University of Virginia Library

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Before the Gates of Harfleur.
[Alarm, and cannon go off.
Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloucester, and Westmorland.
King Henry.
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or, close the wall up with our English dead.
Beat in the rondure of their rampar'd walls,
Or tear the lions out of England's coat.

[Exeunt.
Enter Nim, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy.
Bard.

On, on, on, on, on, to the breach, to the
breach.

Nim.

Pray thee, corporal, stay, the knocks are too
hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives.
The humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain song
of it.

Pist.
The plain song is most just; for humours do abound.
Knocks go and come: Heav'ns vassals drop and die;
And sword and shield, in bloody field, doth win immortal fame.

Boy.

Would I were in an ale-house, in London, I
would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.

Pist.
And I; if wishes would prevail,
I would not stay, but thither would I hie.

Enter Fluellen.
Flu.

Up to the breach, you dogs! Avaunt, you
cullions.

[Exeunt all but Fluellen.
Enter Gower.
Gower.

Captain Fluellen, you must come presently
to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak
with you.

Flu.

To the mines? Tell you the Duke it is not so
good to come to the mines; for look you, the mines
are not according to the disciplines of the war; the
concavities of it is not sufficient; for look you, th'
adversary (you may discuss unto the Duke, look you)
is digt himself four yards under the countermines. I
think, a will plow up all, if there is not better directions.

[A parley sounded.
Gower.
The town sounds a parley!

[Flourish.
Enter King Henry and his Train, Governor on the Ramparts.
K. Henry.
How yet resolves the governor of the town?
This is the latest parle we will admit:
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves,
Or, like to men proud of destruction,
Defy us to our worst; as I am a soldier,
(A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best)
If I begin the batt'ry once again,
I will not leave the half-atchiev'd Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid?

Gov.
Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, of whom succours we entreated,
Returns us, that his pow'rs are yet not ready,
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king,
We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.
Enter our gates, dispose of us and ours,
For we no longer are defensible.

K. Henry.
Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter,
Go you and enter Harfleur, there remain,
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French:
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,
The winter coming on, and sickness growing
Upon our soldiers, we'll retire to Calais.
To-night, in Harfleur we will be your guest,
To-morrow, for the march.

[Flourish, and enter into the town.

SCENE II.

The French Camp.
Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, Bourbon, the Constable of France, and Attendants.
Fr. King.
'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Some.

Con.
And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France; let us quit all,
And give our vineyards to a barb'rous people.

Daup.
Shall a few sprays of us,
(The emptying of our father's luxury)
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
Sprout up so suddenly into the clouds,
And overlook their grafters?

Const.
Why, whence have they this mettle?
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull?
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns?
Oh! for the honour of our land,
Let us not hang like frozen isicles,
Upon our house-tops, while more frosty people,
Sweat drops of gallant blood, in our rich fields.

Daup.
By faith and honour,
Our madams mock at us;
They bid us to the English dancing-schools,
And teach La Volta's high, and swift Coranto's
Saying, our grace is only in our heels,
And that we are most lofty run-aways.

Fr. King.
Where is Mountjoy, the herald? Speed him hence;
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
Up, princes, and with spirit of honour edg'd,
Yet sharper than your swords, hie to the field;
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land,
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.
Go down upon him, you have pow'r enough,
And in a captive chariot into Roan,
Bring him, our prisoner.

Con.
This becomes the great.
Sorry am I, his numbers are so few;
His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march.
For I am sure, when he shall see our army,
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear,
And for atchievement offer us his ransom.

Fr. King.
Therefore, lord constable, haste on Mountjoy,
And let him say to England, that we send
To know, what willing ransom he will give.
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roan.

Daup.
Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

Fr. King.
Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
Now forth, lord constable, and princes all;
And quickly bring us word of England's fall.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The English Camp.
Enter Gower and Fluellen.
Gower.

How now, Captain Fluellen, come you from the bridge?

Flu.

I assure you, there is very excellent services
committed at the pridge.

Gower.

Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

Flu.

The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as
Agamemnon, and a man that I love and honour with
my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life,
and my living, and my uttermost power. He is not,
Heav'n be praised and plessed, any hurt in the world.
He is maintain the pridge, most valiantly, with excellent
discipline. There is an ancient lieutenant there,
I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man
as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation
in the orld; but I did see him do gallant services.

Gower.
What do you call him?

Flu.
He is call'd ancient Pistol.

Gower.
I know him not.

Enter Pistol.
Flu.
Here is the man.

Pist.
Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours:
The duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Flu.

I, I praise Heav'n, and I have merited some
love at his hands.

