University of Virginia Library

ACT V.

SCENE I.

SCENE, a large Champian, with the Castle of Agincourt at a Distance: on the one side, the English Camp; on the other, the French.
Enter, on the French Side, the Dauphin, Orleans, and Bourbon.
Bourbon.

Nay, never go about to dispute it; 'tis the best
Armour in the World.

Orl.

The Armour is excellent; but then rob not
my Horse of his Due.

Dau.

Will it never be Morning?—My Lords, of
Orleans, and Bourbon! you talk of Horse and Armour;
I'll not change my Horse for a Diadem—
Cha ha—Cha-ha—he bounds from the Earth,
as if his Entrails were Hares! he's the Horse of the
Muses! the Pegasus!—with Nostrils of Fire! when
I once get astride him, I soar! I'm a Hawk!—He
trots thro' the Air; the Earth sings when he touches
it, and the basest Horn of his Hoof is more
musical, than the Harp of Apollo.

Orl.

He's of the Colour of a Nutmeg.

Dau.

And of the Heat of the Ginger! 'Tis a
Beast for a Perseus! pure Air, and Fire!—The dull
Elements, of Water, and Earth, never appear in him,
but only in patient Stillness, while I mount him;—

He is indeed a Horse, and all others of his Kind, you
may call Jades.

Bour.

Indeed, my Lord! it is a most absolute, and
excellent Horse!

Dau.

He is the Prince of Palfrys;—His
Neigh, is, like the Bidding of a Monarch, and his
Countenance enforces Homage.

Orl.

Well, but enough of him, Cousin!

Dau.

Psha!—The Man has no Wit, who can't,
from the rising of the Lark, to the Lodging of
the Lamb, vary deserv'd Praises on my Palfry! the
Theme is as fluent as the Sea! Turn the Sands into
eloquent Tongues, and my Horse will be Argument
for them All!—Will it never be Day?—I
will trot him to-morrow, a Mile, and a half, and
my way shall be pav'd with English Faces.

Orl.

I wou'd it were Morning; for I wou'd fain
be about the Ears of the English!

Bour.

Who'll go to Hazard, with me, for twenty
Prisoners?

Dau.

Alas, poor Harry! He longs not for the
Dawning, as we do! What a wretched, peevish,
Fellow is this King of England, to mope with his
fat-brain'd Followers, so far out of his Knowledge?

Orl.

If the English had any Apprehension, they
wou'd run away.

Bour.

That Island of England breeds very valiant
Mastiffs!

Dau.

Foolish Currs!—that run winking into
the Mouth of a Bear, and have their Heads crush'd,
like a rotten Apple; you may e'en as well say, 'tis
a valiant Flea, that dares breakfast on the Lip of a
Lyon.

Orl.

Just!—Just!—and the Men, too, are much
a-kin to the Mastiffs!—rough, and robust, in

coming on; but they leave all their Wit with their
Wives;—And then give them great Meals of
Beef, and Iron, and Steel, and they'll eat, like
Wolves, and fight, like Devils.

Dau.

Ay; but these English are shrewdly out of
Beef—Come, now we'll in, 'tis about two a
Clock,

And—let me see, by Ten,
We shall have, Each, a hundred Englishmen!

[Exeunt.
Enter King Henry, from the French Side.
K. Hen.

[Exit.
Enter Duke of York, and Soldiers, meeting Exeter and Soldiers.
York.
Stand!—Who goes there?

Exe.
The Duke of Exeter.

York.
Saw you the King, my Lord?

Exe.
He, Royal Captain of our ruin'd Band!
Walks out from Watch to Watch, from Tent to Tent,
Bids all good Morrow, with a gentle Smile,
And calls them Brothers, Friends, and Countrymen:
Upon his Royal Face there is no Note,
How dread an Army has surrounded him;
Nor does he dedicate one Jot of Colour
To the o'erwatch'd, and weary Night—but looks
Fresh, and Serene, and covers Apprehension
With chearful Air, and smiling Majesty;
That Every Wretch, pining, and pale, before,
Beholding Him, plucks Comfort from his Looks.

York.
—Oh! He's a noble King! Good Heaven protect Him!
Of fighting Men, They have full Sixty Thousand!

Exe.
That's five to one—Besides they are all fresh!

York.
Heaven's Arm strike with us!—'Tis a fearfull Odds!
O! Exeter, farewell! Embrace we close,
If we no more meet, till we meet in Heaven,
Then joyfully, my noble Friend, and Brother!
Adieu, for ever!

Exe.
Noble York, farewell!
O, that we, now, had, here, but one ten thousand
Of those in England, who do no Work to-day!

