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twg_000000018300 | privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that sufferst more Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What are thy rents? What are thy comings in? O Ceremony, show me but thy worth! What is thy soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018301 | degree, and form, Creating awe and fear in other men? Wherein thou art less happy being feard Than they in fearing. What drinkst thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poisond flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, And bid thy Ceremony give thee cure! Thinkst thou the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018302 | place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou commandst the beggars knee, Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, That playst so subtly with a kings repose; I am a king that find thee, and I know Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018303 | of gold and pearl, The farced title running fore the King, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world, No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous Ceremony, Not all these, laid in bed majestical, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, Who with a body filld and vacant mind Gets | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018304 | him to rest, crammd with distressful bread, Never sees horrid night, the child of hell, But, like a lackey, from the rise to set Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn, Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, And follows so the ever-running year, With profitable labour, to his grave: | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018305 | And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the countrys peace, Enjoys it, but in gross brain little wots What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages. Enter Erpingham. ERPINGHAM. My lord, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018306 | your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to find you. KING HENRY. Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent. Ill be before thee. ERPINGHAM. I shall dot, my lord. [_Exit._] KING HENRY. O God of battles! steel my soldiers hearts. Possess them not with fear. Take from them now The sense of reckoning, if | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018307 | the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord, O, not today, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richards body have interred new, And on it have bestowd more contrite tears Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018308 | day their witherd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richards soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. Enter Gloucester. GLOUCESTER. My liege! KING HENRY. My brother Gloucesters | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018309 | voice? Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee. The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II. The French camp. Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and others. ORLEANS. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords! DAUPHIN. _Monte cheval!_ My horse, _varlet! laquais_, ha! ORLEANS. O brave spirit! DAUPHIN. _Via, les eaux | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018310 | et terre!_ ORLEANS. _Rien puis? Lair et feu?_ DAUPHIN. _Cieux_, cousin Orleans. Enter Constable. Now, my Lord Constable! CONSTABLE. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh! DAUPHIN. Mount them, and make incision in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout them with superfluous courage, ha! RAMBURES. What, will you have them weep our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018311 | horses blood? How shall we, then, behold their natural tears? Enter a Messenger. MESSENGER. The English are embattld, you French peers. CONSTABLE. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018312 | enough for all our hands; Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins To give each naked curtle-axe a stain, That our French gallants shall today draw out, And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them, The vapour of our valour will oerturn them. Tis positive gainst all exceptions, lords, That our superfluous lackeys and our | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018313 | peasants, Who in unnecessary action swarm About our squares of battle, were enough To purge this field of such a hilding foe, Though we upon this mountains basis by Took stand for idle speculation, But that our honours must not. Whats to say? A very little little let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018314 | tucket sonance and the note to mount; For our approach shall so much dare the field That England shall crouch down in fear and yield. Enter Grandpr. GRANDPR. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France? Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ill-favouredly become the morning field. Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, And our air | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018315 | shakes them passing scornfully. Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggard host, And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps; The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips, The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit Lies | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018316 | foul with chewd grass, still, and motionless; And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly oer them, all impatient for their hour. Description cannot suit itself in words To demonstrate the life of such a battle, In life so lifeless as it shows itself. CONSTABLE. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death. DAUPHIN. Shall we go send them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018317 | dinners and fresh suits And give their fasting horses provender, And after fight with them? CONSTABLE. I stay but for my guard; on to the field! I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my haste. Come, come, away! The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [_Exeunt._] SCENE III. The English camp. Enter Gloucester, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018318 | Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all his host: Salisbury and Westmorland. GLOUCESTER. Where is the King? BEDFORD. The King himself is rode to view their battle. WESTMORLAND. Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand. EXETER. Theres five to one; besides, they all are fresh. SALISBURY. Gods arm strike with us! tis a fearful odds. God be wi you, princes all; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018319 | Ill to my charge. If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu! BEDFORD. Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee! EXETER. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly today! And yet I do thee wrong | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018320 | to mind thee of it, For thou art framd of the firm truth of valour. [_Exit Salisbury._] BEDFORD. He is as full of valour as of kindness, Princely in both. Enter the King. WESTMORLAND. O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England That do no work today! KING. Whats he that wishes so? | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018321 | My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin. If we are markd to die, we are enough To do our country loss; and if to live, The fewer men, the greater share of honour. Gods will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018322 | It yearns me not if men my garments wear; Such outward things dwell not in my desires; But if it be a sin to covet honour, I am the most offending soul alive. No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England. Gods peace! I would not lose so great an honour As one man more, methinks, would share | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018323 | from me For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host, That he which hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart. His passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse. We would not die in that mans company That fears his fellowship to die | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018324 | with us. This day is calld the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say, Tomorrow is Saint Crispian. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018325 | Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say, These wounds I had on Crispians day. Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But hell remember with advantages What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words, Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018326 | Gloucester, Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall neer go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered, We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. For he today that sheds his blood with me Shall be | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018327 | my brother; be he neer so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now abed Shall think themselves accursd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispins day. Enter Salisbury. SALISBURY. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed. The French are bravely in their battles | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018328 | set, And will with all expedience charge on us. KING HENRY. All things are ready, if our minds be so. WESTMORLAND. Perish the man whose mind is backward now! KING HENRY. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz? WESTMORLAND. Gods will! my liege, would you and I alone, Without more help, could fight this royal battle! KING HENRY. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018329 | Why, now thou hast unwishd five thousand men, Which likes me better than to wish us one. You know your places. God be with you all! Tucket. Enter Montjoy. MONTJOY. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry, If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured overthrow; For certainly thou art so near the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018330 | 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. KING HENRY. Who hath sent thee now? MONTJOY. The Constable of France. KING HENRY. I pray | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018331 | 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 lions skin While the beast livd, was killd with hunting him. A many of our bodies shall no doubt Find native graves, upon the which, I trust, Shall witness | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018332 | live in brass of this days work; And those that leave their valiant bones in France, Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, They shall be famd; 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018333 | Mark then abounding valour in our English, That being dead, like to the bullets 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. Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirchd With rainy marching in the painful field; Theres not a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018334 | 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 Theyll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck The gay new coats oer the French soldiers heads And turn | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018335 | 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018336 | MONTJOY. I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well; Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [_Exit._] KING HENRY. I fear thoult once more come again for ransom. Enter York. YORK. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward. KING HENRY. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away; And how thou pleasest, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018337 | God, dispose the day! [_Exeunt._] SCENE IV. The field of battle. Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier and Boy. PISTOL. Yield, cur! FRENCH SOLDIER. _Je pense que vous tes le gentilhomme de bonne qualit._ PISTOL. _Qualit? Caleno custore me!_ Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss. FRENCH SOLDIER. _O Seigneur Dieu!_ PISTOL. O, Signieur Dew should be a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018338 | 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. FRENCH SOLDIER. _O, prenez misricorde! Ayez piti de moi!_ PISTOL. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys, Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat In drops of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018339 | crimson blood. FRENCH SOLDIER. _Est-il impossible dchapper la force de ton bras?_ PISTOL. Brass, cur! Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat, Offerst me brass? FRENCH SOLDIER. _O pardonnez-moi!_ PISTOL. Sayst thou me so? Is that a ton of moys? Come hither, boy; ask me this slave in French What is his name. BOY. _coutez. Comment tes-vous appel?_ FRENCH SOLDIER. _Monsieur | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018340 | le Fer._ BOY. He says his name is Master Fer. PISTOL. Master Fer! Ill 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. PISTOL. Bid him prepare; for I will cut his throat. FRENCH SOLDIER. _Que dit-il, monsieur?