ACT IV. Sc. I.

KING HENRY V.

creatures: their mastiffs are of unmatchable
courage.
Orleans.

Foolish curs! that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like rotten apples. You may as well say, that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.

Constable.

Just, just; and the men do sympathize with the mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives: and, then, give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils.

Orleans.

Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.

Constable.

Then shall we find to-morrow they have only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm: come, shall we about it?

Orleans.

It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, by ten,

We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.

ACT IV.

Enter Chorus.

[Exeunt.

NOW entertain conjecture of a time,

When creeping murmur, and the poring

Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of
The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fix'd sentinels almost receive

[night,

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;

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, -
[Exit.
The name of Agincourt. Yet, sit and see;
Minding true things by what their mockeries be.

SCENE I. The English Camp at Agincourt.
Enter King Henry, Bedford, and Gloster.

King Henry.

Gloster, '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.

And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned En-
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

King Henry.

[glish,

No, my good knight;

Sit patiently, and inly ruminate

Go with my brothers to my lords of England:

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 be-
The royal captain of this ruin'd band,

I and my bosom must debate awhile,
And, then, I would no other company.

[hold

Erpingham,

The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! [Exit Erpingham.

[men.

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 call them brothers, friends, and country-
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,

King Henry. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.

Qui va là?

A friend.

Enter Pistol.
Pistol.

King Henry.

Pistol.

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

King

The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp of fame;

Of parents good, of fist most valiant:

I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string

I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?

Harry le Roy.

King Henry.

Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish

crew?

No, I am a Welshman.

Pistol.

King Henry.

Pistol.

Know'st thou Fluellen?

King Henry.

Yes.

Pistol.

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

King Henry.

Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that

day, lest he knock that about yours.

Art thou his friend?

And his kinsman too.

Pistol.

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 [Exit. 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.

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

Gower.

Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all here alone, howsoever you speak this, to feel 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.

I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish him other men's minds. Methinks, I could not die any where so contented as in the king's company, his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable. li Willians That's more than we know.

ACT IV. Sc. 1.

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 any thing, when blood is their argu. ment? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it, whom to disobey were against all proportion of subjection.

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 irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant's damnation. But this is not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making the wars their bulwak, 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 it.

Bates,

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

King Henry.

but when our throats are cut, he may be ran.
somed, 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 "This is come to me and say, after to morrow, 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 hanged.
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 [Exeunt Soldiers. the king himself will be a clipper.

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, [wringing!
Whose sense no more can feel but his own
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 !

I myself heard the king say, he would not be What is thy soul of adoration?

Ay, he said so to make us fight cheerfully; Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd,

Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests For our approach shall so much dare the field,

Why do you stay so long, my lords of France P
Yond' island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,

My brother Gloster's voice?-Ay; And our air shakes them passing scornfully.