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ACT V


PROLOGUE

Enter Chorus.

Chor.
Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story,

That I may prompt them: and of such as have,

I humbly pray them to admit the excuse

Of time, of numbers and due course of things,

Which cannot in their huge and proper life

Be here presented. Now we bear the king

Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,

Heave him away upon your winged thoughts

Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach (10)

Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,

Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deepmouth'd sea,

Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king

Seems to prepare his way: so let him land,

And solemnly see him set on to London.

So swift a pace hath thought that even now

You may imagine him upon Blackheath;

Where that his lords desire him to have borne

His bruised helmet and his bended sword (19)

Before him through the city: he forbids it,

Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;

Giving full trophy, signal and ostent

Quite from himself to God. But now behold,

In the quick forge and working-house of thought,

How London doth pour out her citizens!

The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,

Like to the senators of the antique Rome,

With the plebeians swarming at their heels,

Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in: (29)

As by a lower but loving likelihood,

Were now the general of our gracious empress,

As in good time, he may, from Ireland coming,

Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,

How many would the peaceful city quit,

To welcome him! much more, and much more cause,

Did they this Harry. Now in London place him;

As yet the lamentation of the French

Invites the King of England's stay at home;

The emperor's coming in behalf of France,

To order peace between them; and omit (40)

All the occurrences, whatever chanced.

Till Harry's back-return again to France:

There must we bring him; and myself have play'd

The interim, by remembering you 'tis past.

Then brook abridgement, and your eyes advance,

After your thoughts, straight back again to France. [Exit.


SCENE I

France. The English camp.
Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER.

Gow.
Nay, that's right; but why wear you
your leek to-day? Saint Davy's day is past.

Flu.
There is occasions and causes why
and wherefore in all things: I will tell you,
asse my friend, Captain Gower: the rascally,
scauld, beggarly, lousy, pragging knave, Pistol,
which you and yourself and all the world
know to be no petter than a fellow, look you
now, of no merits, he is come to me and
prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you,
and bid me eat my leek: it was in a place
where I could not breed no contention with
him; but I will be so bold as to wear it in
my cap till I see him once again, and then I
will tell him a little piece of my desires. Enter PISTOL.

Gow.
Why, here he comes, swelling like a
turkey-cock.

Flu.
'Tis no matter for his swellings nor
his turkey-cocks. God pless you, Aunchient
Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless
you! (20)

Pist.
Ha! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan.

To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?

Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Flu.
I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lousy
knave, at my desires, and my requests, and
my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek: because,
look you, you do not love it, nor your
affections and your appetites and your digestions
doo's not agree with it, I would desire
you to eat it.

Pist.
Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.

Flu.
There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.]
Will you be so good, scauld knave, (31)
as eat it?

Pist.
Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

Flu.
You say very true, scauld knave,
when God's will is: I will desire you to live
in the mean time, and eat your victuals: come,
there is sauce for it. Strikes him. You called
me yesterday mountain-squire; but
I will make you to-day a squire of low degree.
I pray you, fall to: if you can mock
a leek, you can eat a leek.

Gow.
Enough, captain: you have astonished (41)
him.

Flu.
I say, I will make him eat some part
of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days.
Bite, I pray you; it is good for your green
wound and your ploody coxcomb.

Pist.
Must I bite?

Flu.
Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and
out of question too, and ambiguities.

Pist.
By this leek, I will most horribly revenge: (50)
I eat and eat, I swear--

Flu.
Eat, I pray you: will you have some
more sauce to your leek? there is not enough
leek to swear by.

Pist.
Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.

Flu.
Much good do you, scauld knave,
heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none away;
the skin is good for your broken coxcomb.
When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter,
I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all. (60)

Pist.
Good.

Flu.
Ay, leeks is good: hold you, there is
a groat to heal your pate.

Pist.
Me a groat!

Flu.
Yes, verily and in truth, you shall
take it; or I have another leek in my pocket,
which you shall eat.

Pist.
I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.

