 | King Henry V. Or The Conquest of France |  |
ACT IV.
SCENE I.
King Henry's Tent, at Agincourt.King Henry, and Gloucester discovered.
K. Henry.
Gloucester, 'tis true, that we are in great danger;
The greater, therefore, should our courage be.
Enter Bedford.
Good-morrow, brother Bedford.
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.
Enter Erpingham.
Good-morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham;
A good soft pillow, for that good white head,
Were better than a churlish turf of France.
Erp.
Not so, my Liege; this lodging likes me better,
Since I may say, now I like a king.
K. Henry.
Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas, brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp:
Do my good-morrow to them, and anon,
Desire them all to my pavilion.
Glou.
We shall, my Liege.
[Exeunt Bedf. and Glou.
Shall I attend your Grace?
K. Henry.
No, my good knight;
Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
I and my bosom must debate a while,
And then I would no other company.
Erp.
The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry.
Exit.
K. Henry.
God-a-mercy, old heart, thou speak'st cheerfully.
[Exit.
SCENE II.
A Grove.Enter K. Henry and Pistol.
Pist.
Qui va là?
K. Henry.
A friend.
Pist.
Discuss unto me, art thou officer,
Or art thou base, common and popular?
K. Henry.
I am a gentleman of a company.
Pist.
Trail'st thou the puissant pike?
K. Henry.
Ev'n so; what are you?
Pist.
As good a gentleman as the Emperor.
K. Henry.
Then you are better than the King.
Pist.
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 my heart-string,
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
K. Henry.
Harry le Roy.
Pist.
Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?
K. Henry.
No, I am a Welshman.
Pist.
Know'st thou Fluellen?
K. Henry.
Yes.
Pist.
Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate,
Upon St. David's day.
K. Henry.
Do not you wear your dagger in your
cap that day, lest he knock that about yours?
Art thou his friend?
K. Henry.
And his kinsman, too.
Pist.
The figo for thee then.
My name is Pistol call'd.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
It sorts well with your fierceness.
[Manet King Henry.
Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Gow.
Captain Fluellen.
Flu.
So; speak fewer: 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 nor pibble babble 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 sobrieties of it, and the modesty of it to be
otherwise.
Gow.
Why the enemy is loud, you hear 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 conscience now?
Gow.
I will speak lower.
Flu.
I pray you and beseech you, that you will.
[Exeunt.
K. Henry.
Though it appear a little out of fashion,
There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
Enter John Bates and Michael Williams.
Will.
Brother John Bates, is not that the morning,
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, but
there?
K. Henry.
A friend.
Will.
Under what captain serve you?
K. Henry.
Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.
Will.
A good old commander, and a most kind
gentleman: I pray you what thinks he of our estate?
K. Henry.
Ev'n 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. Henry.
No; nor is it 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: 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. Henry.
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 many poor men's
lives saved.
K. Henry.
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;
wipes the crime of it out of us.
Will.
But if the cause be not good, the King himself
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, and cry all, We dy'd 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 afear'd 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. Henry.
So, if a son, that is sent by his father about
merchandize, do fall into some lewd action and miscarry,
the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule,
should be imposed upon his father that sent him; but
this is not so: the King is not bound to answer the particular
endings of his soldiers, nor the father of his son;
for they purpose not their death when they purpose their
services. 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 moth 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
Heaven so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to
see his greatness, and to teach others how they should
prepare.
Will.
'Tis certain every man that dies ill, the ill is
upon his own head; the King is not to answer for it.
Bates.
I do not desire he should answer for me, and
yet I determine to fight lustily for him.
K. Henry.
I myself heard the King say he would not
be ransom'd.
Will.
Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully:
we ne'er the wiser.
K. Henry.
If I live to see it, I will never trust his
word after.
Will.
That's a perilous shot out of an elder-gun!
You'll never trust his word, after! Come, 'tis a foolish
saying.
K. Henry.
Your reproof is something too round; I
should be angry with you, if the time were convenient.
