The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, to which are Added His Miscellaneous Poems. (Life of William Shakspeare, by Mr. N. Rowe.).

Con. Tut! I have the best armour of the world.
Would, it were day!

Orl. You have an excellent armour; but let horse have his due.

Con. It is the best horse of Europe.
Orl. Will it never be morning?
Dau. My lord of Orleans, and my lord high con-
stable, you talk of horse and armour,-

Orl. You are as well provided of both, as any prince in the world.

Dau. What a long night is this!- -I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, qui a les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg. Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus: he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts him: he is, indeed, a horse; and all other jades you may call-beasts.

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.

Dau. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage.

Orl. No more, cousin.

Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and myhorse is argument for them ali: 'us a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a Sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the world (familiar to us, and unknown,) to lay apart their particular functions, and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus: Wonder of nature,

Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress.

Dan. Then did they imitate that which I composed to my courser; for my horse is: my mistress. Orl. Your mistress bears well.

Dau. Me well; which is the prescript praise and
perfection of a good and particular mistress.
Con. Ma joy! the other day, methought, your
mistress shrewdly shook your back.

Dau. So, perhaps, did yours.
Con. Mine was not bridled.

Dau. O! then, belike, she was old and gentle; and you rude, like a kernet of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait trossers t

Con. You have good judgment in horsemanship. Dau. Be warn'd by me then; they that ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather have my horse to my mistress.

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade. Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears her own hair.

Con, I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress.

Dax. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously; and 'twere more honour, some were away.

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.

Dau. 'Would, I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces.

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out of my way but I would it were morning, for I would fain be about the ears of the English.

Ram. Who will go to haza:d with me for twenty English prisoners?

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them.

[Exit.

Dau. 'Tis midnight, I'll go arm myself.
Orl. The Dauphin longs for morning.
Ram. He longs to eat the English.
Con. I think, he will eat all he kills.
Orl. By the white haud of my lady, he's a gallant
prince.
Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out
the oath.

Orl. He is, simply the most active gentleman of
France.

Con. Doing is activity: and he will still be doing.
Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of.
Con. Nor will do none to-morrow; he will keep
that good name still.

Ori. I know him to be valiant.

Con. I was told that, by one that knows him better than you.

Orl. What's he?

Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he cared not who knew it.

Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him. Con. By my faith, Sir, but it is; never any body saw it, but his lackey: 'tis a hooded valour; and, when it appears, it will bate.

Orl. Ill will never said well.

Con. I will cap that proverb with-There is flattery in friendship.

Örl. And I will take up that with-Give the devil his due.

Con. Well placed; there stands your friend for the devil: have at the very eye of that proverb, with-A pox of the devil.

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how
much-A fool's bolt is soon shot.
Con. You have shot over.

Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot.
Enter a MESSENGER.

Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie
within fifteen hundred paces of your tent.
Con. Who hath measured the ground?
Mess. The lord Grandpré.

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman.Would it were day!-Alas, poor Harry of England! He longs not for the dawning as we do.

Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this king of England, to mope with his fat-brain'd followers so far out of his knowledge!

Con. If the English had any apprehension, they would run away.

Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces.

Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.

Orl. Foolish curs! that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crush'd like rotten apples: you may as well say, Dau. Le chien est retournè à son propre vomisse--that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast ment, et la truie lavée au bourbier: thou makest use oi any thing.

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress; or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose. Ram. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon

it?

Con. Stars, my lord.

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.
Con. And yet my sky shall not want.

on the lip of a lion.

Con. 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.

Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.

Con. Then we shall find to-morrow-they have * An equivoque in terms in falconry: he means, and when it appears it will fall off.

Alluding to the bounding of tennis-balls, which his valour is hid from every body but his lackey,

were stuffed with hair.

+ Soldier.

Trowsers.

+ Foolish.

Chor. 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 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. Then 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, (0 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 mockeries be.

[Exit.

SCENE 1.-The English Camp at Agincourt.
Enter King HENRY, BEDFORD, and GLOSTER.
K. Hen. 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.

Erp. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me

better,

Since I may say-now lie I like a king.

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

Upon example; so the spirit is eased:
And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt,
The organs, though defunct and dead before,
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move
With casted slough and fresh legerity +.
Lead me thy cloak, Sir Thomas--Brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp;
Do my good morow to them; and, anon,
Desire them all to my pavillion.
Glo. We shall my liege.

[Exeunt Gloster and Bedford. Erp. Shall I attend your grace? K. Hen. 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. Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! [Exit. Erpingham. K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully.

Pist. Qui va là?

Enter PISTOL.

K. Hen. A friend.

Pist. Discuss unto me; art thou officer? Or art thou base, common, and popular? K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. Pist. Trail'st thou the puissant pike? K. Hen. Even so: What are you? Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. K. Hen. Then you are better than the king. Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an impĮ of fame;

Of parents good, of fist most valiant :

I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
K. Hen. Harry le Roy.

Pist. Le Roy! A Cornish name: Art thou of Cornish crew?

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman.

Pist. Knowest thou Fluellen ?

K. Hen. Yes.

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

K. Hen. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that about yours. Pist. Art thou his friend?

K. Hen. And his kinsman too.
Pist. The figo for thee then!

K. Hen. I thank you: God be with you!
Pist. My name is Pistol call'd.
K. Hen. It sorts well with your fierceness.
Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER, severally.
Gow. Captain Fluellen!

[Erit.