Flu.
If I owe you any thing, I will pay
you in cudgels: you shall be a woodmonger,
and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God b'
wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate. [Exit.

Pist.
All hell shall stir for this.

Gow.
Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly
knave. Will you mock at an ancient
tradition, begun upon an honourable respect,
and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased
valour and dare not avouch in your
deeds any of your words? I have seen you
gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice
or thrice. You thought, because he could not
speak English in the native garb, he could not
therefore handle an English cudgel: you find
it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh
correction teach you a good English condition.
Fare ye well. [Exit.

Pist.
Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?

News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital

Of malady of France;

And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.

Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs

Honor is cudgelled. Well, bawd I'll turn,

And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.

To England will I steal, and there I'll steal:

And patches will I get unto these cudgell'd scars,

And swear I got them in the Gallia wars. [Exit.


SCENE II

France. A royal palace.
Enter, at one door, KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and other Lords; at another, the FRENCH KING, QUEEN ISABEL, the PRINCESS KATHARINE, ALICE and other Ladies; the DUKE OF BURGUNDY, and his train.

K. Hen.
Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!

Unto our brother France, and to our sister,

Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes

To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;

And, as a branch and member of this royalty,

By whom this great assembly is contrived,

We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy;

And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!

Fr. King.
Right joyous are we to behold your face, (10)

Most worthy brother England; fairly met:

So are you, princes English, every one.

Q. Isa.
So happy be the issue, brother England,

Of this good day and of this gracious meeting,

As we are now glad to behold your eyes;

Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them

Against the French, that met them in their bent,

The fatal balls of murdering basilisks:

The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,

Have lost their quality, and that this day

Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.

K. Hen.
To cry amen to that, thus we appear.

Q. Isa.
You English princes all, I do salute you.

Bur.
My duty to you both, on equal love,

Great Kings of France and England! That I have labor'd,

With all my wits, my pains and strong endeavours,

To bring your most imperial majesties

Unto this bar and royal interview,

Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.

Since then my office hath so far prevail'd (30)

That, face to face and royal eye to eye,

You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me,

If I demand, before this royal view,

What rub or what impediment there is,

Why that the naked, poor and mangled Peace,

Dear nurse of arts, plenties and joyful births,

Should not in this best garden of the world

Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?

Alas, she hath from France too long been chased,

And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps, (40)

Corrupting in it own fertility.

Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,

Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach'd,

Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair,

Put forth disorder'd twigs; her fallow leas

The darnel, hemlock and rank fumitory

Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts

That should deracinate such savagery;

The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth

The freckled cowslip, burnet and green clover, (50)

Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,

Conceives by idleness and nothing teems

But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,

Losing both beauty and utility.

And as our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges,

Defective in their natures, grow to wildness,

Even so our houses and ourselves and children

Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,

The sciences that should become our country;

But grow like savages,--as soldiers will (60)

That nothing do but meditate on blood,--

To swearing and stern looks, defused attire

And every thing that seems unnatural.

Which to reduce into our former favour

You are assembled: and my speech entreats

That I may know the let, why gentle Peace

Should not expel these inconveniences

And bless us with her former qualities.

K. Hen.
If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,

Whose want gives growth to the imperfections (70)

Which you have cited, you must buy that peace

With full accord to all our just demands;

Whose tenours and particular effects

You have enscheduled briefly in your hands.

Bur.
The king hath heard them; to the which as yet

There is no answer made.

K. Hen.
Well then the peace,

Which you before so urged, lies in his answer.

Fr. King.
I have but with a cursorary eye

O'erglanced the articles: pleaseth your grace

To appoint some of your council presently (80)

To sit with us once more, with better heed

To re-survey them, we will suddenly

Pass our accept and peremptory answer.

K. Hen.
Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,

And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,

Warwick and Huntingdon, go with the king;

And take with you free power to ratify,

Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best

Shall see advantageable for our dignity,

Any thing in or out of our demands, (90)

And we'll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,

Go with the princes, or stay here with us?

