SCENE I. London. Before the Boar's Head Tavern, Eastcheap
Enter CORPORAL NYM and LIEUTENANT BARDOLPH
BARDOLPH. Well met, Corporal Nym.
NYM. Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.
BARDOLPH. What, are Ancient Pistol and you friends yet?
NYM. For my part, I care not; I say little, but when time shall
serve, there shall be smiles- but that shall be as it may. I dare
not fight; but I will wink and hold out mine iron. It is a simple
one; but what though? It will toast cheese, and it will endure
cold as another man's sword will; and there's an end.
BARDOLPH. I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends; and we'll
be all three sworn brothers to France. Let't be so, good Corporal
Nym.
NYM. Faith, I will live so long as I may, that's the certain of it;
and when I cannot live any longer, I will do as I may. That is my
rest, that is the rendezvous of it.
BARDOLPH. It is certain, Corporal, that he is married to Nell
Quickly; and certainly she did you wrong, for you were
troth-plight to her.
NYM. I cannot tell; things must be as they may. Men may sleep, and
they may have their throats about them at that time; and some say
knives have edges. It must be as it may; though patience be a
tired mare, yet she will plod. There must be conclusions. Well, I
cannot tell.
Enter PISTOL and HOSTESS
BARDOLPH. Here comes Ancient Pistol and his wife. Good Corporal, be
patient here.
NYM. How now, mine host Pistol!
PISTOL. Base tike, call'st thou me host?
Now by this hand, I swear I scorn the term;
Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.
HOSTESS. No, by my troth, not long; for we cannot lodge and board a
dozen or fourteen gentlewomen that live honestly by the prick of
their needles, but it will be thought we keep a bawdy-house
straight. [Nym draws] O well-a-day, Lady, if he be not drawn! Now
we shall see wilful adultery and murder committed.
BARDOLPH. Good Lieutenant, good Corporal, offer nothing here.
NYM. Pish!
PISTOL. Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of
Iceland!
HOSTESS. Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour, and put up your sword.
NYM. Will you shog off? I would have you solus.
PISTOL. 'Solus,' egregious dog? O viper vile!
The 'solus' in thy most mervailous face;
The 'solus' in thy teeth, and in thy throat,
And in thy hateful lungs, yea, in thy maw, perdy;
And, which is worse, within thy nasty mouth!
I do retort the 'solus' in thy bowels;
For I can take, and Pistol's cock is up,
And flashing fire will follow.
NYM. I am not Barbason: you cannot conjure me. I have an humour to
knock you indifferently well. If you grow foul with me, Pistol, I
will scour you with my rapier, as I may, in fair terms; if you
would walk off I would prick your guts a little, in good terms,
as I may, and thaes the humour of it.
PISTOL. O braggart vile and damned furious wight!
The grave doth gape and doting death is near;
Therefore exhale. [PISTOL draws]
BARDOLPH. Hear me, hear me what I say: he that strikes the first
stroke I'll run him up to the hilts, as I am a soldier.
[Draws]
PISTOL. An oath of mickle might; and fury shall abate.
[PISTOL and Nym sheathe their swords]
Give me thy fist, thy fore-foot to me give;
Thy spirits are most tall.
NYM. I will cut thy throat one time or other, in fair terms; that
is the humour of it.
PISTOL. 'Couple a gorge!'
That is the word. I thee defy again.
O hound of Crete, think'st thou my spouse to get?
No; to the spital go,
And from the powd'ring tub of infamy
Fetch forth the lazar kite of Cressid's kind,
Doll Tearsheet she by name, and her espouse.
I have, and I will hold, the quondam Quickly
For the only she; and- pauca, there's enough.
Go to.
Enter the Boy
BOY. Mine host Pistol, you must come to my master; and your
hostess- he is very sick, and would to bed. Good Bardolph, put
thy face between his sheets, and do the office of a warming-pan.
Faith, he's very ill.
