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 'lt once more come again

for ransom.

Enter 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!

[Exeunt

SCENE IV.-The Field of Battle.

Alarum.

Excursions. Enter PISTOL, French
Soldier, and Boy.

Pist. Yield, cur!

Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de

bonne qualité.

Pist. Quality? Cality

Conster 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 fox, Except, O signieur, thou do give to me

Egregious ransom.

Fr. Sol. O, prenez miséricorde! ayez pitié de moi!

Pist. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty

moys;

Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat

In drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Est-il impossible d'échapper la force de ton bras?

Pist. Brass, cur!

Thou damnéd and luxurious mountain goat,
Offer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moi !

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

Boy. Écoutez: comment êtes-vous appelé ?

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 prêt; car ce soldat ici est disposé tout à cette heure de couper votre yorge.

Pist. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy,

Peasant, 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 donnerai deur

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, néanmoins, pour les écus que vous l'avez promis, il est content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens; et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, 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.

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

Boy. Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. [Exeunt PISTOL, and 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 bays.

[Exit.

SCENE V. Another part of the Field.

Enter Constable, ORLEANS, BOURBON, DAUPHIN,
RAMBURES, and others.

Con. O Diable!

Orl. O Seigneur 1-le jour est perdu, tout esi perdu!

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

Sit mocking in our plumes. O méchante fortune!—

Do not run away.

Con.

[A short alarum.

Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable shame!-let 's stab ourselves. Be these the wretches the