Orl. He's of the colour of the nutmeg.

Dau. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus; he is pure air and fire; and the dull ele ments of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness, while his rider mounts him : he is, indeed, a horse; and all other jades you may call -beasts.

Con. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.

Dau. It is the prince of palfreys, his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage.

Orl. No more, cousin.

Dau. Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the world (familiar to us, and unknown) to lay apart their particular functions, and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus: Wonder of nature,

Orl. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. 'Dau. Then did they imitate that which I composed to my courser; for my horse is my mistress.

Orl. Your mistress bears well.

Dau. Me well;-which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and particular mistress.

Con. Ma foy! the other day, methought, your mistress shrewdly shook your back.

Dau. So, perhaps, did yours.
Con. Mine was not bridled.

Dau. O! then, belike, she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a kern of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait trossers.

Con. You have good judgement in horsemanship. Dau. Be warned by me then: they that ride so, and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather have my horse to my mistress.

Con. I had as lief have my mistress a jade.

Dau. I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears her own hair.

Con. I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress.

Dau. Le chien est retourne a son propre, vomissement, & la truie lavee au bourbier: thou makest use of any thing.

Con. Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress; or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose.

Ram. My lord constable, the armour, that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars, or suns, upon it? Con. Stars, my lord.

Dau. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.
Con. And yet my sky shall not want.

Dau. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously; and 'twere more honour some were away.

Con. Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were some of your brags dis

mounted.

Dau. 'Wonld I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces.

Con. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out of my way: But I would it were morning, for I would fain be about the ears of the English.

Ram. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty English prisoners?

Con. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them.

Orl. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant prince.

Con. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath.

Orl. He is, simply, the most active gentleman of France.

Con. Doing is activity, and he will still be doing. Orl. He never did harm, that I heard of.

Con. Nor will do none to-morrow; he will keep that good name still.

Orl. I know him to be valiant.

Con. I was told that, by one that knows him better than you.

Orl. What's he?

Con. Marry, he told me so himself; and, he said, he cared not who knew it.

Orl. He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him.

Con. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body saw it, but his lackey: 'tis a hooded valour; and, when it appears, it will bate.

Orl. Ill-will never said well.

Con. I will cap that proverb with-There is flattery in friendship.

Orl. And I will take up that with-Give the devil his due.

Con. Well placed, there stands your friend for the devil: have at the very eye of that proverb, with-A pox of the devil.

Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how much -A fool's bolt is soon shot.

Con. You have shot over.

Orl. 'Tis not the first time you were overshot.

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tent.

Con. Who hath measured the ground?
Mess. The lord Grandpre.

Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman.Would it were day!--Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for the dawning, as we do.

Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this king of England, to mope with his fat-brained followers so far out of his knowledge!

Con. If the English had any apprehension, they would run away.

Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces.

Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage. Orl. Foolish curs! that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like rotten apples: You may as well say,-that's a valiant flea, that dare cat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.

Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with the mastiffs, in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives; and then give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils.

Orl, Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. Con. Then we shall find to-morrow-they have on ly stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arin; Come, shall we about it?

Orl. It is now two o'clock; but, let me see,-by ten We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exca

ACT IV.

Enter Chorus.

NOW entertain conjecture of a time,
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds,
That the fix'd centinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch :
Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face:
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreaful note of preparation.

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp

So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

Sit patiently, and inly ruminate

The morning's danger; and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon

So many horrid ghosts. O, now, who will behold
The royal captain of this ruin'd band,
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry-Praise and glory on his head!
For forth he goes, and visits all his host;
Bids them good-morrow, with a modest smile;
And calls them-brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note

How dread an army hath enrounded him ;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night:
But freshly looks, and overbears attaint,
With cheerful semblance, and sweet majesty ;
That every wretch pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
A largess universal, like the sun,

His liberal eye doth give to every one,

Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle all,
Behold, as may unworthiness define,

A little touch of Harry in the night:
And so our scene must to the battle fly;
Where, (O for pity !) we shall much disgrace-
With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
Right ill dispos'd, in brawl ridiculous,—
The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see;
Minding true things, by what their mock'ries be.

[Exit. SCENE L-The English Camp at Agincourt. Enter King Henry, Bedford and Gloster.

K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true, that we are in great danger;

The greater therefore should our courage be.-
Good-morrow, brother Bedford.-God Almighty!
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out;
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry :
Besides, they are our outward consciences,
And preachers to us all; admonishing,
That we should dress us fairly for our end.

Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.
Enter Erpingham.

-Good-morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham:
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.

Erp. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better, Since I may say-now lie I like a king.

K. Hen. "Tis good for men to love their present pains
Upon example; so the spirit is eased;
And, when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt,
The organs, though defunct and dead before,
Break up their drowsy grave, and newly move
With casted slough and fresh legerity.
Lend me thy cloak, sir Thomas.-Brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp;

Do my good-morrow to them; and anon,
Desire them all to my pavilion.

Glos. We shall, my liege. [Exeunt Glos, and Bed.
Erp. Shall I attend your grace?

K. Hen.

No, my good knight; Go with my brothers to my lords of England:

I and my bosom must debate a-while,

And then I would no other company.

Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry! [Exit Erpingham.

K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speakest cheerfully.

Pist. Qui va la?

K. Hen. A friend.

Enter Pistol.

Pist. Discuss unto me; art thou officer? Or art thou base, common, and popular? K. Hen. I am a gentleman of a company. Pist. Trailest thou the puissant pike? K. Hen. Even so: what are you? Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. K. Hen. Then you are a better than the king. Pist. The king's a bawcock, and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp of fame;

of parents good, of fist most valiant:

I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings

I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
K. Hen. Harry le Roy.

Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?

K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman.
Pist.

K. Hen. Yes.

Knowest thou Fluellen?

Gow. I will speak lower.

Flu. I pray you, and beseech you, that you will. [Exeunt Gower and Fluellen. K. Hen. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour in this Welshman. Enter Bates, Court, and Williams.

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?

Bates. I think it be: but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day.

Will. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but, I think, we shall never see the end of it.-Who goes there?

K. Hen. A friend.

Will. Under what captain serve you? K. Hen. Under sir Thomas Erpingham. Will. A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman: I pray you, what thinks he of our estate? K. Hen. Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off the next tide.

Bates. He hath not told his thought to the king? K. Hen. No; nor it is not meet he should. For, tho' I speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I am; the violet smells to him, as it doth to me; the element shows to him, as it doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions: His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man; and though his affections are higher mounted than ours, yet, when they stoop, they stoop with the like wing; therefore when he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his army.

Bates. He may show what outward courage he will: but, I believe, as cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in the Thames up to the neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were quit

here.

K. Hen. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king; I think, he would not wish himself any

where but where he is.

Bates. Then, 'would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.

K. Hen. I dare say, you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone; howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's minds: Methinks, I could not die any where so contented, as in the king's company; his cause being just, and his quarrel honourable.

Will. That's more than we know.

Bates. Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if we know we are the king's subjects; if his cause be wrong, our obedience to the king wipes the crime of it out of us.

Will. But, if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy reckoning to make; when all those legs, and arms, and heads, chopped off in a battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry all-We died at such a place; some, swearing; some, crying for a surgeon ; some, upon their wives left poor behind them; some, apon the debts they owe; some, upon their children

K. Hen. So, if a son, that is by his father sent about merchandize, do sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him: or if a servant, under his master's command, transporting a sum of money, be assailed by robbers, and die in many irreconciled iniquities, you may call the business of the master the author of the servant's damnation:-But this is not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his soldiers, the father of his son, nor the master of his servant; for they purpose not their death, when they purpose their services. Besides, there is no king, be his cause never so spotless, if it come to the arbitrement of swords, can try it out with all unspotted soldiers. Some, peradventure, have on them the guilt of premeditated and contrived murder; some, of beguiling virgins with the broken seals of per jury; some, making the wars their bulwark, that have before gored the gentle bosom of peace with pillage and robbery. Now, if these men have defeated the law, and out-run native punishment, though they can out. strip men, they have no wings to fly from God: war is his beadle, war is his vengeance; so that here men are punished, for before-breach of the king's laws, in now the king's quarrel: where they feared the death, they have borne life away; and where they would be safe, they perish: Then if they die unprovided, no more is the king guilty of their damnation, than he was before guilty of those impieties, for the which they are now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore should ev. ery soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience: and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was gained: and, in him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see his greatness, and to teach others how they should prepare.

Will. "Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him.

K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ransomed.

Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser.

K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his

word after.

Will. 'Mass, you'll pay him then! that's a perilous shot out of an elder-gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying.

K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round; I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient. Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if K. Hen. I embrace it.

you live.

Will. How shall I know thee again? K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.

Will Here's my glove; give me another of thine.
K. Hen. There.

Will. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou Come to me and say, after to-morrow, This is my glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear. K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. Will. Thou darest as well be hanged.

K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king's company.

Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well.

Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how to reckon.

K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their shoulders: But it is no English treason to cut French crowns; and, to-morrow, the king himself will be a clipper. [Exeunt Soldiers.

-Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,
Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and
Our sins, lay on the king;—we must bear all.
O hard condition! twin-born with greatness,
Subjected to the breath of every fool,

Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing!
What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect,
That private men enjoy!

And what have kings, that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of god art thou that suffer'st morę
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 the soul of adoration?

Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Than they in fearing.

What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?

Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
Can'st thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's 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 enter-tissued robe 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 fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, tramin'd 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 Phœbus, 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:
Aud, but for ceremony, such a wretch,

Winding up days with toil, and nights with sleep,
Had the foreband and vantage of a king.
The slave, a member of the country's 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.

Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to find you.

Good old knight,

[Exit.

K. Hen. Collect them all together at my tent: I'll be before thee. Erp. I shall do't, my lord. K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts! Possess them not with fear; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them!-Not to-day, O Lord, Ở not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard's body have interred new; And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do : Though all that I can do, is nothing worth; Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon.

Mess. The English are embattled, yon French peers. Con. 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 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 to-day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
"Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,→
Who, in unnecessary action, swarm

About our squares of battle,-were enough

To

this field of such a hilding foe; purge Though we, upon this mountain's basis by Took stand for idle speculation:

But that our honours must not. What's to say?
A very little little let us do,

And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket-sonuance, and the note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Grandpre.

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,

With torch-staves in their hand: and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips;
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes;
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er 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.

Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits, And give their fasting horses provender,

And after fight with them?

Con. 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 the English Host; Gloster, 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 Gloster,-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 valour.

[Eait Salisbury. Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness; Princely in both.

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 ine 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:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour,
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 friends,
And say-to-morrow is Saint Crispian :
Then will he 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 their mouths as household words,-
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,-
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, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Enter Salisbury.

Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: The French are bravely in their battles set, And will 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, cousin?

West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone, Without more help, might fight this battle out!

K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five tho

West.

O that we now had here Enter King Henry.