Q. Isa.
Our gracious brother, I will go with them:

Haply a woman's voice may do some good,

When articles too nicely urged be stood on.

K. Hen.
Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:

She is our capital demand, comprised

Within the fore-rank of our articles.

Q. Isa.
She hath good leave. Exeunt all except Henry, Katharine, and Alice.


K. Hen.
Fair Katharine, and most fair,

Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms (100)

Such as will enter to a lady's ear

And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?

Kath.
Your majesty shall mock at me; I
cannot speak your England.

K. Hen.
O fair Katharine, if you will love
me soundly with your French heart, I will be
glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your

English tongue. Do you like me, Kate?

Kath.
Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell vat is
'like me.'

K. Hen.
An angel is like you, Kate, and (111)
you are like an angel.

Kath.
Que dit-il? que je suis semblable a
les anges?

Alice.
Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grace,
ainsi dit-il.

K. Hen.
I said so, dear Katharine; and I
must not blush to affirm it.

Kath.
O bon Dieu! les langages des
hommes sont pleines de tromperies.

K. Hen.
What says she, fair one? that the (121)
tongues of men are full of deceits?

Alice.
Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is
be full of deceits: dat is de princess.

K. Hen.
The princess is the better Englishwoman.
I' faith, Kate, my wooing is fit
for thy understanding: I am glad thou canst
speak no better English; for, if thou couldst,
thou wouldst find me such a plain king that
thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy
my crown. I know no ways to mince it in
love, but directly to say 'I love you:' then if
you urge me farther than to say 'do you in
faith!' I wear out my suit. Give me your
answer; i' faith, do: and so clap hands and
a bargain: how say you, lady?

Kath.
Sauf votre honneur, me understand
vell.

K. Hen.
Marry, if you would put me to
verses or to dance for your sake, Kate, why
you undid me: for the one, I have neither
words nor measure, and for the other, I have
no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure
in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog,
or by vaulting into my saddle with my
armour on my back, under the correction of
bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap
into a wife. Of if I might buffet for my love,
or bound my horse for her favours, I could
lay on like a butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes,
never off. But, before God, Kate, I cannot
look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence,
nor I have no cunning in protestation; only
downright oaths, which I never use till urged,
nor never break for urging. If thou canst
love a fellow of this temper, Kate, whose face
is not worth sunburning, that never looks in
his glass for love of any thing he sees there,
let thine eye be thy cook. I speak to thee plain
soldier: if thou canst love me for this, take
me; if not, to say to thee that I shall die, is
true; but for thy love, by the Lord, no; yet
I love thee too. And while thou livest, dear
Kate, take a fellow of plain and uncoined
constancy; for he perforce must do thee right,
because he hath not the gift to woo in other
places: for these fellows of infinite tongue,
that can rhyme themselves into ladies' favours,
they do always reason themselves out again.
What! a speaker is but a prater; a rhyme is
but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight
back will stoop; a black beard will turn
white; a curled pate will grow bald; a fair face
will wither; a full eye will wax hollow: but a
good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or
rather the sun and not the moon; for it shines
bright and never changes, but keeps his course
truly. If thou would have such a one, take
me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier,
take a king, And what sayest thou then
to my love? speak, my fair, and fairly, I
pray thee.

Kath.
Is it possible dat I sould love de (179)
enemy of France?

K. Hen.
No; it is not possible you should
love the enemy of France, Kate: but, in loving
me, you should love the friend of France;
for I love France so well that I will not part
with a village of it; I will have it all mine:
and, Kate, when France is mine and I am
yours, then yours is France and you are mine.

Kath.
I cannot tell vat is dat.

K. Hen.
No, Kate? I will tell thee in
French; which I am sure will hang upon my
tongue like a new-married wife about her husband's
neck, hardly to be shook off. Je quand
sur le possession de France, et quand vous
avez possession de moi,--let me see, what
then? Saint Denis be my speed,--donc votre
est France et vous etes mienne. Is is as easy
for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to
speak so much more French: I shall never
move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at
me.

