Nym. 'Pray thee, lieutenant, stay; the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: The humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain song of it.

Pist. The plain song is most just; for humours do abound;

Knocks go and come; Heaven's vassals drop and die ; And sword and shield,

In bloody field,

Doth win immortal fame.

Boy. 'Would I were in an ale-house in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. Enter FLUELlen.

Flu. Up to the preach, you dogs! Avaunt, you cullions! [Drives them all off.

Enter GoWER.

Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloster would speak with you.

Flu. To the mines? Tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, th'athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you,) is digt himself four yards under the countermines: I think 'a will plow up all, if there is not petter directions.

[A Parley sounded.]

Gow. The town sounds a parley.

[Flourish of Drums and Trumpets.]

Enter KING HENRY, with EXETER, GLOSTER, BEDFORD, WESTMORELAND, and his Train.

The GOVERNOR and CITIZENS enter on the Walls.

K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the

town?

This is the latest parle we will admit :
Therefore, to our best mercy give yourselves;
Or, like to men proud of destruction,

Defy us to our worst: as I am a soldier,

(A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me best.) If I begin the battery once again,

I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur,
Till in her ashes she lie buried.

What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid?
Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated,
Returns us, that his powers are not yet ready
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread king,
We yield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy;
Enter our gates; dispose of us, and ours;
For we no longer are defensible.

K. Hen. Open your gates.→

[GOVERNOR and CITIZENS leave the Walls,

Come, uncle Exeter,

Go you, and enter Harfleur; there remain,
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French:
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,-
The winter coming on, and sickness growing
Upon our soldiers,—we'll retire to Calais.
To-night, in Harfleur will we be your guest;
To-morrow, for the march are we addrest.

[The Gates are opened, the GOVERNOR and CITIZENS come out, and present the Keys.Flourish, &c.-The KING, &c, enter the Town.]

SCENE IV.

The French Camp.

Enter the KING of FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, BURGUNDY, BOURBON, the CONSTABLE of FRANCE, LORDS, CAPTAIN and SOLDIERS.

Fr. King. "Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river
Somme.

Const. And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France; let us quit all,
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people,
Dau. Shall a few sprays of us,—

The emptying of our fathers' luxury,
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,—
Sprout up so suddenly into the clouds,
And overlook their grafters ?

Const. Where have they this mettle ?
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull?
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns?

O, for the honour of our land,

Let us not hang like roping icicles

Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people

Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields

Dau. By faith and honour

Our madams mock at us;

They bid us, to the English dancing schools,
And teach Lavoltas high, and swift Corantos;
Saying, our grace is only in our heels,
And that we are most lofty runaways.

Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald! Speed

him hence;

Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.—

Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd,

Yet sharper than your swords, hie to the field;
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur:
Go down upon him,—you have power enough,-
And, in a captive chariot, into Rouen
Bring him our prisoner.

Bur. This becomes the great.

Sorry am I, his numbers are so few,

His soldiers sick, and famish'd in their march;
For, I am sure, when he shall see our army,
He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear,
And, for achievement, offer us his ransom.

Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on
Montjoy ;

And let him say to England, that we send
To know what willing ransom he will give.-
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.
Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with

us.

Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all;
And quickly bring us word of England's fall.

[Flourish of Drums and Trumpets.-Exeunt.

Flu. I assure you, there is very

committed at the pridge.

Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe?

excellent service

Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers:-He is not, (Heaven be praised and plessed!) any hurt in the 'orld; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an ensign at the pridge. -I think, in my very conscience, he is as valiant as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the 'orld; but I did see him do gallant service. Gow. What do you call him;

Flu. He is call'd-Ancient Pistol.
Gow. I know him not.

Enter PISTOL.

Flu. Here comes the man.

Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Flu. Ay, I praise Heaven; and I have merited some love at his hands.

Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, And buxom valour, hath,-by cruel fate, And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel,

That goddess blind,

That stands upon the rolling restless stone,—

Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol :-Fortune is painted plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is plind: And she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and variation, and mutabilities: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls:-In good truth, the poet is make a most excellent description of Fortune: Fortune, look you, is an excellent moral.

Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stol'n a pix, and hanged must 'a be. A damned death!

E