Will.
Let it be a quarrel between us, if we live.
K. Henry.
I embrace it.
Will.
How shall I know thee, again?
K. Henry.
Give me any gage of thine, and I will
wear it in my bonnet; and if ever thou dar'st acknowledge
it, I will make it my quarrel.
Will.
Here's my glove; give me another of thine.
K. Henry.
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 give thee a box on the ear.
K. Henry.
If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
Will.
Thou dar'st as well be hang'd.
K. Henry.
Well, I will do it, though I take thee in
the King's company.
Will.
Keep thy word, and fare thee well.
Bates.
Be friends, you English fools, be friends;
we have French quarrels enow, if you could but tell
how to reckon.
[Exeunt Bates and Williams.
K. Henry.
Upon the King! let us our lives, our souls,
Our sins, lay on the King; he must bear all.
O hard condition, and twin-born with greatness!
What infinite heart-ease must Kings neglect,
That private men enjoy? and what have Kings
That privates have not too, save ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
Art thou ought else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear, in other men?
Than they in fearing. O be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure.
Can'st 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;
No, not all these thrice-gorgeous ceremonies,
Not all these, laid in bed 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;
And (but for ceremony) such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Hath the fore-hand, and vantage of a King.
Enter Erpingham.
Erp.
My Lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
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 shall do't, my Lord.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts;
Possess them not with fear; take from them now,
The sense of reckoning lest th' 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
Tow'rd Heav'n to pardon blood.
But, hark! the trumpet calls!
The day, my friends, and all things wait for me.
[Exit.
SCENE III.
The French Camp.Enter Dauphin and Constable.
Daup.
My Lord High Constable, the English lie
within fifteen hundred paces of your tents.
Const.
Who hath measur'd the ground?
Daup.
My Lord Grandpree.
Const.
A valiant and most expert gentleman. Alas!
poor Harry England, he longs not for the battle as
we do!
Daup.
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!
Const.
If the English had any apprehension, they
would run away.
Daup.
That they lack; for if their heads had any
intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy
head-pieces.
Const.
That island of England breeds very valiant
creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
Daup.
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, that's a
valiant flea that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of
a lion.
Const.
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. Now is it time to
arm, shall we about it?
Daup.
I stay but for my guard: on to the field;
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
The sun is high, and we out-wear the day.
[Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
The English Camp.Enter Gloster, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, Westmorland, and all the English Host.
Glou.
Where is the King?
Bed.
The King himself is rode to view their battle.
West.
Of fighting men, they have full threescore thousand.
Exe.
That's five to one; besides, they are all fresh.
Bed.
Heav'n's arm strike with us, 'tis a fearful odds.
West.
O, that we now had here,
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work, to-day.
Enter King Henry and Attendants.
K. Henry.
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin,
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow,
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
Don't wish one more;
Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host,
That he who 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 that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouze him at the name of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and sees old age,
And say to-morrow is Saint Crispian.
Then will he strip his arm, and shew his scars:
Old men forget; yet shall not all forget;
But they'll remember with advantages
What feats they did, that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as household words,
Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick, and Talbot, Salisbury, and Glo'ster,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son:
And Crispine Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd;
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 accurs'd they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks
That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day.
Enter Gower.
Gow.
My sov'reign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
The French are bravely in their battles set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
K. Henry,
All things are ready, if our minds be so.
West.
Perish the man whose mind is backward now.
Enter Mountjoy.
Mount.
Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured overthrow.
K. Henry.
Who hath sent thee now?
Mount.
The Constable of France.
I pray thee bear my former answer back.
Bid them atchieve 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 liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.
Let me speak proudly; tell the Constable,
We are but warriors for the working day;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field,
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, for they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers heads,
And turn them out of service.
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald;
They shall have none I swear but these my joints:
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.
Mount.
I shall, King Harry: and so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
I fear thou'lt once more come again for ransom.
