The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

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 guidon. 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 WESTMORELAND

GLOUCESTER. Where is the King?

BEDFORD. The King himself is rode to view their battle.

WESTMORELAND. Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.

EXETER. There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh.

SALISBURY. God’s arm strike with us! ‘tis a fearful odds.

God bye 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 to-day; 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

WESTMORELAND. O that we now had here

But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work to-day!

KING. What’s he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland? 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.

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, Westmoreland, 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 nam’d, 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 rememb’red.

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 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 whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Re-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.

WESTMORELAND. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

KING HENRY. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?

WESTMORELAND. 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 wilt once more come again for a ransom.

Enter the DUKE OF 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 FRENCH SOLDIER, PISTOL, and BOY

PISTOL. Yield, cur!

FRENCH SOLDIER. Je pense que vous etes le gentilhomme de bonne qualite.

PISTOL. Cality! Calen o custure 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 misericorde; ayez pitie 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’echapper 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. Ecoutez: comment etes-vous appele?

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 a vous dire que vous faites vous pret; car ce soldat ici est dispose tout a 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 gentilhomme de bonne maison. Gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents ecus.

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, neamnoins, pour les ecus que vous l’avez promis, il est content a vous donner la liberte, le franchisement.

FRENCH SOLDIER. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens; et je m’estime heureux que je suis tombe entre les mains d’un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue 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 fall’n into the hands of one-as he thinks-the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.

PISTOL. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.

Follow me. Exit BOY. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. Exit 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’ th’ old play, that every one 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 of battle

Enter CONSTABLE, ORLEANS, BOURBON, DAUPHIN, and RAMBURES

CONSTABLE. O diable!

ORLEANS. O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!

DAUPHIN. Mort Dieu, ma vie! all is confounded, all!

Reproach and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our plumes. [A short alarum]

O mechante fortune! Do not run away.

CONSTABLE. Why, an 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 us 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 pander, hold the chamber-door Whilst by a slave, no gender 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 enow yet living in the field To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought