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

K. Henry. Why, now thou haft unwifh'd five thousand

men;

Which likes me better, than to wifh 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 ranfom thou wilt now compound,

Before thy most affured over-throw :

For, certainly, thou art fo near the gulf,

Thou needs must be englutted. Befides, in mercy,
'The Conftable defires thee-thou wilt mind

Thy followers of repentance; that their fouls
May make a peaceful and a fweet retire

From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor bodies
Muft lie and fefter.

K. Henry. Who hath fent thee now?

Mont. The Conftable of France.

K. Henry. I pray thee, bear my former answer back; Bid them atchieve me, and then fell my bones.

Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus?
The man, that once did fell the lion's fkin

While the beaft liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.
A many of our bodies fhall, no doubt,

Find native graves; upon the which, I truft,
Shall witness live in brafs of this day's work:

And thofe that leave their valiant bones in France,

Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
They fhall be fam'd; for there the fun fhall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven;

Yunif'd-wish'd away-me fifteen thousand.
Zengiutted.]-fwallowed up.

Leaving

Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime,
The smell whereof fhall breed a plague in France.
Mark then a bounding valour in our English;
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Breaks 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 gaynefs, and our 'gilt, are all befmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host,
(Good argument, I hope, we fhall not fly)
And time hath worn us into flovenry :

But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim :
And my poor foldiers tell me-yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French foldiers' heads,
And turn them out of fervice. If they do this,
(As, if God please, they fhall) my ransom then
Will foon be levy'd. Herald, fave thy labour;
Come thou no more for ranfom, gentle herald;
They fhall have none, I fwear, but these my joints:
Which if they have as I will leave 'em to them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Conftable.

Mont. I fhall, king Harry. And fo fare thee well: Thou never fhalt hear herald any more.

[Exit. K. Henry. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for ranfom.

Enter the Duke of York.

York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg

The leading of the vaward.

b

a in relapse of mortality.]—by a mortal rebound-the stench of their putrid reliques. warriors for the working-day:]-coarsely clad. gilt, are all befmircb'd]—gold lace, are all tarnish'd.

G 4

K. Henry.

K. Henry. Take it, brave York.-Now, foldiers, march

away:

And how thou pleafeft, God, difpofe the day! [Exeunt.

Alarum, excurfions. Enter Pistol, French foldier, and Boy. Pift. Yield, cur.

Fr. Sol. Je penfe, que vous eftes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

Pift. Quality! calmly :-Conftrue me, art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? difcufs.

Fr. Sol. O feigneur Dieu !

d

Pift. O, fignieur Dew fhould be a gentleman:—
"Perpend my words, O fignieur Dew, and mark ;-
O fignieur Dew, thou dy't on point of fox,
Except, O fignieur, thou do give to me
Egregious ranfom.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez mifericorde! ayez pitié de moy!
Pift. Moy fhall not ferve, I will have forty moys;
For I will fetch "thy rim out at thy throat,

In drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Eft-il impoffible d'efchapper la force de ton bras? Pift. Brafs, cur!

Thou damned and 'luxurious mountain goat,

Offer'ft me brass?

Fr. Sol. O, pardonnez moy!

d

difcufs]-declare, communicate, impart to me.

Perpend]-Confider attentively.

MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR, Vol. I. p. 150. Pist.

ffox]-a cant term for a fword.

moys;]-moid'ors.

hthy rim out at thy throat, &c.]-peritonæum, rim of the bellyOr, I'll have thy heart's blood.-rem, ryne, money.

luxurious-lafcivious.

Pift. Say'st thou me fo? is that a ton of moys?Come hither, boy; Ask me this flave in French, What is his name.

Boy. Efcoutez; Comment eftes vous appellé ?

Fr. Sol. Monfieur le Fer.

Boy. He fays, his name is-master Fer.

Pift. Mafter Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him :-difcufs the fame in French unto him.

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.

Pift. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monfieur ?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous vous teniez preft; car ce foldat icy eft difpofe tout à cette heure de couper voftre gorge.

Pift. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant,
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled fhalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol. O, je vous fupplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je fuis gentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, & je vous donneray deux cents efcus.

Pist. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to fave his life: he is a gentleman of a good house; and, for his ransom, he will give you two hundred crowns,

Pift. Tell him,-my fury fhall abate, and I

The crowns will take.

Fr. Sol. Petit monfieur, que dit-il?

Boy. Encore qu'il eft contre fon jurement, de pardonner aucun prisonnier; neantmoins, pour les efcus que vous lui promettez, il eft content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement. Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remerciemens :

& je m'estime heureux que je fuis tombé entre les mains d'un chevalier, je penfe, le plus brave, valiant, & tres diftingué Seigneur d'Angleterre.

Pift. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thoufand, thanks: and esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, (as he thinks) the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy fignieur of England.

Pift. As I fuck blood, I will fome mercy fhew.-Follow me, cur.

Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine.

[Exit Piftol, and French foldier. I did never know fo full a voice iffue from fo empty a heart but the faying is true,-The empty veffel makes the greatest found. Bardolph, and Nym, had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i'the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a 'wooden dagger; yet they are both hang'd; and fo would this be, if he durft fteal any thing advent'roufly. I must stay with the lacqueys, 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.

SCENE V.

Another part of the field of battle.

[Exit.

Enter Conftable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, and Rambures.

Con. O diable!

Orl. O feigneur!-le jour eft perdu, tout eft perdu! Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame

1 wooden dagger]-the weapon wherewith the vice in the old farce

was wont to foil the devil.