Kath.
Sauf votre honneur, le Francois que
vous parlez, il est meilleur que l'Anglois (201)
lequel je parle.

K. Hen.
No, faith, is't not, Kate: but thy
speaking of my tongue, and I thine, most
truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be
much at one. But, Kate, dost thou understand
thus much English, canst thou love me?

Kath.
I cannot tell.

K. Hen.
Can any of your neighbors tell,
Kate? I'll ask them. Come, I know thou
lovest me: and at night, when you come into
your closet, you'll question this gentlewoman
about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her
dispraise those parts in me that you love with
your heart: but, good Kate, mock me mercifully;
the rather, gentle princess, because I
love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine,
Kate, as I have a saving faith within me tells
me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and
thou must therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder:
shall not thou and I, between Saint
Denis and Saint George, compound a boy,
half French, half English, that shall go to
Constantinople and take the Turk by the
beard? shall we not? what sayest thou, my
fair flower-de-luce?

Kath.
I do not know dat.

K. Hen.
No; 'tis hereafter to know, but
now to promise: do but now promise, Kate,
you will endeavour for your French part of
such a boy; and for my English moiety take
the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer
you, la plus belle Katharine du monde,
mon tres cher et devin deesse?

Kath.
Your majestee ave fausse French
enough to deceive de most sage demoiselle dat
is en France.

K. Hen.
Now, fie upon my false French!
By mine honor, in true English, I love thee,
Kate: by which honour I dare not swear thou
lovest me; yet my blood begins to flatter me
that thou dost, notwithstanding the poor and
untempering effect of my visage. Now, beshrew
my father's ambition! he was thinking
of civil wars when he got me: therefore was I
created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect
of iron, that, when I come to woo ladies, I
fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I
wax, the better I shall appear: my comfort is,
that old age, that ill layer up of beauty, can
do no more spoil upon my face: thou hast me,
if thou hast me, at the worst; and thou shalt
wear me, if thou wear me, better and better:
and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine,
will you have me? Put off your maiden
blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart
with the looks of an empress; take me by the
hand, and say 'Harry of England, I am
thine:' which words thou shalt no sooner
bless mine ear withal, but I will tell thee
aloud 'England is thine, Ireland is thine,
France is thine, and Henry Plantagenet is
thine;' who, though I speak it before his face,
if he be not fellow with the best king, thou
shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come,
your answer in broken music; for thy voice is
music and thy English broken; therefore,
queen of all, Katharine, break thy mind to
me in broken English; wilt thou have me?

Kath.
Dat is as it sail please de roi mon
pere.

K. Hen.
Nay, it will please him well,

Kate; it shall please him, Kate. (270)

Kath.
Den it sail also content me.

K. Hen.
Upon that I kiss your hand, and

I call you my queen.

Kath.
Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez:
ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abaissiez
votre grandeur en baisant la main d'une de
votre siegneurie indigne serviteur; excusez-moi,
je vous supplie, mon tres-puissant seigneur.

K. Hen.
Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

Kath.
Les dames et demoiselles pour etre
baisees devant leur noces, il n'est pas la (281)
coutume de France.

K. Hen.
Madam my interpreter, what says
she?

Alice.
Dat it is not be de fashion pour les
ladies of France,--I cannot tell vat is baiser
en Anglish.

K. Hen.
To kiss.

Alice.
Your majesty entendre bettre que
moi.

K. Hen.
It is not a fashion for the maids
in France to kiss before they are married,
would she say?

Alice.
Oui, vraiment.