BARDOLPH. Away, you rogue.
HOSTESS. By my troth, he'll yield the crow a pudding one of these
days: the King has kill'd his heart. Good husband, come home
presently. Exeunt HOSTESS and BOY
BARDOLPH. Come, shall I make you two friends? We must to France
together; why the devil should we keep knives to cut one
another's throats?
PISTOL. Let floods o'erswell, and fiends for food howl on!
NYM. You'll pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting?
PISTOL. Base is the slave that pays.
NYM. That now I will have; that's the humour of it.
PISTOL. As manhood shall compound: push home.
[PISTOL and Nym draw]
BARDOLPH. By this sword, he that makes the first thrust I'll kill
him; by this sword, I will.
PISTOL. Sword is an oath, and oaths must have their course.
[Sheathes his sword]
BARDOLPH. Corporal Nym, an thou wilt be friends, be friends; an
thou wilt not, why then be enemies with me too. Prithee put up.
NYM. I shall have my eight shillings I won of you at betting?
PISTOL. A noble shalt thou have, and present pay;
And liquor likewise will I give to thee,
And friendship shall combine, and brotherhood.
I'll live by Nym and Nym shall live by me.
Is not this just? For I shall sutler be
Unto the camp, and profits will accrue.
Give me thy hand.
NYM. [Sheathing his sword] I shall have my noble?
PISTOL. In cash most justly paid.
NYM. [Shaking hands] Well, then, that's the humour of't.
Re-enter HOSTESS
HOSTESS. As ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John.
Ah, poor heart! he is so shak'd of a burning quotidian tertian
that it is most lamentable to behold. Sweet men, come to him.
NYM. The King hath run bad humours on the knight; that's the even
of it.
PISTOL. Nym, thou hast spoke the right;
His heart is fracted and corroborate.
NYM. The King is a good king, but it must be as it may; he passes
some humours and careers.
PISTOL. Let us condole the knight; for, lambkins, we will live.
Exeunt
SCENE II. Southampton. A council-chamber
Enter EXETER, BEDFORD, and WESTMORELAND
BEDFORD. Fore God, his Grace is bold, to trust these traitors.
EXETER. They shall be apprehended by and by.
WESTMORELAND. How smooth and even they do bear themselves,
As if allegiance in their bosoms sat,
Crowned with faith and constant loyalty!
BEDFORD. The King hath note of all that they intend,
By interception which they dream not of.
EXETER. Nay, but the man that was his bedfellow,
Whom he hath dull'd and cloy'd with gracious favours-
That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell
His sovereign's life to death and treachery!
Trumpets sound. Enter the KING, SCROOP,
CAMBRIDGE, GREY, and attendants
KING HENRY. Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard.
My Lord of Cambridge, and my kind Lord of Masham,
And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts.
Think you not that the pow'rs we bear with us
Will cut their passage through the force of France,
Doing the execution and the act
For which we have in head assembled them?
SCROOP. No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
KING HENRY. I doubt not that, since we are well persuaded
We carry not a heart with us from hence
That grows not in a fair consent with ours;
Nor leave not one behind that doth not wish
Success and conquest to attend on us.
CAMBRIDGE. Never was monarch better fear'd and lov'd
Than is your Majesty. There's not, I think, a subject
That sits in heart-grief and uneasines
Under the sweet shade of your government.
GREY. True: those that were your father's enemies
Have steep'd their galls in honey, and do serve you
With hearts create of duty and of zeal.
KING HENRY. We therefore have great cause of thankfulness,
And shall forget the office of our hand
Sooner than quittance of desert and merit
According to the weight and worthiness.
SCROOP. So service shall with steeled sinews toil,
And labour shall refresh itself with hope,
To do your Grace incessant services.
KING HENRY. We judge no less. Uncle of Exeter,
Enlarge the man committed yesterday
That rail'd against our person. We consider
It was excess of wine that set him on;
And on his more advice we pardon him.
