ACT IV. PROLOGUE.  Enter CHORUS    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;     Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs     Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents     The armourers accomplishing the knights,     With busy hammers closing rivets up,     Give dreadful note of preparation.     The country cocks do crow, the clocks do ton,     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;     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     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 colour     Unto the weary and all-watched night;     But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint     With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;     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,     Right ill-dispos'd in brawl ridiculous,     The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,     Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.         Exit     SCENE I. France. The English camp at Agincourt  Enter the KING, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER    KING HENRY. 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 neighbour makes us early stirrers,     Which is both healthful and good husbandry.     Besides, they are our outward consciences     And preachers to us all, admonishing     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.   ERPINGHAM. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better,     Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.'   KING HENRY. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains     Upon example; so the spirit is eased;     And when the mind is quick'ned, 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.   GLOUCESTER. We shall, my liege.   ERPINGHAM. Shall I attend your Grace?   KING HENRY. No, my good knight:     Go with my brothers to my lords of England;     I and my bosom must debate awhile,     And then I would no other company.   ERPINGHAM. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!                                          Exeunt all but the KING   KING HENRY. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.                            Enter PISTOL    PISTOL. Qui va la?   KING HENRY. A friend.   PISTOL. Discuss unto me: art thou officer,     Or art thou base, common, and popular?   KING HENRY. I am a gentleman of a company.   PISTOL. Trail'st thou the puissant pike?   KING HENRY. Even so. What are you?   PISTOL. As good a gentleman as the Emperor.   KING HENRY. Then you are a better than the King.   PISTOL. 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?   KING HENRY. Harry le Roy.   PISTOL. Le Roy! a Cornish name; art thou of Cornish crew?   KING HENRY. No, I am a Welshman.   PISTOL. Know'st thou Fluellen?   KING HENRY. Yes.   PISTOL. Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate     Upon Saint Davy's day.   KING HENRY. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest     he knock that about yours.   PISTOL. Art thou his friend?   KING HENRY. And his kinsman too.   PISTOL. The figo for thee, then!   KING HENRY. I thank you; God be with you!   PISTOL. My name is Pistol call'd.                         Exit   KING HENRY. It sorts well with your fierceness.                      Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER    GOWER. Captain Fluellen!   FLUELLEN. So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak fewer. It is the     greatest admiration in 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 otherwise.   GOWER. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.   FLUELLEN. 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, now?   GOWER. I will speak lower.   FLUELLEN. I pray you and beseech you that you will.                                        Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN   KING HENRY. Though it appear a little out of fashion,     There is much care and valour in this Welshman.            Enter three soldiers: JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT,                        and MICHAEL 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.   WILLIAMS. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we     shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?   KING HENRY. A friend.   WILLIAMS. Under what captain serve you?   KING HENRY. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.   WILLIAMS. A good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I pray     you, what thinks he of our estate?   KING HENRY. Even as men wreck'd upon a sand, that look to be wash'd     off the next tide.   BATES. He hath not told his thought to the King?   KING HENRY. 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.   BATES. 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.   KING HENRY. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the King: I     think he would not wish himself anywhere but where he is.   BATES. Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be     ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.   KING HENRY. 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 anywhere so contented as in the King's     company, his cause being just and his quarrel honourable.   WILLIAMS. 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.   WILLIAMS. But if the cause be not good, the King himself hath a     heavy reckoning to make when all those legs and arms and heads,     chopp'd 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 anything 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; who to disobey were     against all proportion of subjection.   KING HENRY. 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 irreconcil'd 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 punish'd 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 prepare.   WILLIAMS. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his     own head- the King is not to answer for it.   BATES. I do not desire he should answer for me, and yet I determine     to fight lustily for him.   KING HENRY. I myself heard the King say he would not be ransom'd.   WILLIAMS. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully; but when our     throats are cut he may be ransom'd, and we ne'er the wiser.   KING HENRY. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.   WILLIAMS. You pay him then! That's a perilous shot out of an     elder-gun, that a poor and a 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.   KING HENRY. Your reproof is something too round; I should be angry     with you, if the time were convenient.   WILLIAMS. Let it be a quarrel between us if you live.   KING HENRY. I embrace it.   WILLIAMS. How shall I know thee again?   KING HENRY. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my     bonnet; then if ever thou dar'st acknowledge it, I will make it     my quarrel.   WILLIAMS. Here's my glove; give me another of thine.   KING HENRY. There.   WILLIAMS. 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.   KING HENRY. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.   WILLIAMS. Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.   KING HENRY. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the King's     company.   WILLIAMS. Keep thy word. Fare thee well.   BATES. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have     French quarrels enow, if you could tell how to reckon.   KING HENRY. 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, subject 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 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!     Thinks 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,     The farced tide 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 Pheebus, 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 labour, 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     What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace     Whose hours the peasant best advantages.                         