 | King Henry V. Or The Conquest of France |  |
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.
| King Henry V. Or The Conquest of France | |