SCROOP. That's mercy, but too much security.
Let him be punish'd, sovereign, lest example
Breed, by his sufferance, more of such a kind.
KING HENRY. O, let us yet be merciful!
CAMBRIDGE. So may your Highness, and yet punish too.
GREY. Sir,
You show great mercy if you give him life,
After the taste of much correction.
KING HENRY. Alas, your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch!
If little faults proceeding on distemper
Shall not be wink'd at, how shall we stretch our eye
When capital crimes, chew'd, swallow'd, and digested,
Appear before us? We'll yet enlarge that man,
Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear care
And tender preservation of our person,
Would have him punish'd. And now to our French causes:
Who are the late commissioners?
CAMBRIDGE. I one, my lord.
Your Highness bade me ask for it to-day.
SCROOP. So did you me, my liege.
GREY. And I, my royal sovereign.
KING HENRY. Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours;
There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham; and, Sir Knight,
Grey of Northumberland, this same is yours.
Read them, and know I know your worthiness.
My Lord of Westmoreland, and uncle Exeter,
We will aboard to-night. Why, how now, gentlemen?
What see you in those papers, that you lose
So much complexion? Look ye how they change!
Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there
That have so cowarded and chas'd your blood
Out of appearance?
CAMBRIDGE. I do confess my fault,
And do submit me to your Highness' mercy.
GREY, SCROOP. To which we all appeal.
KING HENRY. The mercy that was quick in us but late
By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd.
You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy;
For your own reasons turn into your bosoms
As dogs upon their masters, worrying you.
See you, my princes and my noble peers,
These English monsters! My Lord of Cambridge here-
You know how apt our love was to accord
To furnish him with an appertinents
Belonging to his honour; and this man
Hath, for a few light crowns, lightly conspir'd,
And sworn unto the practices of France
To kill us here in Hampton; to the which
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But, O,
What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop, thou cruel,
Ingrateful, savage, and inhuman creature?
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul,
That almost mightst have coin'd me into gold,
Wouldst thou have practis'd on me for thy use-
May it be possible that foreign hire
Could out of thee extract one spark of evil
That might annoy my finger? 'Tis so strange
That, though the truth of it stands off as gross
As black and white, my eye will scarcely see it.
Treason and murder ever kept together,
As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose,
Working so grossly in a natural cause
That admiration did not whoop at them;
But thou, 'gainst all proportion, didst bring in
Wonder to wait on treason and on murder;
And whatsoever cunning fiend it was
That wrought upon thee so preposterously
Hath got the voice in hell for excellence;
And other devils that suggest by treasons
Do botch and bungle up damnation
With patches, colours, and with forms, being fetch'd
From glist'ring semblances of piety;
But he that temper'd thee bade thee stand up,
Gave thee no instance why thou shouldst do treason,
Unless to dub thee with the name of traitor.
If that same demon that hath gull'd thee thus
Should with his lion gait walk the whole world,
He might return to vasty Tartar back,
And tell the legions 'I can never win
A soul so easy as that Englishman's.'
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected
The sweetness of affiance! Show men dutiful?
Why, so didst thou. Seem they grave and learned?
Why, so didst thou. Come they of noble family?
Why, so didst thou. Seem they religious?
Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet,
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger,
Constant in spirit, not swerving with the blood,
Garnish'd and deck'd in modest complement,
Not working with the eye without the ear,
And but in purged judgment trusting neither?
Such and so finely bolted didst thou seem;
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot
To mark the full-fraught man and best indued
With some suspicion. I will weep for thee;
For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like
Another fall of man. Their faults are open.
Arrest them to the answer of the law;
And God acquit them of their practices!
EXETER. I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Richard Earl
of Cambridge.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Henry Lord Scroop
of Masham.
I arrest thee of high treason, by the name of Thomas Grey,
knight, of Northumberland.