Flu. So in the name of Cheshu Christ, speak lower. It is the greatest admiration in the univer sal 'orld, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would but take the pains 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.

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

Flu. 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? Gow. I will speak lower.

Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. [Exeunt Gower and Fluellen. K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour in this Welshman. Enter BATES, COURT, and WILLIAMS. Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morn ing which breaks yonder?

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

Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day,

• Slough is the skin which serpents annually Son

throw off.

↑ Lightness, nimbleness.

but, I think, we shall never see the end of it.Who goes there?

K. Hen. A friend.

Will. Under what captain serve you?
K. Hen. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.
Will. A good old commander, and a most kind
gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our

estate ?

K. Hen. 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? K. Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should. For, though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I am: the violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the element shews 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 shewing it, should dishearten his army. Bates. He may shew what outward courage he will: but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in the Thames up to the neck; and So I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit here.

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king; I think, he would not wish himself any where but where he is.

Bates. Then, would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor

men's lives saved.

K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone; howsoever, you speak this, to feel other men's minds: methinks I could not die any where so contented, as in the king's company; his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable. Will. 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.

Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king bimself 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 t, 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 battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing, when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will be a black matter for the king that led them to it; whom to disobey, were against all proportion of subjection. K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about merchandise, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant, under his master's command, transporting a sum of money, be assail'd by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant's damnation:-But this is not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of perjury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law, and outrun native punishment, though they can outstrip men, they have nowings 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 fear'd the death, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they perish; then if they die unprovided, no

Qualities. The last day, the day of Judgment. Suddenly. 9. c. Punishment in their native country.

more is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was before guilty of those impieties for which they are now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's soul is bis 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: such preparation was gained and in him that or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God his greatness, and to teach others how they should prepare.

ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer Will. Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

for it.

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ransomed.

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

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

Will. 'Mass, you'll pay him then! That's a perilous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch! You may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after! Come, 'tis a foolish saying.

K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round +; I should be angry with you if the time were conve

nient.

Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.
K. Hen. I embrace it.

Will. How shall I know thee again?

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

Will. Here's my glove; give me another of thine.
K. Hen. There.

Will. 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.

it.

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

Will. Thou darest as well be hang'd.

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

Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well. Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how to reckon.

K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty
crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear
them on their shoulders: but it is no English trea-
son, 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,
Subjected to the breath of every fool,
Whose sense no more can feel but his own wring
ing!
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, shew me but thy worth!
What is the soul of adoration?

Art thou aught else but place, degree, and forın,
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 enter-tissued 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 Led 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 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.

Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them!-Not to-day, O
Lord,

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 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 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.

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

How shail we then behold their natural tears?
Enter a MESSENGER.

Mess. The English are embattled, you French

peers.

Con. 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 sheath 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 lackies, and our peasants,-
Who, in unnecessary action, swarm
About our squares of battle,-were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding toe;
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-sonuance +, 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.

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of
France:

Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly 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.
Their 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-duil 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 shews itself.

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

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh

suits,

And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?

Con. I stay but for my guard;-On, 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 the ENGLISH Host; GLOSTER, BEDFORD, EXE-
TER, SALISBURY, and WESTMORELAND.
Glo. Where is the king?

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. West. Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.

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

Sal. 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 Gloster,-and my good lord Exeter.And my kind kinsman,-warriors all, adieu ! Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck

go with thee!

Ere. Farewell kind lord; fight valiantly to-day:
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour,
[Exit Salisbury

Mean, despicable.
The name of an introductory flourish on the
Ring.

trumpet.

Colours.

Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness: Princely in both.

West. O that we now had here

Enter King HENRY.

But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to-day!

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

My cousin Westmoreland?—No, my fair cousin :
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough

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 1, 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

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, thut outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the uame of Crispian.
He, that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,
And say-to-morrow is Saint Crispian :
Then will he strip his sleeve, and shew his scars,
And say, these wounds I had on Crispin'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 our mouths as household words,-
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Cripin 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 accursed, they were not

here;

And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day.

Must lie and fester.

K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now?
Mont. The Constable of France.

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

Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones. Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?

The man that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast lived, was 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 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 a bounding 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 t;
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 shall 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 ploase, they shall,) my ransome then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour;
Come thou no more for ransome, gentle herald;
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints:
Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

Mont. I shall, king Harry, and so fare thee well: Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. K. Hen. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for

Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

Pist. Quality, call you me?-Construe me, art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss. Fr Sol. O Seigneur Dieu!

Pist. O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman :Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark ;

IO Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox ¶,

Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransome.

moy!

Fr. Sol. O, prennez misericorde! Ayez pitié de Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; For I will fetch thy rim * out at thy throat, In drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Est il impossible d'eschapper la force de

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king ton brass?

Harry,

If for thy ransome thou wilt now compound,

Before thy most assured overthrow:

Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
For, certainly, thou art so near the gulph,
The Constable desires thee-thou wilt mind ||
Thy followers of repentance; that their souls

• Grieves.

ti.e. This day shall advance him to the rank of

a gentleman.

Gallantly.

Pist. Brass, cur!

Thou damned and luxurious H, mountain goat,
Offer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy!

• i. e. In brazen plates anciently let into tombstones. + We are soldiers but coarsely dressed. Golden show, and superficial gilding.

Soiled.

Vanguard.

An old cant word for a sword, so called from a famous sword-cutler of the name of Fox. *The diaphragm.

#Lascivious.

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The Dramatic Works of William Shakspeare, to which are Added His ..., 第 1 卷