Henry V - Act IV

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 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;
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 overbears 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 everyone,
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-disposed in brawl ridiculous,
The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
Minding true things by what their mock’ries be. Exit.

Scene I

The English camp at Agincourt.

	Enter King Henry, 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 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.
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 a while, And then I would no other company.
Erpingham	The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! Exeunt all but King.
King Henry	God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak’st cheerfully.
	Enter Pistol.
Pistol	Qui vas là?
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 lower. 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 wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed 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, 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 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 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 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 ransomed.
Williams	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.
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 darest 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 tomorrow, “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 darest as well be hane’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 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! 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! 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, 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 labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the forehand 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 Henry	Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent: I’ll be before thee.
Erpingham	I shall do’t, my lord. Exit.
King Henry	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 today, O Lord, O, not today, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard’s body have interred new; And on it have bestow’d more contrite tears Than from it issued forced drops of blood: Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither’d hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon.
	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	Monte à 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 embattled, 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 today 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 enough To purge this field of such a hilding foe, Though we upon this mountain’s basis by Took stand for idle speculation: But that our honours must not. What’s to say? A very little little let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket sonance and the note to mount; For our approach shall so much dare the field That England shall crouch down in fear and yield.
	Enter Grandpré.
Grandpré	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, drooping the hides and hips, The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit Lies foul with 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.
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 threescore thousand.
Exeter	There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
Salisbury	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, And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!
Bedford	Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee!
Exeter	Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly today: And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, For thou art framed 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 today!
King Henry	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 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 neighbours, And say, “Tomorrow 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 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; For he today 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 abed 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.
	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 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, They shall be famed; 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’lt once more come again for ransom.
	Enter 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 Pistol, French Soldier, and Boy.
Pistol	Yield, cur!
French Soldier	Je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.
Pistol	Qualité calmie custore 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 miséricorde! ayez pitié 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’échapper 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	Écoutez: comment êtes-vous appelé?
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 de vous dire que vous faites vous prêt; car ce soldat ici est disposé tout à 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 le gentilhomme de bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents écus.
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, néanmoins, pour les écus que vous l’avez promis, il est content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement.
French Soldier	Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercîments; et je m’estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d’un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et très distingué 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 fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy seigneur of England.
Pistol	As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me!
Boy	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 valour than this roaring devil i’ the old play, that everyone may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; 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 de ma vie! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes. O méchante fortune! Do not run away. A short alarum.
Constable	Why, all 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’s 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 pandar, hold the chamber-door Whilst by a slave, no gentler 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 enough 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.

	Alarums. Enter King Henry, and forces, 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 insteep’d, 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 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; 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. Alarm. 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.

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 offer’t; 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 caused 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 the 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 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 you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.
Gower	Our king is not like him in that: he never killed 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 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.
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 King Henry* and forces; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter, and others.*
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 used to be.
King Henry	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?
Montjoy	No, great king: I come to thee for charitable license, 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 remembered 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, I care not who know it; I will confess it to all the ’orld: I need not be ashamed of your majesty, praised be God, so long as your majesty is an honest man.
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. Points to Williams. Exeunt Heralds* with Montjoy.*
Exeter	Soldier, you must come to the king.
King Henry	Soldier, why wearest 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 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.
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 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, la!
King Henry	Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meetest the fellow.
Williams	So I will, my liege, as I live.
King Henry	Who servest 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 Alençon and myself were down together, I plucked this glove from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alençon, and an enemy to our person; if thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love.
Fluellen	Your grace doo’s me as great honours 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 see.
King Henry	Knowest 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 is 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 Alençon’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 King Henry* 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 Alençon.
Williams	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.
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 Alençon, 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 it 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 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 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 his 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 number’d?
Herald	Here is the number of the slaughter’d French.
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; Jacques of Chatillon, admiral of France; The master of the crossbows, Lord Rambures; Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin, John, Duke of Alençon, Anthony Duke of Brabant, The brother to the Duke of Burgundy, And Edward Duke of Bar: of lusty earls, Grandpré 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: 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!
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 killed?
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 enclosed in clay: And then to Calais; and to England then; Where ne’er from France arrived more happy men. Exeunt.