SCROOP. Our purposes God justly hath discover'd,
And I repent my fault more than my death;
Which I beseech your Highness to forgive,
Although my body pay the price of it.
CAMBRIDGE. For me, the gold of France did not seduce,
Although I did admit it as a motive
The sooner to effect what I intended;
But God be thanked for prevention,
Which I in sufferance heartily will rejoice,
Beseeching God and you to pardon me.
GREY. Never did faithful subject more rejoice
At the discovery of most dangerous treason
Than I do at this hour joy o'er myself,
Prevented from a damned enterprise.
My fault, but not my body, pardon, sovereign.
KING HENRY. God quit you in his mercy! Hear your sentence.
You have conspir'd against our royal person,
Join'd with an enemy proclaim'd, and from his coffers
Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death;
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,
His princes and his peers to servitude,
His subjects to oppression and contempt,
And his whole kingdom into desolation.
Touching our person seek we no revenge;
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender,
Whose ruin you have sought, that to her laws
We do deliver you. Get you therefore hence,
Poor miserable wretches, to your death;
The taste whereof God of his mercy give
You patience to endure, and true repentance
Of all your dear offences. Bear them hence.
Exeunt CAMBRIDGE, SCROOP, and GREY, guarded
Now, lords, for France; the enterprise whereof
Shall be to you as us like glorious.
We doubt not of a fair and lucky war,
Since God so graciously hath brought to light
This dangerous treason, lurking in our way
To hinder our beginnings; we doubt not now
But every rub is smoothed on our way.
Then, forth, dear countrymen; let us deliver
Our puissance into the hand of God,
Putting it straight in expedition.
Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance;
No king of England, if not king of France!
Flourish. Exeunt
SCENE III. Eastcheap. Before the Boar's Head tavern
Enter PISTOL, HOSTESS, NYM, BARDOLPH, and Boy
HOSTESS. Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to
Staines.
PISTOL. No; for my manly heart doth earn.
Bardolph, be blithe; Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins;
Boy, bristle thy courage up. For Falstaff he is dead,
And we must earn therefore.
BARDOLPH. Would I were with him, wheresome'er he is, either in
heaven or in hell!
HOSTESS. Nay, sure, he's not in hell: he's in Arthur's bosom, if
ever man went to Arthur's bosom. 'A made a finer end, and went
away an it had been any christom child; 'a parted ev'n just
between twelve and one, ev'n at the turning o' th' tide; for
after I saw him fumble with the sheets, and play with flowers,
and smile upon his fingers' end, I knew there was but one way;
for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbl'd of green
fields. 'How now, Sir John!' quoth I 'What, man, be o' good
cheer.' So 'a cried out 'God, God, God!' three or four times. Now
I, to comfort him, bid him 'a should not think of God; I hop'd
there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet.
So 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet; I put my hand into
the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I
felt to his knees, and so upward and upward, and all was as cold
as any stone.
NYM. They say he cried out of sack.
HOSTESS. Ay, that 'a did.
BARDOLPH. And of women.
HOSTESS. Nay, that 'a did not.
BOY. Yes, that 'a did, and said they were devils incarnate.
HOSTESS. 'A could never abide carnation; 'twas a colour he never
liked.
BOY. 'A said once the devil would have him about women.
HOSTESS. 'A did in some sort, indeed, handle women; but then he was
rheumatic, and talk'd of the Whore of Babylon.
BOY. Do you not remember 'a saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose,
and 'a said it was a black soul burning in hell?
BARDOLPH. Well, the fuel is gone that maintain'd that fire: that's
all the riches I got in his service.
NYM. Shall we shog? The King will be gone from Southampton.
PISTOL. Come, let's away. My love, give me thy lips.
Look to my chattles and my moveables;
Let senses rule. The word is 'Pitch and Pay.'
Trust none;
For oaths are straws, men's faiths are wafer-cakes,
And Holdfast is the only dog, my duck.