Now on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fetch'd from fathers of war-proof;
Fathers, that like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers: now attest,
That those whom you call fathers did beget you:
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war; and you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, shew us here
The mettle of your pasture: let us swear
That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes;
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips
Straining upon the start. The game's a-foot,
Cry, God for Harry, England, and St. George.
[Alarm, shouts, &c. Exeunt.
SCENE V.
The Field of Battle.Enter Constable, Dauphin, and Bourbon.
Dauph.
Mort de ma vie, all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.
Const.
Why all our ranks are broke.
Daup.
O, perdurable shame, let's stab ourselves:
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
Is this the King we sent to for his ransom?
Const.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now;
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.
Daup.
We are enow yet living in the field
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.
Const.
I'll to the throng.
Let life be short, else shame will be too long.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Another Part of the Field of Battle. Alarm.Enter King Henry and his Train.
K. Henry.
Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen;
But all's not done, the French yet keep the field.
Enter Exeter.
Exe.
The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty.
K. Henry.
Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour
From helmet to the spur all bleeding o'er.
Exe.
In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
Suffolk first dy'd, and York all haggled over,
Comes to him where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,
And cries aloud, Tarry, my cousin Suffolk,
My soul shall thine keep company to Heav'n:
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast;
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry.
Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up;
He smil'd me in the face, gave me his hand,
And with a feeble gripe says, Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign;
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kist his lips,
And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd,
But I had not so much of man in me,
But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.
K. Henry.
I blame you not;
For hearing this I must perforce compound
With mixtful eyes, or they will issue too.
But, hark! what new alarum is this same?
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men:
Then every soldier kill his prisoners.
Give the word through.
[March. Exeunt.
SCENE VII.
Another Part of the Field. Alarm continued.Enter Fluellen and Gower.
Flu.
Kill the poys, and the luggage! 'Tis expressly
against the law of arms. 'Tis as arrant a piece of
knavery, mark you now, as can be desired in your
conscience now; is it not?
Gower.
'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive;
and the cowardly rascals that ran away from the battle
ha' done this slaughter: besides they have burn'd or
carried away all that was in the King's tent, wherefore
the King most worthily hath caus'd ev'ry soldier to cut
his prisoner's throat. O 'tis a gallant King!
Flu.
I, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower;
what call you the town's name where Alexander the Pig
was born?
Gow.
Alexander the Great.
Flu.
Why I pray you, is not pig, great? the pig,
or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous,
are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a
little variations.
Gow.
I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon;
his father was called Philip of Macedon, as I
take it.
Flu.
I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is
porn: I tell you, captain, if you look in the maps
of the orld, I warrant that you sal find in the comparisons
between Macedon and Monmouth, that the
situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river
in Macedon, there is also a river at Monmouth: it is
called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains
what is the name of the other river; but it is all one,
'tis as like as my fingers to my fingers, and there is
salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well,
Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent
well, for there is figures in all things. Alexander,
and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and
his displeasures, and his indignations; and also being a
little intoxicates in his prains, did in his ales and his
angers, look you, kill his best friend Clytus.
Gow.
Our King is not like him in that, he never
kill'd any of his friends.
Flu.
It is not well done, mark you now, to take the
tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I
speak but in figures and comparisons of it; as Alexander
kill'd his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his
cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right
wits and his good judgements, turn'd away the fat
Knight with the great belly doublet; he was full of
jests and gypes, and knaveries, and mocks: I have
forgot his name.
Gow.
Sir John Falstaff.
Flu.
That is he: I tell you there is good men porn
at Monmouth.
[Trumpets sound.
Gow.
Here comes his Majesty.
Flourish. Enter King Henry, Lords, and Attendants.
K. Henry.
I was not angry since I came to France,
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald,
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field: they do offend our sight.
If they'll do neither, we will come to them,
And make them sker away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:
Go and tell them so.
[Exit Herald.
Enter Mountjoy.
Exe.
Here comes the herald of the French, my Liege.
Glou.
