Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, ] shall think you do not use me with that affability as in discretion you ought to use me, look you; being as goot a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities.

Mac. I do not know you so good a man as myself so Chrish save me, I will cut off your head. Gow. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.

Jamy. Au! that's a foul fault. [a parley sounded. Gow. The town sounds a parley.

Flu. 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.

The same. Before the gates of Harfleur.

The GOVERNOR and some Citizens on the walls; the English Forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his Train.

K. Hen. 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 battery 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 flowering infants. What is it then to me, if impious war,

Array'd in flames, like to the prince of fiends,Do, with his smirch'd1 complexion, all fell 2 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 wickedness,
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may as bootless spend our vain command
Upon the 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 deadly murder, spoil, and villany.
If not, why, in a moment, look to see

The blind and bloody soldier 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 confused,
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?

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated,
Returns us-that his powers are not yet ready
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread 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.

K. Hen. Open your gates.-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 'll retire to Calais.
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest;
To-morrow for the march are we address'd.1

[Florish. The King, &c. enter the town.

1 Prepared.