Therefore, Caveto be thy counsellor.
Go, clear thy crystals. Yoke-fellows in arms,
Let us to France, like horse-leeches, my boys,
To suck, to suck, the very blood to suck.
BOY. And that's but unwholesome food, they say.
PISTOL. Touch her soft mouth and march.
BARDOLPH. Farewell, hostess. [Kissing her]
NYM. I cannot kiss, that is the humour of it; but adieu.
PISTOL. Let housewifery appear; keep close, I thee command.
HOSTESS. Farewell; adieu. Exeunt
SCENE IV. France. The KING'S palace
Flourish. Enter the FRENCH KING, the DAUPHIN, the DUKES OF BERRI and BRITAINE, the CONSTABLE, and others
FRENCH KING. Thus comes the English with full power upon us;
And more than carefully it us concerns
To answer royally in our defences.
Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Britaine,
Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,
And you, Prince Dauphin, with all swift dispatch,
To line and new repair our towns of war
With men of courage and with means defendant;
For England his approaches makes as fierce
As waters to the sucking of a gulf.
It fits us, then, to be as provident
As fear may teach us, out of late examples
Left by the fatal and neglected English
Upon our fields.
DAUPHIN. My most redoubted father,
It is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe;
For peace itself should not so dull a kingdom,
Though war nor no known quarrel were in question,
But that defences, musters, preparations,
Should be maintain'd, assembled, and collected,
As were a war in expectation.
Therefore, I say, 'tis meet we all go forth
To view the sick and feeble parts of France;
And let us do it with no show of fear-
No, with no more than if we heard that England
Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance;
For, my good liege, she is so idly king'd,
Her sceptre so fantastically borne
By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,
That fear attends her not.
CONSTABLE. O peace, Prince Dauphin!
You are too much mistaken in this king.
Question your Grace the late ambassadors
With what great state he heard their embassy,
How well supplied with noble counsellors,
How modest in exception, and withal
How terrible in constant resolution,
And you shall find his vanities forespent
Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,
Covering discretion with a coat of folly;
As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots
That shall first spring and be most delicate.
DAUPHIN. Well, 'tis not so, my Lord High Constable;
But though we think it so, it is no matter.
In cases of defence 'tis best to weigh
The enemy more mighty than he seems;
So the proportions of defence are fill'd;
Which of a weak and niggardly projection
Doth like a miser spoil his coat with scanting
A little cloth.
FRENCH KING. Think we King Harry strong;
And, Princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.
The kindred of him hath been flesh'd upon us;
And he is bred out of that bloody strain
That haunted us in our familiar paths.
Witness our too much memorable shame
When Cressy battle fatally was struck,
And all our princes capdv'd by the hand
Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales;
Whiles that his mountain sire- on mountain standing,
Up in the air, crown'd with the golden sun-
Saw his heroical seed, and smil'd to see him,
Mangle the work of nature, and deface
The patterns that by God and by French fathers
Had twenty years been made. This is a stern
Of that victorious stock; and let us fear
The native mightiness and fate of him.
Enter a MESSENGER
MESSENGER. Ambassadors from Harry King of England
Do crave admittance to your Majesty.
FRENCH KING. We'll give them present audience. Go and bring them.
Exeunt MESSENGER and certain LORDS
You see this chase is hotly followed, friends.
DAUPHIN. Turn head and stop pursuit; for coward dogs
Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign,
Take up the English short, and let them know
Of what a monarchy you are the head.
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting.
Re-enter LORDS, with EXETER and train
FRENCH KING. From our brother of England?
EXETER. From him, and thus he greets your Majesty:
He wills you, in the name of God Almighty,
That you divest yourself, and lay apart
The borrowed glories that by gift of heaven,
By law of nature and of nations, 'longs
To him and to his heirs- namely, the crown,
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain,
By custom and the ordinance of times,
Unto the crown of France. That you may know
'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim,
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,
Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd,
He sends you this most memorable line, [Gives a paper]
In every branch truly demonstrative;
Willing you overlook this pedigree.