His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
How now, what means their herald? know'st thou not,
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ransom?
Mount.
No, great King:
I come to thee for charitable licence
That we may wander o'er this bloody field,
To book our dead, and then to bury them:
To sort our nobles from our common men;
For many of our Princes (woe the while)
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood:
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of Princes, while their wounded steeds
Fret fet-lock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters.
O give us leave, great King,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies.
K. Henry.
I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no,
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o'er the field.
Mount.
The day is yours.
K. Henry.
Praised be God and not our strength for it:
What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?
Mount.
They call it Agincourt.
K. Henry.
Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
Flu.
Your grandfather of famous memory, an't
please your Majesty, and your great uncle Edward the
plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles,
fought a most prave pattle here in France.
K. Henry.
They did, Fluellen.
Flu.
Your Majesty says very true: if your Majesties
is remember'd of it, the Welshmen did good
service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing
leeks in their Monmouth caps, which your Majesty
service; and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn
to wear the leek upon St. Tavie's day.
K. Henry.
I wear it for a memorable honour:
For I am Welsh you know, good countryman.
Flu.
All the water in the Wye cannot wash you Majesty's
Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you
that: Heav'n pless and preserve it as long as it pleases
his grace and Majesty too.
K. Henry.
Thanks, good my countryman.
Flu.
I am your Majesty's countryman, I care not
who know it: I confess it to all the orld, I need not
to be asham'd of your Majesty, praised be Heav'n, so
long as your Majesty is an honest man.
K. Henry.
Heav'n keep me so.
Our herald go with him;
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead,
On both our parts.
[Exeunt Mountjoy, with Herald.
Call yonder fellow hither.
Exe.
Soldier, you must come to the King.
Enter Williams.
K. Henry.
Soldier, why wear'st thou thy glove in thy cap?
Will.
An't please your Majesty, 'tis the gage of one
that I should fight withal, if he be alive.
K. Henry.
An Englishman?
Will.
An't please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger'd
with me, last night, who, if alive, and if ever
he dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take
him a box o'th' ear; or if I can see my glove in his
cap, which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would
wear, if alive, I would strike it out soundly.
K. Henry.
What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it
fit the soldier keep his oath?
Flu.
He is a craven and a villain else, a'nt please
your Majesty, in my conscience.
It may be his enemy is a gentleman of
great sort, quite from the answer of his degree.
Flu.
Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil,
or Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary,
look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath.
K. Henry.
Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou
meet'st the fellow.
Will.
So I will, my Liege, as I live.
K. Henry.
Who serv'st thou under?
Will.
Under Captain Gower, my Liege.
Flu.
Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge
and literature in the wars.
K. Henry.
Call him hither to me, soldier.
Will.
I will, my Liege.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
Here Fluellen, wear thou this favour for
me, and stick it in thy cap; when Alençon and myself
were down together, I pluck'd this glove from his
helm, if any man challenge this, he is a friend to
Alençon and an enemy to our persons; if thou encounter
any such, apprehend him if thou dost love
me.
Flu.
Your grace does me as great honours as can be
desir'd in the heart of his subjects: I would fain see
the man that has but two legs that shall find himself
aggriev'd at this glove; that is all: but I would fain
see it once, and please God of his grace that I might
see.
K. Henry.
Know'st thou Gower?
Flu.
He is my dear friend, and please you.
K. Henry.
Pray thee go seek him and bring him to my tent.
Flu.
I will fetch him.
[Exit.
K. Henry.
Brother Glo'ster,
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels,
The glove which I have given him for a favour
May haply purchase him a box o'th' ear.
[Exit Glo'ster
It is the soldier's; I by bargain should
If that the soldier strike him, as I judge
By his blunt bearing he will keep his word,
Some sudden mischief may arise of it:
For I do know Fluellen valiant,
And touch'd with choler hot as gunpowder,
And quickly he'll return an injury.
Follow and see there be not harm between them.
[Exit Westmorland.
Come you with me, uncle of Exeter.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VIII.
