since that my penitence comes after all,

Imploring pardon. Re-enter GLOUCESTER.

My liege!

K. Hen.
My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay;

I know thy errand, I will go with thee:

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


The French camp.
Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others.

The sun doth gild our armor; up, my lords!

Montez a cheval! My horse! varlet! laquais! ha!

O brave spirit!

Via! les eaux et la terre.

Rien puis? l'air et la feu.

Ciel, cousin Orleans. Enter CONSTABLE.
Now, my lord constable!

Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh! (9)

Mount them, and make incision in their hides,

That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,

And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!

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

How shall we, then, behold their natural tears? Enter Messenger.

The English are embattled, you French peers.

To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!

Do but behold yon poor and starved band,

And your fair show shall suck away their souls,

Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.

There is not work enough for all our hands; (20)

Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins

To give each naked curtle-axe a stain,

That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,

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

The vapor of our valor will o'erturn them.

'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,

That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,

Who in unnecessary action swarm

About our squares of battle, were enow

To purge this field of such a hilding foe, (30)

Though we upon this mountain's basis by

Took stand for idle speculation:

But that our honors must not. What's to say?

A very little little let us do,

And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound

The tucket sonance and the note to mount;

For our approach shall so much dare the field

That England shall couch down in fear and yield. Enter GRANDPRE.

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

Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, (40)

Ill-favoredly 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:

The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,

With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades

Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,

The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,

And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit (50)

Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;

And their executors, the knavish crows,

Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.

Description cannot suit itself in words

To demonstrate the life of such a battle

In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

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

Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits

And give their fasting horses provender,

And after fight with them?

I stay but for my guidon: to the field! (61)

I will the banner from a trumpet take,

And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!

The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt.


The English camp.

Where is the king?

The king himself is rode to view their battle.

Of fighting men they have full three score thousand.

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

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 Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, (10)

And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!

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

Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day:

And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it.

For thou art framed of the firm truth of valor. [Exit Salisbury.

He is as full of valor as of kindness;

Princely in both. Enter the KING.

O that we now had here

But one ten thousand of those men in England

That do no work to-day!

K. Hen.
What's he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin: (20)

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honor.

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 honor,

I am the most offending soul alive. (30)

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:

God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor

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,

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. (40)

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 named,

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 neighbors,

And say '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, (50)

But he'll remember with advantages

What feats he did that day: then shall our names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words,

Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,

Be in their flowing cups freshly 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 remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; (61)

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 accursed they were not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. Re-enter SALISBURY.

My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:

The French are bravely in their battles set, (70)

And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. Hen.
All things are ready, if our minds be so.

Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

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

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

Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

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.

Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry, (80)

If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,

Before thy most assured overthrow:

For certainly thou art so near the gulf,

Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,

The constable desires thee thou wilt mind

Thy followers of repentance; that their souls

May make a peaceful and a sweet retire

From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies

Must lie and fester.

K. Hen.
Who hath sent thee now?

The Constable of France. (90)

K. Hen.
I pray thee, bear my former answer back:

Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones.

Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?

The man that once did sell the lion's skin.

While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him.

A many of our bodies shall no doubt

Find native graves; upon the which, I trust,

Shall witness live in brass of this day's work:

And those that leave their valiant bones in France,

Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, (100)

They shall be famed; for there the sun shall greet them,

And draw their honors reeking up to heaven;

Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,

The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.

Mark then abounding valor 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 (111)

With rainy marching in the painful field;

There's not a piece of feather in our host--

Good argument, I hope, we will not fly--

And time hath worn us into slovenry:

But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim;

And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night

They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck

The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads

And turn them out of service. If they do this,--

As, if God please, they shall,--my ransom then (121)

Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labor;

Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald:

They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints;

Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,

Shall yield them little, tell the constable.

I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well:

Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit.

K. Hen.
I fear thou'lt once more come again for ransom. Enter YORK.

My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg (130)

The leading of the vaward.