Pist.
Bardolph, a soldier firm, and sound of heart,
And buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate,
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel,
That goddess blind, that stands upon the rolling restless stone—

Flu.

By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is
painted with a muffler before her eyes, to signify to
you, that fortune is plind; and she is painted also
with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral
of it, that she is turning and inconstant, and mutabilities
and variations; and her foot, look you, is
fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and
rolls. In good truth, the poet makes most excellent
description of it. Fortune is an excellent moral.

Pist.
Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;
For he hath stoln a Pix, and hanged must be, o damned death!
Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free,
And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut,
With edge of penny-cord, and vile reproach.
Speak, Captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.

Flu.
Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.

Pist.
Why then, rejoice, therefore.

Flu.

Certainly, Ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice
at; for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire
the duke to use his good pleasure, and put him to
executions; for disciplines ought to be used.

Pist.

Die and be damn'd, and figo for thy friendship.

Flu.

It is well.

Pist.

The fig of Spain—

[Exit.
Flu.

Very good.

Gower.

Why this is an arrant counterfeit rascal, I
remember him, now, a bawd, a cut-purse.

Flu.

I'll assure you, he utter'd as prave words at the
pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day. But, it
is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well,
I warrant you, when time is serve.

Gower.

Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now
and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his return
to London, under the form of a soldier. But
you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or
else you may be marvellously mistook.

Flu.

I tell you what, Captain Gower; I do perceive
he is not the man that he would gladly make shew to
the world he is; if I find a hole in his coat, I will tell
him my mind.— [Flourish.]
Hear you, the King is
coming, and I must speak with him from the pridge.

A March.
Enter the King, Exeter, Bedford, Gloucester, Westmorland, Attendants, and his poor Soldiers.
Flu.

Cot bless your Majesty.

K. Henry.

How now, Fluellen; cam'st thou from
the bridge?

Flu.

I, so please your Majesty. The Duke of Exeter
has very gallantly maintain'd the pridge; the
French is gone off, look you, and there is gallant and
most prave passages; marry, th' athversary was have
possession of the pridge, but he is inforced to retire,
and the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge. I
can tell your majesty, the duke is a prave man.

K. Henry.

What men have you lost, Fluellen?

Flu.

The perdition of th' athversary hath been
very great, very reasonable great. Marry, for my
part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one
that is like to be executed for robbing a church; one
Bardolph, if your Majesty know the man; his face is
all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of
fire, and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like a
coal of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red; but
his nose is executed, and his fire's out.

Trumpet sounds. Enter Mountjoy.
K. Henry.
Now, what shall I know of thee?

Mount.
My master's mind.

K. Henry.
Unfold it.

Mount.
Thus says my king; Say thou to Harry England,
Although we seemed dead, we did but sleep:
Tell him, we could at Harfleur have rebuk'd him;
But that we thought not good to bruise an injury,
Till it were ripe. Now, speak we on our cue,
With voice imperial: England shall repent
His folly, see his weakness, and admire
Our suff'rance. Bid him therefore to consider,
What must the ransom be, which must proportion
The losses we have borne, the subjects we
Have lost, and the disgrace we have digested.
First, for our loss, too poor is his exchequer;
For the effusion of our blood, his army
Too faint a number; and for our disgrace,
Ev'n his own person, kneeling at our feet,
A weak and worthless satisfaction.
To this, defiance add; and for conclusion,
Tell him he hath betray'd his followers,
Whose condemnation is pronounc'd. So far
My king and master; and so much my office.

K. Henry.
Thou do'st thy office fairly. Turn thee back,
And tell thy king, I do not seek him now;
But could be willing to march on to Calais,
Without impeachment. For to say the sooth,
(Tho' tis no wisdom to confess so much
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage)
My people are with sickness much enfeebled,
My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have,
Almost no better than so many French;
Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,
I thought, upon one pair of English legs,
Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, Heav'n,
That I do brag thus; this your air of France
Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent.
Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am;
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk;
My army but a weak and sickly guard;
Yet, Heav'n before, tell him we will come on,
Though France himself, and such another neighbour,
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour Mountjoy,
Go, bid thy master well advise himself;
If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd,
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolour.—
The sum of all our answer is but this;
We would not seek a battle, as we are,
Yet, as we are, we say, we will not shun it:
So tell your master.

Mount.
I shall deliver so: thanks to your Highness.

[Exit.
Glou.
I hope they will not come upon us, now.

K. Henry.
We are in Heav'n's hand, brother, not in theirs:
March to the bridge, it now draws toward night;
Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves,
And on to-morrow bid them march away.

[Exeunt.