And when you find him evenly deriv'd
From his most fam'd of famous ancestors,
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
From him, the native and true challenger.
FRENCH KING. Or else what follows?
EXETER. Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it.
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,
That if requiring fail, he will compel;
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
Deliver up the crown; and to take mercy
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head
Turning the widows' tears, the orphans' cries,
The dead men's blood, the privy maidens' groans,
For husbands, fathers, and betrothed lovers,
That shall be swallowed in this controversy.
This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message;
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,
To whom expressly I bring greeting too.
FRENCH KING. For us, we will consider of this further;
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother of England.
DAUPHIN. For the Dauphin:
I stand here for him. What to him from England?
EXETER. Scorn and defiance, slight regard, contempt,
And anything that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
Thus says my king: an if your father's Highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty,
He'll call you to so hot an answer of it
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trespass and return your mock
In second accent of his ordinance.
DAUPHIN. Say, if my father render fair return,
It is against my will; for I desire
Nothing but odds with England. To that end,
As matching to his youth and vanity,
I did present him with the Paris balls.
EXETER. He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,
Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe;
And be assur'd you'll find a difference,
As we his subjects have in wonder found,
Between the promise of his greener days
And these he masters now. Now he weighs time
Even to the utmost grain; that you shall read
In your own losses, if he stay in France.
FRENCH KING. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.
EXETER. Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king
Come here himself to question our delay;
For he is footed in this land already.
FRENCH KING. You shall be soon dispatch'd with fair conditions.
A night is but small breath and little pause
To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt
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ACT III. PROLOGUE.
Flourish. Enter CHORUS
CHORUS. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies,
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
The well-appointed King at Hampton pier
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phorbus fanning.
Play with your fancies; and in them behold
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden sails,
Borne with th' invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea,
Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think
You stand upon the rivage and behold
A city on th' inconstant billows dancing;
For so appears this fleet majestical,
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow!
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy
And leave your England as dead midnight still,
Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women,
Either past or not arriv'd to pith and puissance;
For who is he whose chin is but enrich'd
With one appearing hair that will not follow
These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;
Behold the ordnance on their carriages,
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
Suppose th' ambassador from the French comes back;
Tells Harry that the King doth offer him
Katherine his daughter, and with her to dowry
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not; and the nimble gunner
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,
[Alarum, and chambers go off]
And down goes all before them. Still be kind,
And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit
<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM
SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS
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SCENE I. France. Before Harfleur
Alarum. Enter the KING, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers with scaling-ladders
KING. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon: let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof-
Fathers that like so many Alexanders
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding- which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit; and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'
[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off]
SCENE II. Before Harfleur
Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and BOY
BARDOLPH. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach!
NYM. Pray thee, Corporal, 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.
PISTOL. The plain-song is most just; for humours do abound:
Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die;
And sword and shield
In bloody field
Doth win immortal fame.
BOY. Would I were in an alehouse in London! I wouid give all my
fame for a pot of ale and safety.
PISTOL. And I:
If wishes would prevail with me,
My purpose should not fail with me,
But thither would I hie.
BOY. As duly, but not as truly,
As bird doth sing on bough.
Enter FLUELLEN
FLUELLEN. Up to the breach, you dogs!
Avaunt, you cullions! [Driving them forward]
PISTOL. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.
Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage;
Abate thy rage, great duke.
Good bawcock, bate thy rage. Use lenity, sweet chuck.
NYM. These be good humours. Your honour wins bad humours.
Exeunt all but BOY
BOY. As young as I am, I have observ'd these three swashers. I am
boy to them all three; but all they three, though they would
serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do
not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-liver'd and
red-fac'd; by the means whereof 'a faces it out, but fights not.