_ BOY. _Il me | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018341 | commande vous dire que vous faites vous prt, car ce soldat ici est dispos tout cette heure de couper votre gorge._ PISTOL. Owy, cuppele gorge, permafoy, Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns; Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword. FRENCH SOLDIER. _O, je vous supplie, pour lamour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis le gentilhomme de | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018342 | bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents cus._ PISTOL. 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. PISTOL. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I The crowns will take. FRENCH SOLDIER. _Petit | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018343 | monsieur, que dit-il?_ BOY. _Encore quil est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier; nanmoins, pour les cus que vous lui avez promis, il est content vous donner la libert, le franchisement._ FRENCH SOLDIER. _Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciements; et je mestime heureux que je suis tomb entre les mains dun chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018344 | vaillant, et trs distingu seigneur dAngleterre._ PISTOL. 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 _seigneur_ of England. PISTOL. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me! BOY. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018345 | _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 everyone may pare his nails with a wooden | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018346 | dagger; and they are both hangd; 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. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018347 | Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures. CONSTABLE. _O diable!_ ORLEANS. _O Seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!_ DAUPHIN. _Mort de ma vie!_ all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes. [_A short alarum._] _O mchante Fortune!_ Do not run away. CONSTABLE. Why, all our ranks are broke. DAUPHIN. O perdurable shame! Lets | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018348 | stab ourselves, Be these the wretches that we playd at dice for? ORLEANS. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom? BOURBON. Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Lets die in honour! Once more back again! And he that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand, Like a base | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018349 | pandar, hold the chamber door Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, His fairest daughter is contaminated. CONSTABLE. Disorder, that hath spoild us, friend us now! Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. ORLEANS. We are enough yet living in the field To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018350 | upon. BOURBON. The devil take order now! Ill to the throng. Let life be short, else shame will be too long. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VI. Another part of the field. Alarum. Enter King Henry and his train, with prisoners. KING HENRY. Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen. But alls not done; yet keep the French the field. EXETER. The Duke | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018351 | of York commends him to your Majesty. KING HENRY. Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting. From helmet to the spur all blood he was. EXETER. 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 | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018352 | of Suffolk also lies. Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over, Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped, And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes That bloodily did yawn upon his face. He cries aloud, Tarry, my cousin Suffolk! My soul shall thine keep company to heaven; Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018353 | As in this glorious and well-foughten field We kept together in our chivalry. Upon these words I came and cheerd him up. He smild me in the face, raught me his hand, And, with a feeble gripe, says, Dear my lord, Commend my service to my sovereign. So did he turn and over Suffolks neck He threw his wounded arm | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018354 | and kissd his lips; And so espousd to death, with blood he seald A testament of noble-ending love. The pretty and sweet manner of it forcd Those waters from me which I would have stoppd; But I had not so much of man in me, And all my mother came into mine eyes And gave me up to tears. KING | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018355 | HENRY. 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 reinforcd their scatterd men. Then every soldier kill his prisoners; Give the word through. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VII. Another part of the field. Enter Fluellen and Gower. FLUELLEN. Kill | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018356 | 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 offert; in your conscience, now, is it not? GOWER. Tis certain theres not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha done this slaughter. Besides, they have burned and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018357 | carried away all that was in the Kings tent; wherefore the King, most worthily, hath causd every soldier to cut his prisoners throat. O, tis a gallant king! FLUELLEN. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you the towns name where Alexander the Pig was born? GOWER. Alexander the Great. FLUELLEN. Why, I pray you, is not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018358 | pig great? The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations. GOWER. I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon. His father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it. FLUELLEN. I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018359 | tell you, Captain, if you look in the maps of the orld, I warrant you sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth; it is calld Wye at Monmouth; but it is out of my prains | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018360 | what is the name of the other river; but tis all one, tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexanders life well, Harry of Monmouths life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018361 | his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend, Cleitus. GOWER. Our King is not like him in that. He never killd any of his friends. FLUELLEN. It is not | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018362 | well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons of it. As Alexander killd his friend Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good judgements, turnd away the fat knight | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018363 | with the great belly doublet. He was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name. GOWER. Sir John Falstaff. FLUELLEN. That is he. Ill tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth. GOWER. Here comes his Majesty. Alarum. Enter King Henry and forces; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter with prisoners. Flourish. KING HENRY. I was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018364 | not angry since I came to France Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald; Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill. If they will fight with us, bid them come down, Or void the field; they do offend our sight. If theyll do neither, we will come to them, And make them skirr away, as swift as stones Enforced | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018365 | from the old Assyrian slings. Besides, well cut the throats of those we have, And not a man of them that we shall take Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so. Enter Montjoy. EXETER. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. GLOUCESTER. His eyes are humbler than they usd to be. KING HENRY. How now! what | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018366 | means this, herald? Knowst thou not That I have find these bones of mine for ransom? Comst thou again for ransom? MONTJOY. No, great King; I come to thee for charitable license, That we may wander oer this bloody field To book our dead, and then to bury them; To sort our nobles from our common men. For many of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018367 | our princeswoe the while! Lie drownd and soakd in mercenary blood; So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters, Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King, To view the field in safety, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018368 | and dispose Of their dead bodies! KING HENRY. I tell thee truly, herald, I know not if the day be ours or no; For yet a many of your horsemen peer And gallop oer the field. MONTJOY. The day is yours. KING HENRY. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it! What is this castle calld that stands hard | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018369 | by? MONTJOY. They call it Agincourt. KING HENRY. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus. FLUELLEN. Your grandfather of famous memory, ant please your Majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. KING HENRY. They | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018370 | did, Fluellen. FLUELLEN. Your Majesty says very true. If your Majesties is remembred of it, the Welshmen did good service in garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which, your Majesty know, to this hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018371 | Saint Tavys day. KING HENRY. I wear it for a memorable honour; For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman. FLUELLEN. All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majestys Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases His grace, and His majesty too! KING HENRY. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018372 | Thanks, good my countryman. FLUELLEN. By Jeshu, I am your Majestys countryman, I care not who know it. I will confess it to all the orld. I need not be ashamd of your Majesty, praised be God, so long as your Majesty is an honest man. KING HENRY. God keep me so! Enter Williams. Our heralds go with him; Bring | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018373 | me just notice of the numbers dead On both our parts. Call yonder fellow hither. [_Exeunt Heralds with Montjoy._] EXETER. Soldier, you must come to the King. KING HENRY. Soldier, why wearst thou that glove in thy cap? WILLIAMS. Ant please your Majesty, tis the gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive. KING HENRY. An | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018374 | Englishman? WILLIAMS. Ant please your Majesty, a rascal that swaggerd with me last night; who, if alive and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box o the ear; or if I can see my glove in his cap, which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear if alive, I will | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018375 | strike it out soundly. KING HENRY. What think you, Captain Fluellen, is it fit this soldier keep his oath? FLUELLEN. He is a craven and a villain else, ant please your Majesty, in my conscience. KING HENRY. It may be his enemy is a gentlemen of great sort, quite from the answer of his degree. FLUELLEN. Though he be as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018376 | good a gentleman as the devil is, as Lucifier and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your Grace, that he keep his vow and his oath. If he be perjurd, see you now, his reputation is as arrant a villain and a Jacksauce, as ever his black shoe trod upon Gods ground and His earth, in my conscience, la! KING | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018377 | HENRY. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meetst the fellow. WILLIAMS. So I will, my liege, as I live. KING HENRY. Who servst thou under? WILLIAMS. Under Captain Gower, my liege. FLUELLEN. Gower is a good captain, and is good knowledge and literatured in the wars. KING HENRY. Call him hither to me, soldier. WILLIAMS. I will, my liege. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018378 | [_Exit._] KING HENRY. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me and stick it in thy cap. When Alenon and myself were down together, I pluckd this glove from his helm. If any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alenon, and an enemy to our person. If thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost me love. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018379 | FLUELLEN. Your Grace does me as great honours as can be desird in the hearts of his subjects. I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find himself aggriefd at this glove; that is all. But I would fain see it once, an please God of His grace that I might see. KING HENRY. Knowst | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018380 | thou Gower? FLUELLEN. He is my dear friend, an please you. KING HENRY. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent. FLUELLEN. I will fetch him. [_Exit._] KING HENRY. My Lord of Warwick, and my brother Gloucester, Follow Fluellen closely at the heels. The glove which I have given him for a favour May haply purchase him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018381 | a box o the ear. It is the soldiers; I by bargain should Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick. If that the soldier strike him, as I judge By his blunt bearing he will keep his word, Some sudden mischief may arise of it; For I do know Fluellen valiant And, touchd with choler, hot as gunpowder, And quickly | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018382 | will return an injury. Follow, and see there be no harm between them. Go you with me, uncle of Exeter. [_Exeunt._] SCENE VIII. Before King Henrys pavilion. Enter Gower and Williams. WILLIAMS. I warrant it is to knight you, Captain. Enter Fluellen. FLUELLEN. Gods will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now, come apace to the King. There is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018383 | more good toward you peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of. WILLIAMS. Sir, know you this glove? FLUELLEN. Know the glove! I know the glove is a glove. WILLIAMS. I know this; and thus I challenge it. [_Strikes him._] FLUELLEN. Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England! GOWER. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018384 | How now, sir! you villain! WILLIAMS. Do you think Ill be forsworn? FLUELLEN. Stand away, Captain Gower. I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant you. WILLIAMS. I am no traitor. FLUELLEN. Thats a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majestys name, apprehend him; hes a friend of the Duke Alenons. Enter Warwick and Gloucester. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018385 | WARWICK. How now, how now! whats the matter? FLUELLEN. My lord of Warwick, here ispraised be God for it!a most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summers day. Here is his Majesty. Enter King Henry and Exeter. KING HENRY. How now! whats the matter? FLUELLEN. My liege, here is a villain and a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018386 | traitor, that, look your Grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out of the helmet of Alenon. WILLIAMS. My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he that I gave it to in change promisd to wear it in his cap. I promisd to strike him, if he did. I met this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018387 | man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word. FLUELLEN. Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majestys manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is. I hope your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will avouchment, that this is the glove of Alenon that your Majesty is give me; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018388 | in your conscience, now? KING HENRY. Give me thy glove, soldier. Look, here is the fellow of it. Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike; And thou hast given me most bitter terms. FLUELLEN. An it please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any martial law in the world. KING HENRY. How canst thou make | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018389 | me satisfaction? WILLIAMS. All offences, my lord, come from the heart. Never came any from mine that might offend your Majesty. KING HENRY. It was ourself thou didst abuse. WILLIAMS. Your Majesty came not like yourself. You appeard to me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your Highness sufferd under that shape, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018390 | I beseech you take it for your own fault and not mine; for had you been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your Highness, pardon me. KING HENRY. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow; And wear it for an honour in thy cap | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018391 | Till I do challenge it. Give him his crowns; And, captain, you must needs be friends with him. FLUELLEN. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to serve God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018392 | I warrant you, it is the better for you. WILLIAMS. I will none of your money. FLUELLEN. It is with a good will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? Your shoes is not so good. Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018393 | Enter an English Herald. KING HENRY. Now, herald, are the dead numbred? HERALD. Here is the number of the slaughtred French. KING HENRY. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle? EXETER. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King; John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Boucicault: Of other lords and barons, knights and squires, Full fifteen hundred, besides common | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018394 | men. KING HENRY. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French That in the field lie slain; of princes, in this number, And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead One hundred twenty-six; added to these, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, Five hundred were but yesterday dubbd knights; So that, in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018395 | these ten thousand they have lost, There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries; The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, And gentlemen of blood and quality. The names of those their nobles that lie dead: Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; Jacques of Chatillon, Admiral of France; The master of the Crossbows, Lord Rambures; Great Master of France, the brave | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018396 | Sir Guichard Dauphin, John, Duke of Alenon, Anthony, Duke of Brabant, The brother to the Duke of Burgundy, And Edward, Duke of Bar; of lusty earls, Grandpr and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix, Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale. Here was a royal fellowship of death! Where is the number of our English dead? [_Herald gives him another paper._] Edward the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018397 | Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk, Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire; None else of name; and of all other men But five and twenty.O God, thy arm was here; And not to us, but to thy arm alone, Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem, But in plain shock and even play of battle, Was ever known so great | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018398 | and little loss On one part and on the other? Take it, God, For it is none but thine! EXETER. Tis wonderful! KING HENRY. 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. FLUELLEN. Is it not lawful, an | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000018399 | please your Majesty, to tell how many is killd? KING HENRY. Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment, That God fought for us. FLUELLEN. Yes, my conscience, He did us great good. KING HENRY. Do we all holy rites. Let there be sung _Non nobis_ and _Te Deum_, The dead with charity enclosd in clay, And then to Calais; and to | 60 | gutenberg |
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