Enter King Henry.
K. Hen.
Whence was that fruitless Wish? my Uncle Exeter!
No! my good Uncle! If we are mark'd to die,
We are enough for Loss!—and, if to live,
The fewer Men, the greater Share of Honour!
I am not covetous of Gold, or Plunder,
Gay, outward, Things dwell not in my Desires:
But if it be a Sin to covet Honour,
I am the most offending Soul alive.
No; pr'ythee, wish not one Man more from England;
Let easy Passports make the Fearful safe.
We wou'd not die in that Man's Company,
Who fears his Fellowship to fall with us;
Uncle! what Day is this?

York.
St. Crispin's Day.

K. Hen.
He, who outlives this Day, and comes safe Home,
Will rowse him, at St. Crispin's well known Name;
The Man, who sees this Day, and lives old Age,
Shall yearly, on the Vigil, feast his Neighbours,
And say, to-morrow is St. Crispin's Day!
Then, will he strip his Sleeve, and show his Scarrs,
Old, as he shall be then, he'll not forget
What Feats he did this Day—Then shall our Names,
Familiar in his Mouth, as Household Words,
Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick, and Talbot, Salisbury, York, and Gloster!
Be, in his flowing Cups, freshly remember'd!
This Story shall the Good Man teach his Son,
And Crispin's Day, henceforth, shall ne'er go by,
But we shall be remember'd in it!—We,
We few, we happy Few! we Band of Brothers!
For He, to-day, who sheds his Blood with me,
Shall be my Brother, be he ne'er so mean!

Exe.
Now shall our Gountry's Courage meet a Danger,
Worthy Her Warrior's Wishes.

K. Hen.
Out-number'd, as we are, beyond Proportion,
Solely, to trust our Valour, were but Rashness!
Discretion weighs the utmost Grain of Danger:
The Ground, we cover, by yon Village fenc'd,
Secures our Rear;—On either Flank, strong Hedges,
And deep-trench'd Ditches, guard us from Approach:
Line these with chosen Bands of English Archers,
And let Sir Walter Orpington command them;
Close let them shrowd their Terror, till the French,
Strong in fierce Cavalry, come pouring on,
To break our Front:—Then, let our Archers rise,
And drifted Clouds of Death-wing'd Arrows gall
Their open Flanks—Hence will Disorder follow,
And, spreading dreadfull, mix their Troops together:
Be that, brave York! the Signal for Your Onset;
Furious, attack, and making Inroad thro' them,
O'er the cast Horsemen, break upon their Foot,
And tread down Number, weakned by Confusion:
What more we wou'd have done, shall, as we pass,
Be order'd:—This Way, Uncle Exeter!

[Exeunt.
Enter Orleans, and Bourbon.
Orl.
Well! Cousin Bourbon, is the Foe embattled?

Bourb.
When will the long'd-for Trumpet sound to Horse?
Do but behold yon poor, and half-starv'd Band,
Our Show-dress'd War will suck away their Souls,
And leave them but the Shells—the Husks, of Men!
There is not Work to busy half our Hands;
Scarce Blood enough in all their sickly Veins,
To give Each Sword a Stain—we need but blow on 'em,
The Vapour of our Valour will o'erturn 'em.

Orl.
'Tis positive, beyond Exception, Cousin!
That our superfluous Crowds, who swarm, unusefull,
About our Squares of Battle, were enough
To clear the Field of such a weakned Foe.

Enter the Dauphin.
Dau.
Sound out the Note to mount, Ha, ha, ha—Cousins!
[Sound to Horse.
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, thro' a rusty Bever, peeps:
Their Horsemen sit unmov'd—and the poor Jades
Lob down their Heads, drooping the Hide, and Hipps;
And, in their pale, dull, Mouths, the moldy Bitt
Lies foul, with chew'd Grass, still, and motionless;
And their Executors, the knavish Crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their Hour.

Bour.
They've said their Prayers, poor Rogues! and stay for Death.

Orle.
In mere Compassion, we shou'd send them Dinners;
These English hate to die, with empty Stomachs.

Dau.
See! my Guard waits me yonder!—On, to the Field!
Come, the Sun's high, and we outwear the Day.

[Exeunt.
Sound of a Charge, with Drums, Trumpets, &c.
The Genius of England
rises, and sings.
SONG.

Enter in Confusion, Dauphin, Orleans, and Bourbon.
Dau.
Death to my Hopes! All is confounded, All!
Reproach, and everlasting Shame,
Sit, mocking, on our Plumes! O! damn'd Witch, Fortune!
Let us not run away.