For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the
means whereof 'a breaks words and keeps whole weapons. For Nym,
he hath heard that men of few words are the best men, and
therefore he scorns to say his prayers lest 'a should be thought
a coward; but his few bad words are match'd with as few good
deeds; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own, and that
was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal anything,
and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve
leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are
sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a
fire-shovel; I knew by that piece of service the men would carry
coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets as their
gloves or their handkerchers; which makes much against my
manhood, if I should take from another's pocket to put into mine;
for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them and
seek some better service; their villainy goes against my weak
stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit
Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following
GOWER. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the
Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.
FLUELLEN. 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 yard under the countermines; by
Cheshu, I think 'a will plow up all, if there is not better
directions.
GOWER. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is
given, is altogether directed by an Irishman- a very vallant
gentleman, i' faith.
FLUELLEN. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not?
GOWER. I think it be.
FLUELLEN. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify
as much in his beard; he has no more directions in the true
disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than
is a puppy-dog.
Enter MACMORRIS and CAPTAIN JAMY
GOWER. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with
him.
FLUELLEN. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is
certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchient
wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu,
he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the
world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.
JAMY. I say gud day, Captain Fluellen.
FLUELLEN. God-den to your worship, good Captain James.
GOWER. How now, Captain Macmorris! Have you quit the mines? Have
the pioneers given o'er?
MACMORRIS. By Chrish, la, tish ill done! The work ish give over,
the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my
father's soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over; I would
have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O,
tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done!
FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe
me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or
concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way
of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to
satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of
my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline,
that is the point.
JAMY. It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath; and I sall
quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I,
marry.
MACMORRIS. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day
is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the King, and the
Dukes; it is no time to discourse. The town is beseech'd, and the
trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk and, be Chrish, do
nothing. 'Tis shame for us all, so God sa' me, 'tis shame to
stand still; it is shame, by my hand; and there is throats to be
cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish
sa' me, la.
JAMY. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to
slomber, ay'll de gud service, or I'll lig i' th' grund for it;
ay, or go to death. And I'll pay't as valorously as I may, that
sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad
full fain heard some question 'tween you tway.
FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your
correction, there is not many of your nation-
MACMORRIS. Of my nation? What ish my nation? Ish a villain, and a
bastard, and a knave, and a rascal. What ish my nation? Who talks
of my nation?
FLUELLEN. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant,
Captain Macmorris, peradventure I shall think you do not use me
with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look
you; being as good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of
war and in the derivation of my birth, and in other
particularities.
MACMORRIS. I do not know you so good a man as myself; so
Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.
GOWER. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.
JAMY. Ah! that's a foul fault. [A parley sounded]
GOWER. The town sounds a parley.
FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better opportunity
to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know
the disciplines of war; and there is an end. Exeunt
SCENE III. Before the gates of Harfleur
Enter the GOVERNOR and some citizens on the walls. Enter the KING and all his train before the gates
KING HENRY. 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; for, as I am a soldier,
A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,
If I begin the batt'ry once again,
I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
Till in her ashes she lie buried.
The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand shall range
With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
Your fresh fair virgins and your flow'ring infants.
What is it then to me if impious war,
Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends,
Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats
Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
What is't to me when you yourselves are cause,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing violation?
What rein can hold licentious wickednes
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon th' enraged soldiers in their spoil,
As send precepts to the Leviathan
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town and of your people
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command;
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy.
If not- why, in a moment look to see
The blind and bloody with foul hand
Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls;
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd?
GOVERNOR. Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated,
Returns us that his powers are yet not ready
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great 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.
KING HENRY. Open your gates. [Exit GOVERNOR] 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 will retire to Calais.
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest;
To-morrow for the march are we addrest.
[Flourish. The KING and his train enter the town]
SCENE IV. Rouen. The FRENCH KING'S palace
Enter KATHERINE and ALICE
KATHERINE. Alice, tu as ete en Angleterre, et tu parles bien le
langage.