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

And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [Exeunt.


The field of battle.
Alarum. Excursions.
Enter PISTOL, French Soldier, and Boy.

Yield, cur!

Fr. Sol.
Je pense que vous etes gentilhomme
de bonne quality.

Qualtitie calmie custure me! Art thou
a gentleman? what is thy name? discuss.

Fr. Sol.
O Seigneur Dieu!

O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman:

Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark;

O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, (10)

Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me

Egregious ransom.

Fr. Sol.
O, prenez misericorde! ayez pitie
de moi!

Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys;

Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat

In drops of crimson blood.

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

Brass, cur! (20)

Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,

Offer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol.
O pardonnez moi!

Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys?

Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French

What is his name.

Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?

Fr. Sol.
Monsieur le Fer.

He says his name is Master Fer.

Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk
him, and ferret him: discuss the same in (31)

French unto him.

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

Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.

Fr. Sol.
Que dit-il, monsieur?

Il me commande de vous dire que
vous faites vous pret; car ce soldat ici est
dispose tout a cette heure de couper votre

Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy, (40)

Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;

Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol.
O, je vous supplie, pour l'amour
de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme
de bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et je vous
donnerai deux cents ecus.

What are his words?

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

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

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

Encore qu'il est contre son jurement
de pardonner aucun prisonnier, neanmoins,
pour les ecus que vous l'avez promis, il est
content de vous donner la liberte, le franchisement.

Fr. Sol.
Sur mes genoux je vous donne
mille remercimens; et je m'estime heureux que
je suis tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier,
je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue (61)
seigneur d'Angleterre.

Expound unto me, boy.

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

As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. (69)
Follow me!

Suivez-vous le grand capitaine.
[Exeunt Pistol, and French Soldier.] I did
never know so full a voice issue from so empty
a heart: but the saying is true, 'The empty
vessel makes the greatest sound.' Bardolph and
Nym had ten times more valor 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 so 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. [Exit.


Another part of the field.

O diable!

O seigneur, le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!

Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!

Reproach and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our plumes. O mechante fortune!

Do not run away. [A short alarum.

Why, all our ranks are broke.

O perdurable shame! let's stab ourselves.

Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?

Is this the king we sent to for his ransom? (10)

Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame!

Let us die in honor: 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 pandar, hold the chamber-door

Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,

His fairest daughter is contaminated.

Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!

Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

We are enow yet living in the field (20)

To smother up the English in our throngs,

If any order might be thought upon.

The devil take order now! I'll to the throng:

Let life be short; else shame will be too long. [Exeunt.


Another part of the field.Alarums.
Enter KING HENRY and forces, EXETER, and others.

K. Hen.
Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen:

But all's not done; yet keep the French the field.

The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.

K. Hen.
Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour

I saw him down; thrice up again and fighting;

From helmet to the spur all blood he was.

In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,

Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,

Yoke-fellow to his honor-owing wounds, (10)

The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.

Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,

Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,

And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes

That bloodily did yawn upon his face;

And cries aloud 'Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!

My soul shall thine keep company to heaven;

Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,

As in this glorious and well-foughten field (19)

We kept together in our chivalry!'

Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up:

He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,

And, with a feeble gripe, says 'Dear my lord,

Commend my service to my sovereign.'

So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck

He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;

And so espoused to death, with blood he seal'd

A testament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forced

Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd; (30)

But I had not so much of man in me,

And all my mother came into mine eyes

And gave me up to tears.

K. Hen.
I blame you not;

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound

With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. [Alarum.

But, hark! what new alarum is this same?

The French have reinforced their scatter'd men:

Then every soldier kill his prisoners:

Give the word through. [Exeunt.


Another part of the field.

Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis expressly
against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant
a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be
offer't; in your conscience, now, is it not?

