K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz? West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men ;1 Which likes me better than to wish us one.

You know your places: God be with you all!

Tucket. Enter MONTJOY.

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, king Harry, If for thy ransom thou wilt not 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.

K. Hen.

Who hath sent thee now?

Mont. The constable of France.

K. Hen. 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 a bounding 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:2
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;

(1) Thou hast unwished five thousand men. You have wished five thousand men away.

(2) We are but warriors for the working-day. We are soldiers in our workingday dress; we have not on our holiday garb.

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.

Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well:

Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

[Exit.

K. Hen. 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.'

K. Hen. Take it, brave York.-Now, soldiers, march away :And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!

SCENE IV.-The Field of Battle.

[Exeunt.

Alarums. Excursions. Enter French Soldier, PISTOL, and Boy.

Pist. Yield, cur.

Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité. Pist. Quality! Calen o Custure me. Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss.

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu !

Pist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman :—
Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark ;-
O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox3
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez misericorde! ayez pitié de moy!
Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys ;*

(1) The vaward. Vaward is used for van.

(2) Calen o' Custure me. Mr. Douce supposes Pistol is here quoting, as he does on other occasions, the first line of some well-known ballad; which he says probably began "Calen O Custure me!-Art thou a gentleman?" Calen being some proper name, and custure meaning to construe or to tell.

(3) On point of fox. Fox is a cant word for a sword.

(4) Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys. A moy was a measure of corn containing about a bushel.

T

For I will fetch thy rim' out at thy throat,

In drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Est il impossible d'eschapper la force de ton bras ?
Pist. Brass, cur!

Offer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys? Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French, What is his naine.

Boy. Escoutez; Comment estes vous appellé ?

Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.

Boy. He says his name is master Fer.

Pist. 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. Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous faites vous prest ; car ce soldat icy est disposé tout à cette heure de couper vostre gorge.

Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant.
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie, pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cent escus.

Pist. 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.

Pist. Tell him,-my fury shall abate, and I

The crowns will take.

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

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier; neantmoins, pour les escus que vous l'avez promis, il est content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciemens: et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, et très distingué seigneur d'Angleterre.

Pist. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks: and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one (as he thinks) the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.

(1) Thy rim. The rim is an old word for the caul in which the bowels are: wrapped.

Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.Follow me.

[Exit PISTOL. 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' the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; 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.

Alarums. Enter DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, BOURBON, CONSTABLE, RAMBURES, and others.

Con. O diable!

Orl. O seigneur !-le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!
Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all!

Reproach and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our plumes.-O meschante fortune !—
Do not run away.

[A short alarum.

Con.
Why, all our ranks are broke.
Dau. O perdurable shame!-let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?

Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom ?

Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!

Let's die in honour: once more back again;

And he that will not follow Bourbon now,

Let him go hence.

Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!

Let us, on heaps, go offer up our lives.

Orl. We are enow, yet living in the field,

To smother 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; else shame will be too long.

SCENE VI.-Another Part of the Field.

[Exeunt.

Alarums. Enter KING HENRY and Forces; EXETER, and others, with prisoners.

K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen :

But all's not done, yet keep the French the field.

Ere. The duke of York commends him to your majesty.

K. Hen. Lives be, good uncle? thrice within this hour
I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting;
From helmet to the spur, all blood he was.

Exe. In which array (brave soldier!) doth he lie,
Larding the plain : and by his bloody side
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble earl of Suffolk also lies.

Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face;

And cries aloud,-"Tarry, my cousin Suffolk !
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven:
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly a-breast;
As, in this glorious and well-foughten field,
We kept together in our chivalry!"

Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up:
He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand,2
And with a feeble gripe, says,-" Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign."

So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck

He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips;
And, so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd

Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd;
But I had not so much of man in me,

And all my mother came into mine eyes,

And gave me up to tears.

K. Hen.
I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.-

[Alarum.

But, hark! what new alarum is this same?—

The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men :-
Then every soldier kill his prisoners ;

[Exeunt.

Give the word through.

SCENE VII.-Another part of the Field.

Alarums. Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER.

Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis expressly against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offered. In your conscience now, is it not?

Gow. 'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle have done this

(1) Larding the plain. i. e. fattening the plain with his blood.
(2) Raught me his haad, i. e. reached me his hand.