Enter ERPINGHAM    ERPINGHAM. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,     Seek through your camp to find you.   KING. Good old knight,     Collect them all together at my tent:     I'll be before thee.   ERPINGHAM. I shall do't, my lord.                         Exit   KING. O God of battles, steel my soldiers' hearts,     Possess them not with fear! Take from them now     The sense of reck'ning, if th' 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 bestowed 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.                           Enter GLOUCESTER    GLOUCESTER. My liege!   KING HENRY. 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     SCENE II. The French camp  Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others    ORLEANS. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!   DAUPHIN. Montez a cheval! My horse! Varlet, laquais! Ha!   ORLEANS. O brave spirit!   DAUPHIN. Via! Les eaux et la terre-   ORLEANS. Rien puis? L'air et le feu.   DAUPHIN. Ciel! cousin Orleans.                          Enter CONSTABLE      Now, my Lord Constable!   CONSTABLE. Hark how our steeds for present service neigh!   DAUPHIN. Mount them, and make incision in their hides,     That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,     And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!   RAMBURES. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?     How shall we then behold their natural tears?                          Enter a MESSENGER    MESSENGER. The English are embattl'd, you French peers.   CONSTABLE. 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;     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 vapour of our valour 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;     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 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    GRANDPRE. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?     Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones,     Ill-favouredly 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'd bit     Lies foul with chaw'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.   CONSTABLE. They have said their prayers and they stay for death.   DAUPHIN. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,     And give their fasting horses provender,     And after fight with them?   CONSTABLE. I stay but for my guidon. To the field!     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     SCENE III. The English camp  Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with all his host; SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND    GLOUCESTER. Where is the King?   BEDFORD. The King himself is rode to view their battle.   WESTMORELAND. Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand.   EXETER. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.   SALISBURY. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds.     God bye 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,     And my kind kinsman- warriors all, adieu!   BEDFORD. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!   EXETER. Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly to-day;     And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,     For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.                                                   Exit SALISBURY   BEDFORD. He is as full of valour as of kindness;     Princely in both.                              Enter the KING    WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here     But one ten thousand of those men in England     That do no work to-day!   KING. What's he that wishes so?     My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin;     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 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,     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 neighbours,     And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian.'     Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,     And say 'These wounds I had on Crispian'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 his mouth as household words-     Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,     Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester-     Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.     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;     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 whiles any speaks     That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.                        Re-enter SALISBURY    SALISBURY. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:     The French are bravely in their battles set,     And will with all expedience charge on us.   KING HENRY. All things are ready, if our minds be so.   WESTMORELAND. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!   KING HENRY. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?   WESTMORELAND. God's will, my liege! would you and I alone,     Without more help, could fight this royal battle!   KING HENRY. 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    MONTJOY. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,     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.   KING HENRY. Who hath sent thee now?   MONTJOY. The Constable of France.   KING HENRY. 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 liv'd 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 abounding 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 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     Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;     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.   MONTJOY. I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well:     Thou never shalt hear herald any more.                  Exit   KING HENRY. I fear thou wilt once more come again for a ransom.                      Enter the DUKE OF YORK    YORK. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg     The leading of the vaward.   KING HENRY. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away;     And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!          Exeunt     SCENE IV. The field of battle  Alarum.  Excursions.  Enter FRENCH SOLDIER, PISTOL, and BOY    PISTOL. Yield, cur!   FRENCH SOLDIER. Je pense que vous etes le gentilhomme de bonne     qualite.   PISTOL. Cality! Calen o custure me! Art thou a gentleman?     What is thy name? Discuss.   FRENCH SOLDIER. O Seigneur Dieu!   PISTOL. 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 ransom.   FRENCH SOLDIER. O, prenez misericorde; ayez pitie de moi!   PISTOL. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys;     Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat     In drops of crimson blood.   FRENCH SOLDIER. Est-il impossible d'echapper la force de ton bras?   PISTOL. Brass, cur?     Thou damned and luxurious mountain-goat,     Offer'st me brass?   FRENCH SOLDIER. O, pardonnez-moi!   PISTOL. 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. Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?   FRENCH SOLDIER. Monsieur le Fer.   BOY. He says his name is Master Fer.   PISTOL. 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.   PISTOL. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat.   FRENCH SOLDIER. Que dit-il, monsieur?   BOY. Il me commande a vous dire que vous faites vous pret; car ce     soldat ici est dispose tout a cette heure de couper votre gorge.   PISTOL. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy!     Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;     Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.   FRENCH SOLDIER. 