ALICE. Un peu, madame.
KATHERINE. Je te prie, m'enseignez; il faut que j'apprenne a
parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en Anglais?
ALICE. La main? Elle est appelee de hand.
KATHERINE. De hand. Et les doigts?
ALICE. Les doigts? Ma foi, j'oublie les doigts; mais je me
souviendrai. Les doigts? Je pense qu'ils sont appeles de fingres;
oui, de fingres.
KATHERINE. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que
je suis le bon ecolier; j'ai gagne deux mots d'Anglais vitement.
Comment appelez-vous les ongles?
ALICE. Les ongles? Nous les appelons de nails.
KATHERINE. De nails. Ecoutez; dites-moi si je parle bien: de hand,
de fingres, et de nails.
ALICE. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglais.
KATHERINE. Dites-moi l'Anglais pour le bras.
ALICE. De arm, madame.
KATHERINE. Et le coude?
ALICE. D'elbow.
KATHERINE. D'elbow. Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les mots que
vous m'avez appris des a present.
ALICE. Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.
KATHERINE. Excusez-moi, Alice; ecoutez: d'hand, de fingre, de
nails, d'arma, de bilbow.
ALICE. D'elbow, madame.
KATHERINE. O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie! D'elbow.
Comment appelez-vous le col?
ALICE. De nick, madame.
KATHERINE. De nick. Et le menton?
ALICE. De chin.
KATHERINE. De sin. Le col, de nick; le menton, de sin.
ALICE. Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en verite, vous prononcez les mots
aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre.
KATHERINE. Je ne doute point d'apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et
en peu de temps.
ALICE. N'avez-vous pas deja oublie ce que je vous ai enseigne?
KATHERINE. Non, je reciterai a vous promptement: d'hand, de fingre,
de mails-
ALICE. De nails, madame.
KATHERINE. De nails, de arm, de ilbow.
ALICE. Sauf votre honneur, d'elbow.
KATHERINE. Ainsi dis-je; d'elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment
appelez-vous le pied et la robe?
ALICE. Le foot, madame; et le count.
KATHERINE. Le foot et le count. O Seigneur Dieu! ils sont mots de
son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les
dames d'honneur d'user: je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant
les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le
count! Neanmoins, je reciterai une autre fois ma lecon ensemble:
d'hand, de fingre, de nails, d'arm, d'elbow, de nick, de sin, de
foot, le count.
ALICE. Excellent, madame!
KATHERINE. C'est assez pour une fois: allons-nous a diner.
Exeunt
SCENE V. The FRENCH KING'S palace
Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, DUKE OF BRITAINE, the CONSTABLE OF FRANCE, and others
FRENCH KING. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river Somme.
CONSTABLE. And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France; let us quit an,
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
DAUPHIN. O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us,
The emptying of our fathers' luxury,
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,
And overlook their grafters?
BRITAINE. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!
Mort Dieu, ma vie! if they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom
To buy a slobb'ry and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.
CONSTABLE. Dieu de batailles! 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? Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
Seem frosty? O, for 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-
Poor we call them in their native lords!
DAUPHIN. By faith and honour,
Our madams mock at us and plainly say
Our mettle is bred out, and they will give
Their bodies to the lust of English youth
To new-store France with bastard warriors.
BRITAINE. 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.
FRENCH KING. Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence;
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
Up, Princes, and, with spirit of honour edged
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;
You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri,
Alengon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpre, Roussi, and Fauconbridge,
Foix, Lestrake, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,
For your great seats now quit you of great shames.
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.
Rush on his host as doth the melted snow
Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon;
Go down upon him, you have power enough,
And in a captive chariot into Rouen
Bring him our prisoner.
CONSTABLE. 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.
FRENCH 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.
DAUPHIN. Not so, I do beseech your Majesty.
FRENCH 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. Exeunt
