And you in love shall not deny me this.
Bass. This ring, good sir? alas! it is a trifle;
I will not shame myself to give you this.

Por. I will have nothing else but only this;
And now methinks I have a mind to it.

Bass. There's more depends on this than on the value. The dearest ring in Venice will I give you,

And find it out by proclamation:

Only for this, I pray you, pardon me.

Por. I see, sir, you are liberal in offers:

You taught me first to beg, and now methinks
You teach me how a beggar should be answer'd.

Bass. Good sir, this ring was given me by my wife; And, when she put it on, she made me vow

That I should never sell nor give nor lose it.

Por. That 'scuse serves many men to save their gifts. And if your wife be not a mad-woman, And know well I have deserv'd the ring, She would not hold out enemy for ever,

For giving it to me. Well, peace be with you.

[Exeunt PORTIA and NERISSA.

Ant. My lord Bassanio, let him have the ring:
Let his deservings and my love withal
Be valu'd 'gainst your wife's commandment.
Bass. Go, Gratiano; run and overtake him;
Give him the ring, and bring him, if thou canst,
Unto Antonio's house. Away! make haste.

Come, you and I will thither presently,
And in the morning early will we both
Fly toward Belmont. Come, Antonio.

[Exit GRATIANO.

[Exeunt.

KING HENRY THE FIFTH

BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

ACT IV SCENE 3-The English Camp.

Enter the English Host; GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND.

Glo. Where is the king?

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. West. Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.

Exe. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh. Sal. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds. God be wi' you, princes all; I'll 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!

Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!

Exe. Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly to-day:

And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,

For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valor.

[Exit SALISBURY.

Bed. He is as full of valor as of kindness; princely in

both.

West.

Enter KING HENRY.

O! that we now had here

But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day.

K. Hen.
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God's 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;

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 honor,

I am the most offending soul alive.

No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hope I have. O! do not wish one more:
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, 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 man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
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 neighbors,
And say, "To-morrow is Saint Crispian":
Then he will strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say, "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot,

But he'll 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 Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember 'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er 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 to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile
This day shall gentle his condition:

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here.
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Re-enter SALISBURY.

Sal. My sov'reign lord, bestow yourself with speed: The French are bravely in their battles set,

And with all expedience charge on us.

K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so.

West. Perish the man whose mind is backward now! 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;

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 now 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.

1

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, tho buried in your dung-hills,

They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them,
And draw their honors reeking up to heaven,
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark, then, abounding valor 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;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
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 labor;
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.