'Tis certain there's not a boy left
alive; and the cowardly rascals that ran from
the battle ha' done this slaughter: besides, they
have burned and carried away all that was in
the king's tent; wherefore the king, most
worthily, hath caused every soldier to cut his (11)
prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant king!

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

Alexander the Great.

Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the
pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or
the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save (19)
the phrase is a little variations.

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

I think it is in Macedon where Alexander
is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look in
the maps of the 'orld, I warrant you sall find,
in the comparisons between Macedon and
Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is
both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and
there is also moreover a river at Monmouth:
it is called Wye at Monmouth; but it is out of
my prains what is the name of the other river;
but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers is to my
fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you
mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's
life is come after it indifferent well;
for there is figures in all things. Alexander,
God knows, and you know, in his rages, and
his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and
his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations,
and also being a little intoxicates in
his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look (41)
you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.

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

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

Sir John Falstaff.

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

Here comes his majesty. [Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, and forces; WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, EXETER,and others.

K. Hen.
I was not angry since I came to France

Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; (60)

Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:

If they will fight with us, bid them come down,

Or void the field; they do offend our sight:

If they'll do neither, we will come to them,

And make them skirr away, as swift as stones

Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:

Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have,

And not a man of them that we shall take

Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. Enter MONTJOY.

Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. (70)

His eyes are humbler than they used to be.

K. Hen.
How now! what means this, herald? know'st thou not

That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom?

Comest thou again for ransom?

No, great king:

I come to thee for charitable license,

That we may wander o'er this bloody field

To look our dead, and then to bury them;

To sort our nobles from our common men.

For many of our princes--woe the while!--

Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood; (80)

So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs

In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds

Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage

Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,

Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king,

To view the field in safety and dispose

Of their dead bodies!

K. Hen.
I tell thee truly, herald,

I know not if the day be ours or no;

For yet a many of your horsemen peer

And gallop o'er the field.

The day is yours. (90)

K. Hen.
Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!

What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?

They call it Agincourt.

K. Hen.
Then call we this the field of Agincourt,

Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

Your grandfather of famous memory,
an't please your majesty, and your great-uncle
Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have
read in the chronicles, fought a most prave
pattle here in France. (100)

K. Hen.
They did, Fluellen.

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

K. Hen.
I wear it for a memorable honor;

For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.

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

K. Hen.
Thanks, good my countryman.

By Jeshu, I am your majesty's countryman,
I care not who know it; I will confess
it to all the 'orld: I need not to be
ashamed of your majesty, praised be God, so (120)
long as your majesty is an honest man.

K. Hen.
God keep me so! Our heralds go with him:

Bring me just notice of the numbers dead

On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. [Points to Williams. Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy.

Soldier, you must come to the king.

K. Hen.
Soldier, why wearest thou that
glove in thy cap?

An't please your majesty, 'tis the
gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. (129)

K. Hen.
An Englishman?

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

K. Hen.
What think you, Captain Fluellen?
is it fit this soldier keep his oath?

He is a craven and a villain else,an't (140)
please your majesty, in my conscience.

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

Though he be as good a gentleman as
the devil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself,
it is necessary, look your grace, that he keep
his vow and his oath: if he be perjured, see
you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain
and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod
upon God's ground and his earth, in my conscience,(150)

K. Hen.
Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when
thou meetest the fellow.

So I will, my liege, as I live.

K. Hen.
Who servest thou under?

Under Captain Gower, my liege.

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

K. Hen.
Call him hither to me, soldier.

I will, my liege. [Exit.

K. Hen.
Here, Fluellen; wear thou this
favor for me and stick it in thy cap: when
Alencon and myself were down together, I
plucked this glove from his helm: if any man
challenge this, he is a friend of Alencon, and
an enemy to our person; if thou encounter
any such, apprehend him, and thou dost me

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

K. Hen.
Knowest thou Gower?

He is my dear friend, an please you.