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.   PISTOL. What are his words?   BOY. 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.   PISTOL. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I     The crowns will take.   FRENCH SOLDIER. Petit monsieur, que dit-il?   BOY. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun     prisonnier, neamnoins, pour les ecus que vous l'avez promis, il     est content a vous donner la liberte, le franchisement.   FRENCH SOLDIER. 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     seigneur d'Angleterre.   PISTOL. Expound unto me, boy.   BOY. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he     esteems himself happy that he hath fall'n into the hands of one-     as he thinks- the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy     signieur of England.   PISTOL. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.     Follow me.                                              Exit   BOY. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine.       Exit 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 valour than this roaring     devil i' th' old play, that every one may pare his nails with a     wooden dagger; and they are both hang'd; and so would this be, if     he durst steal anything 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     SCENE V. Another part of the field of battle  Enter CONSTABLE, ORLEANS, BOURBON, DAUPHIN, and RAMBURES    CONSTABLE. O diable!   ORLEANS. O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!   DAUPHIN. Mort Dieu, ma vie! all is confounded, all!     Reproach and everlasting shame     Sits mocking in our plumes.                 [A short alarum]     O mechante fortune! Do not run away.   CONSTABLE. Why, an our ranks are broke.   DAUPHIN. O perdurable shame! Let's stab ourselves.     Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?   ORLEANS. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?   BOURBON. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!     Let us die in honour: 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 gender than my dog,     His fairest daughter is contaminated.   CONSTABLE. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!     Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.   ORLEANS. We are enow yet living in the field     To smother up the English in our throngs,     If any order might be thought upon.   BOURBON. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng.     Let life be short, else shame will be too long.       Exeunt     SCENE VI. Another part of the field  Alarum. Enter the KING and his train, with prisoners; EXETER, and others    KING HENRY. Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen;     But all's not done- yet keep the French the field.   EXETER. The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.   KING HENRY. 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.   EXETER. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie     Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,     Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,     The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.     Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over,     Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped,     And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes     That bloodily did yawn upon his face,     He cries aloud 'Tarry, my 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     We kept together in our chivalry.'     Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up;     He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand,     And, with a feeble grip, 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, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd     A testament of noble-ending love.     The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd     Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd;     But I had not so much of man in me,     And all my mother came into mine eyes     And gave me up to tears.   KING HENRY. 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 reinforc'd their scatter'd men.     Then every soldier kill his prisoners;     Give the word through.                                Exeunt     SCENE VII. Another part of the field  Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER    FLUELLEN. 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 offert; in your conscience, now, is it not?   GOWER. '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 caus'd every     soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant King!   FLUELLEN. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you     the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born?   GOWER. Alexander the Great.   FLUELLEN. Why, I pray you, is not 'pig' great? The pig, or great,     or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one     reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations.   GOWER. I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon; his father     was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.   FLUELLEN. 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     call'd 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     you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.   GOWER. Our king is not like him in that: he never kill'd any of his     friends.   FLUELLEN. 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 kill'd his friend     Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups, so also Harry Monmouth,     being in his right wits and his good judgments, turn'd 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.   GOWER. Sir John Falstaff.   FLUELLEN. That is he. I'll tell you there is good men porn at     Monmouth.   GOWER. Here comes his Majesty.              Alarum. Enter the KING, WARWICK, GLOUCESTER,             EXETER, and others, with prisoners. Flourish    KING HENRY. I was not angry since I came to France     Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald,     Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond 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    EXETER. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.   GLOUCESTER. His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.   KING HENRY. How now! What means this, herald? know'st thou not     That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?     Com'st thou again for ransom?   MONTJOY. No, great King;     I come to thee for charitable licence,     That we may wander o'er this bloody field     To book 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;     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!   KING HENRY. 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.   MONTJOY. The day is yours.   KING HENRY. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!     What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?   MONTJOY. They call it Agincourt.   KING HENRY. Then call we this the field of Agincourt,     Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.   FLUELLEN. 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.   KING HENRY. They did, Fluellen.   FLUELLEN. Your Majesty says very true; if your Majesties is     rememb'red of it, the Welshmen did good service in garden where     leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which your     Majesty know to this hour is an honourable badge of the service;     and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek     upon Saint Tavy's day.   KING HENRY. I wear it for a memorable honour;     For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.   FLUELLEN. All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty's Welsh     plood out of your pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and     preserve it as long as it pleases his Grace and his Majesty too!   