Another part of the Field.Enter Gower and Williams.
Wil.
I warrant it is to knight you, Captain.
Enter Fluellen.
Flu.
God's will and his pleasure, Captain, I beseech
you now come apace to the King: there is more good
toward your peradventure, than is in your knowledge
to dream of.
Wil.
Sir, know you this glove?
Flu.
Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove.
Wil.
I know this, and thus I challenge it.
[Strikes him.
Flu.
'Sbud, an arrant traitor as any's in the universal
world, in France or England.
Gower.
How now, Sir? you villain!
Wil.
Do you think I'll be forsworn?
Flu.
Stand away, Captain Gower, I will give treason
his payment into plows, I warrant you.
Wil.
I am no traitor.
Flu.
That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his
Majesty's name apprehend him, he's a friend of the
Duke of Alençon's.
Glou.
How now, how now, what's the matter?
Flu.
My lord Gloucester, here is, praised be God
for it, a most contagious treason come to light, look
you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is
his Majesty.
Enter King Henry, Bedford, Exeter, and Attendants.
K. Henry.
How now, what's the matter?
Flu.
My Liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that,
look your grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty
is take out of the helmet of Alençon.
Wil.
My Liege, this was my glove, here is the
fellow of it; and he that I gave it to in change, promis'd
to wear it in his cap; I promis'd to strike him if
he did; I met this man with my glove in his cap,
and I have been as good as my word.
Flu.
Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty's
manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lowsy
knave it is; I hope your Majesty is pear me testimonies,
and witnesses, and avouchments, that this is the
glove of Alençon that your Majesty is give me, in your
conscience now.
K. Henry.
Give me thy glove, soldier; look, here
is the fellow of it; 'twas me indeed thou promised'st
to strike, and thou hast given me most bitter terms.
Flu.
An please your Majesty, let his neck answer
for it, if there is any martial law in the world.
K. Henry.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?
Wil.
All offences, my Lord, come from the heart;
never came any from mine that might offend your
Majesty.
K. Henry.
It was ourself thou didst abuse.
Wil.
Your Majesty came not like yourself; you appear'd
to me but as a common man; witness the night,
suffer'd under that shape, I beseech you take it
for your fault and not mine; for had you been as I
took you for, I made no offence; therefore I beseech
your highness pardon me.
K. Henry.
Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
And give it to this fellow. Keep, soldier,
And wear it for an honour in thy cap,
'Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns:
And captain you must needs be friends with him.
Flu.
By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle
enough in his body; hold, there is twelve-pence
for you, and I pray you to serve God, and keep you
out of prawls and prabbles, and quarrels and dissentions,
and I warrant you it is the better for you.
Wil.
I will none of your money.
Flu.
It is with a good will; I can tell you it will
serve you to mend your shooes; come, wherefore
should you be so pashful; your shooes is not so good;
'tis a good silling I warrant you, or I will change it.
Enter English Herald.
K. Henry.
Are the dead number'd?
[Herald gives a paper.
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
Exe.
Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouchiquald:
Of other Lords and Barons, Knights and 'Squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
K. Henry.
This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
Slain in the field; of Princes in this number,
And Nobles bearing banners, there lye dead
One hundred twenty-six; added to these,
Of Knights, Esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd Knights;
So that in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries:
The rest are Princes, Barons, Lords, Knights, 'Squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!
Where is the number of our English dead?
Exe.
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam, Esquire;
None else of name: and of all other men,
But five and twenty.
K. Henry.
O Heav'n, thy arm was here!
And not to us, but to thy arm alone
Ascribe we all.
Come, go we in procession to the village:
And be it death proclaim'd through our host,
To boast of this, or take that praise from God,
Which is his only.
Flu.
Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell
how many is kill'd?
K. Henry.
Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgement,
That God fought for us.
Flu.
Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.
K. Henry.
Do we all holy rites;
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay,
We will to Calais and to England then,
Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men.
[Exeunt.
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