Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime,
The fmell whereof fhall breed a plague in France.
9 Mark then a bounding valour in our English:
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Breaks out into a fecond courfe of mischief,
• Killing in relapse of mortality.

2

Let me fpeak proudly; tell the Constable,
We are but warriors for the working day :
Our gayness, and our gilt, are all be-fmirch'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 flovenry.
But, by the mafs, 'our hearts are in the trim:
And my poor foldiers tell me, yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French foldiers' heads;
And turn them out of fervice. If they do,
As, if God please, they fhall, my ransom then
Will foon be levy'd. Herald, fave thy labour,
Come thou no more, for ranfom, gentle herald;
They shall have none, I fwear, but these my joints:

9 Mark then abounding Valour in our English.] Thus the Old Folio's. The Quarto's, more erroneously still,

Mark then aboundantMr. Pope degraded the Paffage in both his Editions, becaufe, I prefume, he did not understand it. I have reformed the Text, and the Allufion is exceedingly beautiful; comparing the Revival of the English Valour to the rebounding of a Cannon-ball.

1

THEOBALD. Killing in relapfe of mortaty. What it is to kill in retje of mortality, I do not I fufpect that it should

g in reliques of mortality.

That is, continuing to kill when they are the reliques that death has left behind it.

That the allufion is, as Mr. Theobald thinks, exceedingly beau tiful, I am afraid few readers will discover. The valour of a putrid body, that deftroys by the ftench, is one of the thoughts that do no great honour to the poet. Perhaps from this putrid valour Dryden might borrow the pofthumous empire of Don Sebaftian, who was to reign wherefoever his atoms should be fcattered.

2 Warriors for the working day.] We are foldiers but coarsely dreffed; we have not on our holiday apparel.

Which if they have, as I will leave 'em them
Shall yield them little. Tell the Conftable.
Mount. I fhall, King Harry,
Thou never shall hear herald any more.

and fo fare thee well.

[Exit. K. Henry. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for Ranfom.

Enter York.

York. My Lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward.

K. Henry. Take it, brave York; now, foldiers, march away.

And how thou pleaseft, God, difpofe the day! [Exeunt.

SCENE X.

The Field of Battle.

Alarm, Excurfions. Enter Pistol, French foldier,

IELD, cur.

Pift. Y1
YIE

and boy.

Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous eftes le gentilbomme de bonne qualité.

Pift. Quality, calmy, cufture me, art thou a gentleman? what is thy name? difcufs.

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu!

Pift. O, Signieur Dewe fhould be a gentleman. Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark; O Signieur Dewe, thou dieft on point of fox,

4

3 Quality, CALMY, CUSTURE me, art thou a gentleman?] We fhould read this nonsense thus, Quality, CALITY-CONSTRUE me, art thou a gentleman ? 7. e. tell me, let me underftand whether thou be'ft a gentleman.

WARBURTON.

Gg 3

4 Thou dieft on print of fox.] Point of fox is an expreffion which, if the editors understood it, they fhould have explained. I fuppofe we may better read,

On point of faulchion.

Except,

Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me
Egregious ranfom.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez mifericorde, ayez pitié de moy.
Pist. Moy shall not ferve, I will have forty moys;
For I will fetch thy rym out at thy throat,

In drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Eft-il impoffible d' efchapper la force de ton bras?

Pift. Brafs, cur?

Thou damned and luxurious mountain Goat,
Offer'ft me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pift. Say'st thou me fo? is that a ton of "moys? Come hither, Boy; afk me this flave in French, What is his name?

Boy. Efcoutez, comment eftes vous appellé?
Fr. Sol. Monfieur le Fer.

Boy. He fays, his name is Mr. Fer.

Pift. Mr. Fer! I'll fer him, and ferk him, and ferret him: difcufs the fame in French unto him.

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and ferk.

Pift. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, Monfieur?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous vous teniez preft; car ce foldat icy eft difpofé tout à cette beure de couper voftre gorge.

Pift. Owy, cuppelle gorge, parmafoy, pefant,
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns,
Or mangled fhalt thou be by this my fword.

Fr. Sol. O, je vous fupplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner; je fuis gentilhomme de bonne maison, gardez ma vie, & je vous donneray deux cents efcus.

5 FOR I will fetch thy RYM] We should read,

OR I will fetch thy RANSOM out of thy throat. WARB.

I know not what to do with

to fuppofe that it ftands for fome monofyllable; and befides, ranfame is a word not likely to have been corrupted.

6 Moy is a piece of money, whence Moi d'or, or moi of gold.

Pift. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to fave his life, he is a gentleman of a good house, and for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.

Pift. Tell him, my fury shall abate, and I The crowns will take.

Fr. Sol. Petit Monfieur, que dit-il?

Boy. Encore qu'il eft contre fon jurement, de pardonner aucun prifonnier, neantmoins pour les efcus que vous l'avez promettes, il eft content de vous donner la liberté, le franchifement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciemens, & je m'eftime beureux que je fuis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier, je penfe, le plus brave, valiant, & tres eftimé Signeur d'Angleterre.

Pift. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you upon his knees a thousand thanks, and 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.

Pift. As I fuck blood, I will fome mercy fhew. Follow me, cur.

Boy. Suivez le grand capitain.

[Ex. Pift. and Fr. Sol. I did never know fo full a voice iffue from fo empty a heart; but the faying is true, The empty veffel makes the greatest found. Bardolph and Nim had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i'th' old play; 7 every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger: yet they are both hang'd; and fo would this be, if he durft fteal any thing advent'rously. I mult stay with the lacqueys, 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.

7 In modern puppet-shows, which feem to be copied from the old farces, Punch fometimes fights the devil and always over

[Exit.

comes him. I fuppofe the vice of the old farce, to whom Punch fucceeds, ufed to fight the devil with a wooden dagger. Gg 4

SCENE

Con.

Another part of the Field of Battle.

Enter Conftable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin,
and Rambures.

Diable!

Orl. O Signeur le jour eft perdu, tout est perdu.

Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting fhame

Sits mocking in our plumes.

[A fhort alarm. O mefchante fortune!do not run away. Con. Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable fhame! let's ftab ourselves. Be these the wretches, that we play'd at dice for? Orl. Is this the King we fent to for his ranfom? Bour. Shame, and eternal fhame, nothing but fhame! Let us die, inftant.-Once more back again; The man, that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand Like a base pander hold the chamber-door, Whilft by a flave, no gentler than a dog, His faireft daughter is contaminated.

Con. Disorder, that hath fpoil'd us, friend us now! Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

Orl. We are enow, yet living in the field, To fmother up the English in our throngs; If any order might be thought upon.

Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng; Let life be short, elfe fhame will be too long. [Exeunt.

8 Let us die, infiant: Once

more back again; ] This Verfe, which is quite left out in Mr. Pope's Editions, ftands imperfect in the firft Folio. By the Addition of a Syllable, I

think, I have retriev'd the Poet's Senfe. It is thus in the Old Copy;

Let us die in once more back

again.

THEOBALD.

SCENE