# The Complete Works of William Shakespeare ## Part 64 Book page: https://www.cyberlibrary.org/en/books/the-complete-works-of-william-shakespeare-100/index.md KING HENRY. Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent. I’ll be before thee. ERPINGHAM. I shall do’t, my lord. [_Exit._] KING HENRY. O God of battles! steel my soldiers’ hearts. Possess them not with fear. Take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord, O, not today, 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 Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. Enter Gloucester. GLOUCESTER. My liege! KING HENRY. My brother Gloucester’s voice? Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee. The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. The French camp. Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and others. ORLEANS. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords! DAUPHIN. _Monte à cheval!_ My horse, _varlet! laquais_, ha! ORLEANS. O brave spirit! DAUPHIN. _Via, les eaux et terre!_ ORLEANS. _Rien puis? L’air et feu?_ DAUPHIN. _Cieux_, cousin Orleans. Enter Constable. Now, my Lord Constable! CONSTABLE. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh! DAUPHIN. Mount them, and make incision in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout them with superfluous courage, ha! RAMBURES. What, will you have them weep our horses’ blood? How shall we, then, behold their natural tears? Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. The English are embattl’d, you French peers. CONSTABLE. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands; Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, That our French gallants shall today draw out, And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will o’erturn them. ’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords, That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, Who in unnecessary action swarm About our squares of battle, were enough To purge this field of such a hilding foe, Though we upon this mountain’s basis by Took stand for idle speculation, But that our honours must not. What’s to say? A very little little let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket sonance and the note to mount; For our approach shall so much dare the field That England shall crouch down in fear and yield. Enter Grandpré. GRANDPRÉ. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France? Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ill-favouredly 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 through a rusty beaver peeps; The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips, The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit Lies foul with chew’d grass, still, and motionless; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly o’er them, all impatient for their hour. Description cannot suit itself in words To demonstrate the life of such a battle, In life so lifeless as it shows itself. CONSTABLE. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death. DAUPHIN. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits And give their fasting horses provender, And after fight with them? CONSTABLE. I stay but for my guard; on to the field! I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my haste. Come, come, away! The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. The English camp. Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all his host: Salisbury and Westmorland. GLOUCESTER. Where is the King? BEDFORD. The King himself is rode to view their battle. WESTMORLAND. Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand. EXETER. There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh. SALISBURY. God’s arm strike 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 Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu! BEDFORD. Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee! EXETER. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly today! And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, For thou art fram’d of the firm truth of valour. [_Exit Salisbury._] BEDFORD. He is as full of valour as of kindness, Princely in both. Enter the King. WESTMORLAND. O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work today! KING. What’s he that wishes so? My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin. If we are mark’d to die, we are enough To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires; But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more, methinks, would share from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host, That he which 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 named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.” Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say, “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.” Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he’ll remember with advantages What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words, Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered, We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today 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 abed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day. Enter Salisbury. SALISBURY. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed. The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us. KING HENRY. All things are ready, if our minds be so. WESTMORLAND. Perish the man whose mind is backward now! KING HENRY. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz? WESTMORLAND. God’s will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle! KING HENRY. Why, now thou hast unwish’d five thousand men, Which likes me better than to wish us one. You know your places. God be with you all! Tucket. Enter Montjoy. MONTJOY. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry, If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured overthrow; For certainly thou art so near the gulf, Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind Thy followers of repentance; that their souls May make a peaceful and a sweet retire From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies Must lie and fester. KING HENRY. Who hath sent thee now? MONTJOY. The Constable of France. KING HENRY. I pray thee, bear my former answer back: Bid them achieve 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. A many of our bodies shall no doubt Find native graves, upon the which, I trust, Shall witness live in brass of this day’s work; And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, They shall be fam’d; for there the sun shall greet them, And draw their honours reeking up to heaven; Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. Mark then abounding valour in our English, That being dead, like to the bullet’s grazing, Break out into a second course of mischief, Killing in relapse of mortality. 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; There’s not a piece of feather in our host— Good argument, I hope, we will not fly— 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, or they will pluck The gay new coats o’er the French soldiers’ heads And turn them out of service. If they do this— As, if God please, they shall,—my ransom then Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour. 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. MONTJOY. I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well; Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [_Exit._] KING HENRY. I fear thou’lt once more come again for ransom. Enter York. YORK. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward. KING HENRY. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away; And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. The field of battle. Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier and Boy. PISTOL. Yield, cur! FRENCH SOLDIER. _Je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité._ PISTOL. _Qualité? Caleno custore me!_ Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss. FRENCH SOLDIER. _O Seigneur Dieu!_ PISTOL. O, Signieur Dew should be a gentleman. Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark: O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, Except, O signieur, thou do give to me Egregious ransom. FRENCH SOLDIER. _O, prenez miséricorde! Ayez pitié de moi!_ PISTOL. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys, Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat In drops of crimson blood. FRENCH SOLDIER. _Est-il impossible d’échapper la force de ton bras?_ PISTOL. Brass, cur! Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, Offer’st me brass? FRENCH SOLDIER. _O pardonnez-moi!_ PISTOL. Say’st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys? Come hither, boy; ask me this slave in French What is his name. BOY. _Écoutez. Comment êtes-vous appelé?_ FRENCH SOLDIER. _Monsieur le Fer._ BOY. He says his name is Master Fer. PISTOL. Master Fer! I’ll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him. Discuss the same in French unto him. BOY. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk. PISTOL. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat. FRENCH SOLDIER. _Que dit-il, monsieur?_ BOY. _Il me commande à vous dire que vous faites vous prêt, car ce soldat ici est disposé tout à cette heure de couper votre gorge._ PISTOL. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy, Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. FRENCH SOLDIER. _O, je vous supplie, pour l’amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis le gentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents écus._ PISTOL. What are his words? BOY. He prays you to save his life. He is a gentleman of a good house; and for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns. PISTOL. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I The crowns will take. FRENCH SOLDIER. _Petit monsieur, que dit-il?_ BOY. _Encore qu’il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier; néanmoins, pour les écus que vous lui avez promis, il est content à vous donner la liberté, le franchisement._ FRENCH SOLDIER. _Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciements; et je m’estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d’un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et très distingué seigneur d’Angleterre._ PISTOL. Expound unto me, boy. BOY. He gives you upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy _seigneur_ of England. PISTOL. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me! BOY. _Suivez-vous le grand capitaine._ [_Exeunt Pistol and French Soldier._] I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true, “The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.” Bardolph and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i’ the old play, that everyone may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both hang’d; and so would this be, if he durst steal anything adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys with the luggage of our camp. The French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it but boys. [_Exit._] SCENE V. Another part of the field. Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures. CONSTABLE. _O diable!_ ORLEANS. _O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!_ DAUPHIN. _Mort de ma vie!_ all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes. [_A short alarum._] _O méchante Fortune!_ Do not run away. CONSTABLE. Why, all our ranks are broke. DAUPHIN. O perdurable shame! Let’s stab ourselves, Be these the wretches that we play’d at dice for? ORLEANS. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom? BOURBON. Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Let’s die in honour! Once more back again! And he that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand, Like a base pandar, hold the chamber door Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, His fairest daughter is contaminated. CONSTABLE. Disorder, that hath spoil’d us, friend us now! Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. ORLEANS. We are enough yet living in the field To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought upon. BOURBON. The devil take order now! I’ll to the throng. Let life be short, else shame will be too long. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter King Henry and his train, with prisoners. KING HENRY. Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen. But all’s not done; yet keep the French the field. EXETER. The Duke of York commends him to your Majesty. KING HENRY. 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. EXETER. 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 died; and York, all haggled over, Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped, And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes That bloodily did yawn upon his face. He cries aloud, “Tarry, my cousin Suffolk! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast, 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, raught 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 kiss’d 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, And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears. KING HENRY. I blame you not; For, hearing this, I must perforce compound With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. [_Alarum._] 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. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VII. Another part of the field. Enter Fluellen and Gower. FLUELLEN. 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 offer’t; in your conscience, now, is it not? GOWER. ’Tis certain there’s not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha’ done this slaughter. Besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the King’s tent; wherefore the King, most worthily, hath caus’d every soldier to cut his prisoner’s throat. O, ’tis a gallant king! FLUELLEN. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you the town’s name where Alexander the Pig was born? GOWER. Alexander the Great. FLUELLEN. 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. GOWER. I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon. His father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it. FLUELLEN. 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 you sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth; it is call’d Wye at Monmouth; but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but ’tis all one, ’tis alike as my fingers is 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, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, 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, Cleitus. GOWER. Our King is not like him in that. He never kill’d any of his friends. FLUELLEN. 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 the figures and comparisons of it. As Alexander kill’d his friend Cleitus, 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 gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name. GOWER. Sir John Falstaff. FLUELLEN. That is he. I’ll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth. GOWER. Here comes his Majesty. Alarum. Enter King Henry and forces; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter with prisoners. Flourish. KING HENRY. I was not angry since I came to France Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond 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 skirr away, as swift as stones Enforced from the old Assyrian slings. Besides, we’ll cut the throats of those we have, And not a man of them that we shall take Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. Enter Montjoy. EXETER. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. GLOUCESTER. His eyes are humbler than they us’d to be. KING HENRY. How now! what means this, herald? Know’st thou not That I have fin’d these bones of mine for ransom? Com’st thou again for ransom? MONTJOY. No, great King; I come to thee for charitable license, 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; and their wounded steeds Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King, To view the field in safety, and dispose Of their dead bodies! KING 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. MONTJOY. The day is yours. KING HENRY. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it! What is this castle call’d that stands hard by? MONTJOY. They call it Agincourt. KING HENRY. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. FLUELLEN. 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. KING HENRY. They did, Fluellen. FLUELLEN. Your Majesty says very true. If your Majesties is rememb’red of it, the Welshmen did good service in garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which, your Majesty know, to this hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy’s day. KING HENRY. I wear it for a memorable honour; For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. FLUELLEN. All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty’s Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases His grace, and His majesty too! KING HENRY. Thanks, good my countryman. FLUELLEN. By Jeshu, I am your Majesty’s countryman, I care not who know it. I will confess it to all the ’orld. I need not be asham’d of your Majesty, praised be God, so long as your Majesty is an honest man. KING HENRY. God keep me so! Enter Williams. Our heralds go with him; Bring me just notice of the numbers dead On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. [_Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy._] EXETER. Soldier, you must come to the King. KING HENRY. Soldier, why wear’st thou that glove in thy cap? WILLIAMS. An’t please your Majesty, ’tis the gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. KING HENRY. An Englishman? WILLIAMS. An’t please your Majesty, a rascal that swagger’d with me last night; who, if alive and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box o’ the 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 will strike it out soundly. KING HENRY. What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this soldier keep his oath? FLUELLEN. He is a craven and a villain else, an’t please your Majesty, in my conscience. KING HENRY. It may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. FLUELLEN. Though he be as good a gentleman as the devil is, as Lucifier and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace, that he keep his vow and his oath. If he be perjur’d, see you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod upon God’s ground and His earth, in my conscience, la! KING HENRY. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet’st the fellow. WILLIAMS. So I will, my liege, as I live. KING HENRY. Who serv’st thou under? WILLIAMS. Under Captain Gower, my liege. FLUELLEN. Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and literatured in the wars. KING HENRY. Call him hither to me, soldier. WILLIAMS. I will, my liege. [_Exit._]