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,
The inter-tissu'd robe of gold and pearl,
The farced title running 'fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world-
No, not all these, thrice gorgeous ceremony,
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 :
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set,
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn,
Doth rise, and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows so the ever-running year,
With profitable labour, to his grave:

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And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,

Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,

Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.

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The slave, a member of the country's peace,

Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots

What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

Enter ERPINGHAM.

Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to find you.

K. Hen.

Collect them all together at my tent:

I'll be before thee.

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Good old knight,

Erp.

I shall do 't, my lord.

[Exit.

K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts! Possess them not with fear! Take from them now

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The sense of reckoning, if the 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 issu'd forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,

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Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up

Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built

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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.

Glo. My liege!

Enter GLOSTER.

K. Hen. My brother Gloster's voice ?-Ay;

I know thy errand, I will go with thee :

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The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.--The French Camp.

Enter DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others.

Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords.
Dau. Montez à cheval:-My horse! varlet laquais! ha!
Orl. O brave spirit!

Dau. Via!-les eaux et la terre

Orl. Rien puis? l'air et le feu

Dau. Ciel! cousin Orleans.

Enter CONSTABLE.

Now, my lord constable!

Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh.

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Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides ; That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,

And dout them with superfluous courage : ha!

Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood? How shall we then behold their natural tears?

Enter a Messenger.

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Mess. The English are embattled, you French peers.

Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!

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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.

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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 to-day 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

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 couch down in fear, and yield.

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Enter GRANDPRÉ.

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?

Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,

Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:

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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, dropping 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.

Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death. Dau. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits, And give their fasting horses provender,

And after fight with them?

Con. 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.

SCENE III.-The English Camp.

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[Exeunt.

Enter the English Host; GLOSTER, Bedford, EXETER,
SALISBURY, and WESTMORELAND.

Glo. Where is the king?

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle.

West. Of fighting-men they have full threescore thousand.
Exe. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.

Sal. 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,

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My dear Lord Gloster, and my good Lord Exeter,

And my kind kinsman, warriors all-adieu !

Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good-luck go with thee!
Exe. 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.

Bed. He is as full of valour as of kindness; Princely in both.

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[Exit SALISBURY.

15

Enter KING HENRY.

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

K. Hen.

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,
'Not one!' 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.