K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village : And be it death proclaimed through our host,

To boast of this, or take that praise from God

Which is his only.

105

Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell how many is killed?

K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment— That God fought for us.

Flu.

Yes, my conscience.

K. Hen. Do we all holy rites;

Let there be sung Non Nobis and Te Deum;
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay:
And then to Calais; and to England then,

Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.

110

115

[Exeunt.

5

Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story,

That I may prompt them: and of such as have,

I humbly pray them to admit the excuse
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the king
Toward Calais grant him there; there seen,
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts,
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys,
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea,
Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king,
Seems to prepare his way: so let him land;
And solemnly see him set on to London.

So swift a pace hath thought, that even now
You may imagine him upon Blackheath :

Where that his lords desire him to have borne
His bruised helmet, and his bended sword,
Before him, through the city: he forbids it,
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent,

Quite from himself, to God. But now behold,

In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens !
The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort-
Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels--
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Cæsar in :
As, by a lower but by loving likelihood,
Were now the general of our gracious empress
(As, in good time, he may) from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,
How many would the peaceful city quit

To welcome him! much more, and much more cause,
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him
(As yet the lamentation of the French

Invites the king of England's stay at home:
The emperor's coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them); and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd,
Till Harry's back-return again to France:
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
The interim, by remembering you 'tis past.
Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, straight back again to France.

SCENE I.-France. An English Court of Guard.

Enter FLUELLEN and Gower.

Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to-day ? Saint Davy's Day is past.

Flu. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all

:

things I will tell you, as my friend, Captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly, pragging knave, Pistol-which you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits-he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in a place where I could not breed no contention with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.
Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks.

Enter PISTOL.

11

Got pless you, Auncient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, pless you!

Pist. Ha! art thou Bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?

Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

15

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.

Pist. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.
Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.]

so goot, scald knave, as eat it?

Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

23

Will you be

27

Flu. You say very true, scald knave-when Got's will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it. [Striking him again.] You called me yesterday, mountain-squire, but I will make you to day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

Gow. Enough, captain; you have astonished him.

33

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days.-Pite, I pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb.

Pist. Must I bite ?

Flu. Yes, certainly, and out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities.

40

Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; I eat—and eat-I swear.

Flu. Eat, I pray you. Will you have some more sauce to your leek? there is not enough leek to swear by.

Pist. Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat.

45

Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at 'em; that is all.

Pist. Good.

50

Flu. Ay, leeks is goot.-Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.

Pist. Me a groat!

Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.

Pist. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.

55

Flu. If I owe you anything, I will pay you in cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

Pist. All hell shall stir for this.

[Exit.

60

Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition-begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour—and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and, henceforth, let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well.

Pist. Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now? News have I that my Nell is dead i' the spital;

And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.

Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs

[Exit. 70