Our Sins, lay on the King; he must bear all: 1
hard Condition, twin-born with Greatness,
Subject to the breath of every Fool, whofe Senfe
No more can feel, but his own wringing.
What infinite heart-ease muft Kings neglect,
That private Men enjoy?
And what have Kings that Privates have not too,
Save Ceremony, fave general Ceremony?
And what art thou, thou Idol Ceremony?
What kind of God art thou? that fuffer'ft more
Of mortal Griefs than do thy Worshippers,
What are thy Rents? What are thy comings in?
O Ceremony, Thew me but thy worth:
What! is thy Soul of Adoration?
Art thou ought elfe but Place, Degree, and Form,
Creating awe and fear in other Men?
Wherein thou art lefs happy, being fear'd,
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, inftead of Homage fweet,
But poifon'd Flattery? O be fick, great Greatnefs,
And bid thy Ceremony give thee cure.
Think'ft thou the fiery Feaver will go out
With Titles blown from Adulation?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Can't thou, when thou command'ft the beggars knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou proud Dream,
Thou play'ft fe fubtilly with a King's Repose,
I am a King that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the Balm, the Scepter, and the Ball,
The Sword, the Mace, the Crown Imperial,
The enter-tiffued Robe of Gold and Pearl,
The farfed Title running 'fore the King,
The Throne he fits on; nor the Tide of Pomp,
That beats upon the high fhoar of this World:
No, not all these thrice gorgeous Ceremonies,
Not all thefe, laid in Bed Majestical,
Can fleep fo foundly as the wretched Slave:
Who, with a Body fill'd, and vacant Mind,
Gets him to reft, cramm'd with diftrefsful Bread.
Never fees horrid Night, the Child of Hell:
But like a Lacquey, from the Rife to Set,
Sweats in the Eye of Phoebus; and all Night
Sleeps in Elyfium; next day after dawn,
Doth rife and help Hyperion to his Horse,
And follows fo the ever running Year
With profitable Labour to his Grave:
And, but for Ceremony, fuch 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 grofs brain little wots,
What Watch the King keeps to maintain the Peace;
Whofe hours the Peafant beft advantages.
Erp. My Lord, your Nobles, jealous of your abfence, Seek through your Camp to find you.
K. Henry. Good old Knight, collect them all together, At my Tent: I'll be before thee.
Erp. I fhall do't, my Lord.
[Exit.
K. Henry. O God of Battels feel my Soldiers Hearts,
Poffefs them not with Fear: Take from them now
The Senfe of Reck'ning of th'oppofed Numbers:
Pluck their Hearts from them. Not to day, O Lord,
O not to day, think not upon the Fault
My Father made, in compaffing the Crown.
1 Richard's Body have interred new,
And on it have bestowed more contrite Tears
Than from it iffued 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 Chauntries,
Where the fad and folemn Priefts fing still
For Richard's Soul. More will I do;
Tho' all that I can do is nothing worth,
Since that my Penitence comes after all,
Imploring Pardon.
K. Henry. My Brother Glo'fter's Voice?
I know thy Errand, I will go with thee:
The Day. my Friend, and all things ftay for me. [Exeum
Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures, and Beaumont,
Orl. The Sun doth gild our Armour, up, my Lords.
Dau. Monte Cheval: My Horfe, Valet Lacquay: Ha!
Orl. Oh brave Spirit!
Dau. Voyer les Cieux & la terre.
Orl. Rien puis le air & feu.
Dau. Cien, Coufin Orleans.
Enter Conftable!
Con. Hark how our Steeds for prefent Service neigh. Dau. Mount them, and make Incifion in their Hides, That their hot Blood may fpin in English Eyes, And dout them with fuperfluous Courage: Ha!
Ram. What, will you have them weep our Horfes Blood? How fhall we then behold their natural Tears? Enter Meffenger.
Mef. The English are embattell'd, you French Peers.
Con. To Horfe, you gallant Princes, ftreight to Horse.
Do but behold yond poor and ftarved Band,
And your fair fhew fhall fuck away their Souls,
Leaving them but the fhales and husks of Men.
There is not work enough for all our Hands,
Scarce Blood enough in all their fickly Veins,
To give each naked Curtle-ax a ftain,
That our French Gallants fhall to day draw out,
And fheath for lack of Sport. Let us but blow on them,
The vapour of our Valour will o'er-turn them.
'Tis pofitive 'gajnft all exception, Lords,
That our fuperfluous Lacqueys and our Peasants,
Who in unneceffary action fwarm
About our Squares of Battel, were enow
To purge this Field of fuch a hilding Foe,
Tho' we upon this Mountain's Basis by
Took ftand, for idle Speculation:
But that our Honours muft not. What's to say?
A very little little let us do;
And all is done; then let the Trumpets found
The Tucket Sonuance, and the Note to mount:
For our approach fhall fo much dare the Field,
That England fhall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Grandpree.
Gran. Why do you ftay fo long, my Lords of France?
Yond Ifland Carrions, defperate of their Bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the Morning Field:
Their ragged Curtains poorly are let loose,
And our Air fhakes them paffing fcornfully.
Big Mars feems bankrupt in their beggar'd Hoft,
And faintly through a rufty Bever peeps.
The Horefmen fit like fixed Candlesticks,
With Torch-staves in their Hand; and their poor Jades
Lob down their Heads, drooping the Hide and Hips:
The Gum dowa roping from their pale-dead Eyes,
And in their pale dull Mouths the Jymold Birt
Lyes foul with chaw'd Grafs, ftill and motionlefs;
And their Executors, the knavish Crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their Hour.
Defcription cannot fuit it felf in Words,
To demonstrate the Life of fuch a Battel,
In life fo livelefs as it fhews it self.
Con. They have faid their Prayers,
And they stay for Death.
Dau Shall we go fend them Dinners, and fresh Sutes, And give their fafting Horses Provender,
And after fight with them?
Con. I ftay but for my Guard: On, to the Field;
I will the Banner from a Trumpet take,
And use it for my hafte. Come, come away,
The Sun is high, and we out-wear the Day.
Enter Gloucefter, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham with all the Hoft, Salisbury and Westmorland.
Bed. The King himself is rode to view their Battel. Weft. Of fighting Men they have full threefcore thoufand.
Exe. There's five to one, befides they are all fresh.
Sal. God's Arm ftrike 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 Glofter, and my good Lord Exeter,
And my kind Kinfman, Warriors all adieu.
Bed. Farewel, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee: And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it,
For thou art fam'd of the firm truth of Valour.
Exe. Farewel, kind Lord: Fight valiantly to day. [Exit Sal.
Bed. He is as full of Valour as of Kindness,
Enter King Henry.
Weft. O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those Men in England,
That do no work to Day.
K. Henry. What's he that wishes fo?
My Coufin Westmorland? No, my fair Coufin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our Country lofs; and if to live,
The fewer Men the greater fhare of Honour.
God's will, I pray thee with not one Man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for Gold,
Nor care 1, who doth feed upon my coft:
It yeras me not, if Men my Garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my defires:
But if it be a Sin to covet Honour,
I am the moft offending Soul alive.
No, faith, my Coz, with not a Man from England:
God's Peace, I would not lofe fo great an Honour,
As one Man more methinks would share from me,
For the best hope I have. O, do not wifh one more:
Rather proclaim it (Weftmerland) through my Hoft,
That he which hath no Stomach to this Fight,
Let him depart, his Paffport fhall 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 Feaft of Crifpian:
He that out-lives this Day, and comes fafe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouze him at the Name of Crifpian:
He that fall fee this Day, and live old Age,
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