K. Hen.
O Kate, nice customs curtsy to
great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be
confined within the weak list of a country's
fashion: we are the makers of manners, Kate;
and the liberty that follows our places stops
the mouth of all find-faults; as I will do
yours, for upholding the nice fashion of your
country in denying me a kiss: therefore, patiently
and yielding. Kissing her. You have witchcraft
in your lips, Kate: there is more eloquence
in a sugar touch of them than in the
tongues of the French council; and they
should sooner persuade Harry of England
than a general petition of monarchs. Here
comes your father. Re-enter the FRENCH KING and his QUEEN, BURGUNDY, and other Lords.

Bur.
God save your majesty! my royal
cousin, teach you our princess English?

K. Hen.
I would have her learn, my fair
cousin, how perfectly I love her; and that is
good English.

Bur.
Is she not apt?

K. Hen.
Our tongue is rough, coz, and my
condition is not smooth; so that, having
neither the voice nor the heart of flattery
about me, I cannot so conjure up the spirit of
love in her, that he will appear in his true
likeness.

Bur.
Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if
I answer for that. If you would conjure
in her, you must make a circle; if you conjure
up love in her in his true likeness, he
must appear naked and blind. Can you
blame her then, being a maid yet rosed over
with the virgin crimson of modesty, if she deny
the appearance of a naked blind boy in her
naked seeing self? It were, my lord, a hard
condition for a maid to consign to.

K. Hen.
Yet they do wink and yield, as
love is blind and enforces.

Bur.
They are then excused, my lord, when (330)
they see not what they do.

K. Hen.
Then, good my lord, teach your
cousin to consent winking.

Bur.
I will wink on her to consent, my
lord, if you will teach her to know my meaning:
for maids, well summered and warm
kept, are like flies at Bartholomew-tide, blind,
though they have their eyes; and then they
will endure handling, which before would not
abide looking on.

K. Hen.
This moral ties me over to time
and a hot summer; and so I shall catch the
fly, your cousin, in the latter end and she
must be blind too.

Bur.
As love is, my lord, before it loves.

K. Hen.
It is so: and you may, some of
you, thank love for my blindness, who cannot
see many a fair French city for one fair
French maid that stands in my way.

Fr. King.
Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively,
the cities turned into a maid; for
they are all girdled with maiden walls that (350)
war hath never entered.

K. Hen.
Shall Kate be my wife?

Fr. King.
So please you.

K. Hen.
I am content; so the maiden cities
you talk of may wait on her: so the maid that
stood in the way for my wish shall show me
the way to my will.

Fr. King.
We have consented to all terms
of reason.

K. Hen.
Is't so, my lords of England?

West.
The king hath granted every article: (361)

His daughter first, and then in sequel all,

According to their firm proposed natures.

Exe.
Only he hath not yet subscribed to this:
Where your majesty demands, that the King
of France, having any occasion to write for
matter of grant, shall name your highness in
this form and with this addition, in French,
Notre tres-cher fils Henri, Roi d'Angleterre,
Heritier de France; and thus in Latin, Praeclarissimus
filius noster Henricus, Rex Angliae,
et Haeres Franciae.

Fr. King.
Nor this I have not, brother, so denied,

But your request shall make me let it pass.

K. Hen.
I pray you then, in love and dear alliance,

Let that one article rank with the rest;

And thereupon give me your daughter.

Fr. King.
Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up

Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms

Of France and England, whose very shores look pale

With envy of each other's happiness, (380)

May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunction

Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord

In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance

His bleeding sword 'twixt England and fair France.

All.
Amen!

K. Hen.
Now, welcome, Kate: and bear me witness all,

That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen. [Flourish.


Q. Isa.
God, the best maker of all marriages,

Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!

As man and wife, being two, are one in love, (390)

So be there 'twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,

That never may ill office, or fell jealousy,

Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,

Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,

To make divorce of their incorporate league;

That English may as French, French Englishmen,

Receive each other. God speak this Amen!

All.
Amen!

K. Hen.
Prepare we for our marriage: on which day,

My Lord of Burgundy, we'll take your oath,

And all the peers', for surety of our leagues.

Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;

And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be! [Sennet. Exeunt.

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