KING HENRY. Thanks, good my countryman.   FLUELLEN. By Jeshu, I am your Majesty's countryman, care not who     know it; I will confess it to all the 'orld: I need not be     asham'd of your Majesty, praised be Got, so long as your Majesty     is an honest man.                         Enter WILLIAMS    KING HENRY. 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.                                      Exeunt heralds with MONTJOY   EXETER. Soldier, you must come to the King.   KING HENRY. Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap?   WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, 'tis the gage of one that I     should fight withal, if he be alive.   KING HENRY. An Englishman?   WILLIAMS. An't please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger'd with me     last night; who, if 'a live 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.   KING HENRY. What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this     soldier keep his oath?   FLUELLEN. He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your     Majesty, in my conscience.   KING HENRY. It may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite     from the answer of his degree.   FLUELLEN. Though he be as good a gentleman as the Devil is, as     Lucifier and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace,     that he keep his vow and his oath; if he be perjur'd, 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, la.   KING HENRY. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st the     fellow.   WILLIAMS. So I Will, my liege, as I live.   KING HENRY. Who serv'st thou under?   WILLIAMS. Under Captain Gower, my liege.   FLUELLEN. Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and     literatured in the wars.   KING HENRY. Call him hither to me, soldier.   WILLIAMS. I will, my liege.                               Exit   KING HENRY. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me, and stick     it in thy cap; when Alencon and myself were down together, I     pluck'd this glove from his helm. If any man challenge this, he     is a friend to Alencon and an enemy to our person; if thou     encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.   FLUELLEN. Your Grace does me as great honours as can be desir'd in     the hearts of his subjects. I would fain see the man that has but     two legs that shall find himself aggrief'd at this glove, that is     all; but I would fain see it once, an please God of his grace     that I might see.   KING HENRY. Know'st thou Gower?   FLUELLEN. He is my dear friend, an please you.   KING HENRY. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.   FLUELLEN. I will fetch him.                               Exit   KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick and my brother Gloucester,     Follow Fluellen closely at the heels;     The glove which I have given him for a favour     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,     And quickly will return an injury;     Follow, and see there be no harm between them.     Go you with me, uncle of Exeter.                      Exeunt     SCENE VIII. Before KING HENRY'S PAVILION  Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS    WILLIAMS. I warrant it is to knight you, Captain.                           Enter FLUELLEN    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.   WILLIAMS. Sir, know you this glove?   FLUELLEN. Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove.   WILLIAMS. I know this; and thus I challenge it.  [Strikes him]   FLUELLEN. 'Sblood, an arrant traitor as any's in the universal     world, or in France, or in England!   GOWER. How now, sir! you villain!   WILLIAMS. Do you think I'll be forsworn?   FLUELLEN. Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his     payment into plows, I warrant you.   WILLIAMS. I am no traitor.   FLUELLEN. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty's     name, apprehend him: he's a friend of the Duke Alencon's.                    Enter WARWICK and GLOUCESTER    WARWICK. How now! how now! what's the matter?   FLUELLEN. 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 the KING and EXETER    KING HENRY. How now! what's the matter?   FLUELLEN. 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.   WILLIAMS. My liege, this was my glove: here is the fellow of it;     and he that I gave it to in change promis'd to wear it in his     cap; I promis'd 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.   FLUELLEN. Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood,     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 your conscience, now.   KING HENRY. 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.   FLUELLEN. An please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if     there is any martial law in the world.   KING HENRY. How canst thou make me satisfaction?   WILLIAMS. All offences, my lord, come from the heart; never came     any from mine that might offend your Majesty.   KING HENRY. It was ourself thou didst abuse.   WILLIAMS. Your Majesty came not like yourself: you appear'd to me     but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your     lowliness; and what your Highness suffer'd 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 beseech     your Highness pardon me.   KING HENRY. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,     And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;     And wear it for an honour in thy cap     Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns;     And, Captain, you must needs be friends with him.   FLUELLEN. 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 God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and     quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better     for you.   WILLIAMS. I will none of your money.   FLUELLEN. 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    KING HENRY. Now, herald, are the dead numb'red?   HERALD. Here is the number of the slaught'red French.                                                  [Gives a paper]   KING HENRY. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?   EXETER. 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.   KING HENRY. 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,     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;     Jaques of Chatillon, Admiral of France;     The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures;     Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin;     John Duke of Alencon; Antony Duke of Brabant,     The brother to the Duke of Burgundy;     And Edward Duke of Bar. Of lusty earls,     Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix,     Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrake.     Here was a royal fellowship of death!     Where is the number of our English dead?                                  [HERALD presents another paper]     Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,     Sir Richard Kikely, Davy Gam, Esquire;     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 los     On one part and on th' other? Take it, God,     For it is none but thine.   EXETER. 'Tis wonderful!   KING HENRY. 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     Which is his only.   FLUELLEN. Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how     many is kill'd?   KING HENRY. Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment,     That God fought for us.   FLUELLEN. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.   KING HENRY. Do we all holy rites:     Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum';     The dead with charity enclos'd in clay-     And then to Calais; and to England then;     Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.       Exeunt