Orl.
Why, All our Ranks are broke.

Bour.
O! Shame, beyond Example! Let us stab our selves!
Are these the Wretches, whom we play'd at Dice for?

Orl.
Is this the King, we sent to, for his Ransom?

Dau.
Shame, and Eternal Shame! Nothing, but Shame!
Let us, once more, fly in, rush back again;
Disorder, that has spoil'd, befriend us, now:
Let us, on Heaps, go die, and hide our Enemy.

Bour.
We are enough yet living in the Field,
To smother up the English in our Throng,
If any Order might be thought upon.

Dau.
Confound All Order now—I'll to the Press.
Let Life be short, or Shame will be too long.

[Exeunt.
After another Alarm, Enter King Henry, Exeter, and Soldiers.
Exe.
The Duke of York commends him to Your Majesty.

K. Hen.
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.

Exe.
In which Array, brave Soldier! now he lies,
Hack'd, and trod in, by the o'ertrampling Horse,
Larding the Plain:—and by his bloody Side,
Yoke-fellow to his Honour-giving Wounds,
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies:
Suffolk first dy'd; and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where, insteep'd in Gore he lay,
And grasps him by the Neck—kisses the Gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his Face;
Then, crys aloud, Stay for me, Cousin Suffolk!
My Soul shall keep thine Company to Heaven,
As in this glorious, and well fought Field,
We kept together:—On these Words, I came,
And cheer'd him up; He smil'd me in the Face,
Reach'd me his Hand, and with a feeble Gripe,
Said, Dear my lord! commend me to my Sovereign!
Groaning, he turn'd, and over Suffolk's Neck
He threw his wounded Arm, and kiss'd his Lips;
And so, espous'd to Death, seal'd with his Blood
A Testament of noble-ending Love!
The moving, and sweet Manner of it, forc'd
A Flood of Grief, which I wou'd fain have stop'd,
But had not left so much of Man about me;
For all my Mother came into my Eyes,
And gave me up to Tears.

K. Hen.
I blame You not;
For, hearing this, I must, perforce, compound
With wat'ry Eyes, or mine will gush out, too.

Enter Bourbon.
Exe.
The Duke of Bourbon, from the French, my Liege!

K. Hen.
Come You again for Ransom?

Bour.
No, Great King!
I come for free, and charitable Licence,
That we may wander o'er this bloody Field,
To book our Dead; and ere we bury them,
To sort our Nobles, from our common Men;
This my first Errand, Sir:
His Highness, the Prince Dauphin, comes to greet You,
And wou'd, if so Your Majesty permits,
Propose new Terms, and meet, in friendly Parley.

K. Hen.
Our Ear is ever open to the Call
Of honourable Peace—He has safe Conduct.

Enter the Dauphin, the Princess Catharine, and Orleans.
Dau.
Once more, victorious, and high-fated Henry
We meet—Our Sister, anxious after Peace,
And our dread Sovereign, and Imperial Father,
Committing to our Care the Publick Safety,
We come, with mighty, tho' unwilling Wonder,
To own the Hand of Heaven in Your Success:
Ten thousand French lye, breathless, on Yon Field,
Of whom, but sixteen hundred Common Men!
On Your Side, if the strange Report not errs,
Besides the Duke of York, and Earl of Suffolk,
None else of Name—and of all other Men,
But five and twenty—Heaven! thy Arm was here!
When, in plain Shock, and even Play of Battle,
Was ever known so great, so little Loss?
But we've not lost to You—the Shame of Losing,
Is overpaid by such a Victor's Glory.
Stand in my Place; Be Regent over France,
Ev'n while my Father lives,—and when his Days
Reach their nigh Period, Reign,—and join the Kingdoms!
Take my lov'd Sister, and be happy, Ever!
For me, prophetic Hope foreshows me Comfort!
I shall not long survive my squander'd Fame.
Sister! farewell;—the Rest we leave to You.
[Exit Dauphin.

K. Hen.
The Prince, high-minded, swells with gene'rous Sorrow,
And 'twere to injure him, to urge him back.
Now, since I call these matchless Beauties mine,
Peace shall break out, and, with enliv'ning Lustre,
Chase moist Affliction from the Widow's Eye;
All shou'd be bless'd, and gay, when You thus smile;
Nature shou'd dance with Joy, when Love, and Peace,
Thus, twin'd together, shade the shelter'd World.

Prin.
O! Noble Henry! spite of that Esteem,
Thy glitt'ring Virtues strike my wond'ring Soul with!
Some Sighs must be allow'd to sad Reflection,
How dear our promis'd Joys have cost my Country.

K. Hen.