K. Hen.
Pray thee, go seek him, and bring
him to my tent.

I will fetch him. [Exit.

K. Hen.
My lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester,

Follow Fluellen closely at the heels:

The glove which I have given him for a favor (181)

May haply purchase him a box o' th' ear;

It is the soldier's; I by bargain should

Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick:

If that the soldier strike him, as I judge

By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,

Some sudden mischief may arise of it;

For I do know Fluellen valiant

And, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder, (189)

And quickly will return an injury:

Follow, and see there be no harm between them.

Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [Exeunt.


Before KING HENRY'S pavillion.

I warrant it is to knight you, captain. Enter FLUELLEN.

God's will and his pleasure, captain,
I beseech you now, come apace to the king:
there is more good toward you peradventure
than is in your knowledge to dream of.

Sir, know you this glove?

Know the glove! I know the glove is
a glove.

I know this; and thus I challenge it. [Strikes him.

'Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is
in the universal world, or in France, or in (11)


How now, sir! you villain!

Do you think I'll be forsworn?

Stand away, Captain Gower; I will
give treason his payment into plows, I warrant

I am no traitor.

That's a lie in thy throat. I charge
you in his majesty's name, apprehend him: (19)
he's a friend of the Duke Alencon's.

How now, how now! what's the

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

K. Hen.
How now! what's the matter?

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

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

Your majesty hear now, saving your
majesty's manhod, what an arrant, rascally
beggarly, lousy knave it is: I hope your majesty
is pear me testimony and witness, and
will avouchment, that this is the glove of
Alencon, that your majesty is give me; in (40)
your conscience, now.

K. Hen.
Give me thy glove, soldier: look,
here is the fellow of it.
'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike;
And thou hast given me most bitter terms.

And please your majesty, let his neck
answer for it, if there is any martial law in the

K. Hen.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?

All offences, my lord, come from the
heart: never came any from mine that might (51)
offend your majesty.

K. Hen.
It was ourself thou didst abuse.

Your majesty came not like yourself:
you appeared to me but as a common man;
witness the night, your garments, your lowliness;
and what your highness suffered under
that shape, I beseech you take it for your own
fault and not mine: for had you been as I
took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I (60)
beseech your highness, pardon me.

K. Hen.
Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,

And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;

And wear it for an honor in thy cap

Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns:

And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.

By this day and this light, the fellow
has mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there
is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to
serve Got, and keep you out of prawls, and
prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I (71)
warrant you, it is the better for you.

I will none of your money.

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

K. Hen.
Now, herald, are the dead number'd?

Here is the number of the slaughter'd French. (80)

K. Hen.
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?

Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the king;

John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt:

Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,

Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.

K. Hen.
This note doth tell me of ten thousand French

That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this number,

And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead

One hundred twenty six: added to these,

Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, (90)

Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which,

Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights:

So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,

There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;

The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,

And gentlemen of blood and quality.

The names of those their nobles that lie dead:

Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;

Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France;

The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures; (100)

Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin,

John Duke of Alencon, Anthony Duke of Brabant,

The brother to the Duke of Burgundy,

And Edward Duke of Bar: of lusty earls,

Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix,

Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.

Here was a royal fellowship of death!

Where is the number of our English dead? [Herald shews him another paper.

Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,

Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire: (110)

None else of name; and of all other men

But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here;

And not to us, but to thy arm alone,

Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,

But in plain shock and even play of battle,

Was ever known so great and little loss

On one part and on the other? Take it, God,

For it is none but thine!

'Tis wonderful!

K. Hen.
Come, go we in procession to the village:

And be it death proclaimed through our host

To boast of this or take that praise from God (121)

Which is his only.

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

K. Hen.
Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgement,

That God fought for us.

Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.

K. Hen.
Do we all holy rites;

Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum;'

The dead with charity enclosed in clay: (130)

And then to Calais; and to England then:

Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men. [Exeunt.

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