Nym. These be good humours! wins bad humours.

[Exeunt NYM, PISTOL, and BARDOLPH, followed by FLUellen. Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for, indeed, three such anticks do not amount to a man. For, Bardolph, he is white-liver'd, and red-faced; by the means whereof, a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword; by the means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, —he hath heard, that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest 'a should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are match'd with as few good deeds; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own; and that was against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it, purchase.

Bardolph stole a lute-case; bore it

twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching; and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel : I knew, by that piece of service, the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men's pockets, as their gloves or their handkerchiefs: which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another's pocket, to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service: their villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. [Exit Boy.

Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following. Gow. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the duke of Gloster would speak with you.

Flu. To the mines! tell you the duke, it is not so good to come to the mines: For, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not sufficient; for, look you, th' athversary (you may discuss unto the duke, look you,) is dight himself four yards under the countermines; by Cheshu, I think, 'a will plow up all, if there is not better directions.

Gow. The duke of Gloster, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman; a very valiant gentleman, i'faith. Flu. It is captain Macmorris, is it not? Gow. I think, it be.

Flu. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the 'orld: I will verify as much in his peard: he has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.

Enter MACMORRIS and JAMY, at a distance. Gow. Here 'a comes; and the Scots captain, captain Jamy, with him.

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition, and knowledge, in the ancient wars, upon my parwill maintain his argument as well as any military ticular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu, he man in the 'orld, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.

Jamy. I say, gud-day, captain Fluellen. Flu. God-den to your worship, goot captain Jamy.

Gow. How now, captain Macmorris ? have you quit the mines? have the pioneers given o'er?

Mac. By Chrish la, tish ill done: the work ish hand, I swear, and by my father's soul, the work ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my ill done; it ish give over: I would have blowed up tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O,

done!

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I peseech you now, with you, as partly touching or concerning the diswill you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations ciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly, to satisfy my opinion, and partly, for the direction of the military discipline; that is the point. satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the

bath: and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may Jamy. It sall be very gud, gud feith, gud captains pick occasion; that sall I, marry.

Mac. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me, the day is hot, and the weather, and the wars,

and the king, and the dukes; it is no time to dis

course. The town is beseeched, and the trumpet do nothing; 'tis shame for us all : so God sa' me, calls us to the breach; and we talk, and, by Chrish, 'tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand: and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa' me, la.

Jamy. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take ligge i'the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and themselves to slumber, aile do gude service, or aile it as valorously as I may, that sal I surely do, that is the breff and the long: Mary, I wad full fain heard some question 'tween you 'tway.

aile pay

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation

Mac. Of my nation? What ish my nation? ish a villain, and a bastard, and a knave, and a rascal? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation?

Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I 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.

[4 parley sounded. Gow. The town sounds a parley.

Kath. Je te prie, m'enseignez; il faut que j'ap

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'd complexion, all fell feats
Ealink'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 villainy.

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 confus'd
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?

Goe. 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.,

Anglois ?

Alice. La main? elle est appellée, de hand.
Kath. De hand. Et le doigts?

Alice. Les doigts? ma foy, je oublie les doigts; mais je me souviendray. Les doigts? je pense, qu'ils sont appellé de fingres; ouy, de fingres.

Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense, que je suis le bon escolier. J'ay gagné deux mots d'Anglois vistement. Comment appellez vous les ongles?

Alice. Les ongles? les appellons, de nails.

Kath. De nails. Escoutez; dites moy, si je parle bien de hand, de fingres, de nails.

Alice. C'est bien dit, madame; il est fort bon Anglois.

Kath. Dites moy en Anglois, le bras.
Alice. De arm, madame.

Kath. Et le coude.

Alice. De elbow.

Kath. De sin. Le col, de neck: le menton, de sin.

Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur: en verité, vous prononces les mots aussi droict que les natifs d'Angleterre.

Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre par la grace de Dieu; et en peu de temps.

Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublié ce que je vous ay enseignée?

Kath. Non, je reciteray à vous promptement. De hand, de fingre, de mails, Alice. De nails, madame. Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow. Alice. Sauf vostre honneur, de elbow. Kath. Ainsi dis je; de elbow, de neck, et de sin: Comment appellez vous le pieds et la robe?

Alice. De foot, madame; et de con.

Kath. De foot, et de con? O Seigneur Dieu! ces sont mots de son mauvais, corruptible, grosse, et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant les Seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde. Il faut de foot, et de con, neant-moins. Je reciterai une autre fois ma leçon ensemble: De hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de neck, de sin, de foot, de con. Alice. Excellent, madame!

Kath. C'est assez pour une fois; allons nous a [Exeut.

disner.

SCENE V. -The same.

same.

Fnter the French KING, the DAUPHIN, DUKE OF BOURBON, the CONSTABLE of France, and others. Fr. King. 'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river Some.

Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit all, And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.

Dau. 0 Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us,The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds, And overlook their grafters?

Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!

Mort de ma vie ! if they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

Con. Dieu de battailes! where have they this mettle?

Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull?
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley broth,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land,
Let us not hang like roping icicles

Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people

Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields;
Poor-we may call them, in their native lords.
Dau. By faith and honour,

Our madams mock at us; and plainly say,
Our mettle is bred out; and they will give
Their bodies to the lust of English youth,
To new-store France with bastard warriors.

Bour. They bid us to the English dancingschools,

And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos;
Saying, our grace is only in our heels,
And that we are most lofty runaways.

Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald? speed him hence;

Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd,
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France;
You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
Jaques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconberg,
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,
For your great seats, now quit you of great shames,
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur:
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow
Upon the vallies: whose low vassal seat
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon :
Go down upon him, you have power enough, -
And in a captive chariot, into Rouen

Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on
Montjoy;

And let him say to England, that we send
To know what willing ransome he will give.
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.
Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with

us.

Now, forth, lord constable, and princes all; And quickly bring us word of England's fall. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

The English Camp in Picardy. Enter GoWER and FLUELLEN.

Gow. How now, captain Fluellen? come you from the bridge?

Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent service committed at the pridge.

Gow. Is the duke of Exeter safe?

Flu. The duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my livings, and my uttermost powers: he is not, (God be praised and plessed!) any hurt in the 'orld; but keeps the pridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an ensign there at the pridge, I think, in my very conscience, he is as valiant as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the 'orld: but I did see him do gallant

service.

Gow. What do you call him?

Flu. He is called ancient Pistol. Gow. I know him not.

Enter PISTOL.

Flu. Do you not know him? Here comes the

man.

Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Flu. Ay, I praise Got; and I have merited some love at his hands.

Pist. Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart,

Of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate,
And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel,
That goddess blind,

That stands upon the rolling restless stone,

Flu. By your patience, ancient Pistol. Fortune is painted plind, with a muffler before her eyes, to signify to you that fortune is plind: And she is painted also with a wheel; to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and variations, and mutabilities: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls;-In good truth, the poet is make a most excellent description of fortune: fortune, look you, is an excellent moral.

Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;

For he hath stol'n a pix, and hanged must 'a be.
A damned death!

Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free,
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate:
But Exeter hath given the doom of death,
For pix of little price.

Therefore, go speak, the duke will hear thy voice;

And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut
With edge of penny cord, and vile reproach:
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.
Flu. Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your
meaning.

Pist. Why then rejoice therefore.

Flu. Certainly, ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice at: for if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the duke to use his goot pleasure, and put him to executions; for disciplines ought to be used.

Pist. Die and be damn'd; and figo for thy friendship.

Flu. It is well.

Pist. The fig of Spain ! Flu. Very good.

[Exit PISTOL.

Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal; I remember him now; a bawd; a cutpurse.

Flu. I'll assure you, 'a utter'd as prave 'ords at the pridge, as you shall see in a summer's day: But it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve.

Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue; that now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself, at his return into London, under the form of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in great commanders' names and they will learn you by rote, where services were done;-at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy; who came off bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood on; and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with newtuned oaths: And what a beard of the general's cut, and a horrid suit of the camp, will do among foaming bottles, and ale-washed wits, is wonderful to be thought on! but you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellous mis

took.

Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower; -I do perceive, he is not the man that he would gladly make show to the 'orld he is; if I find a hole in his coat, I will tell him my mind. [Drum heard.] Hark you, the king is coming; and I must speak with him from the pridge.

Enter KING HENRY, GLOSTER, and Soldiers. Flu. Got pless your majesty !

K. Hen. How now, Fluellen? camest thou from the bridge?

Flu. Ay, so please your majesty. The duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge: the French is gone off, look you; and there is gallant and most prave passages: Marry, th'athversary was have possession of the pridge; but he is enforced to retire, and the duke of Exeter is master of the pridge: I can tell your majesty, the duke is a

prave man.

K. Hen. What men have you lost, Fluellen? Flu. The perdition of th'athversary hath been very great, very reasonable great: marry, for my part, I think the duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man: his face is all bubukles, and whelks, and knobs, and flames of fire; and his lips plows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue, and sometimes red; but his nose is executed, and his fire's out.

K. Hen. We would have all such offenders so cut off:- and we give express charge, that, in our marches through the country, there be nothing com

pelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid for; none of the French upbraided, or abused in disdainful language; For when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. Tucket sounds. Enter MONTJOY.

Mont. You know me by my habit.
K. Hen. Well then, I know thee; What shall I
know of thee?
Mont. My master's mind.
K. Hen. Unfold it.

Bid

Mont. Thus says my king:-Say thou to Harry of England, Though we seemed dead, we did but sleep; Advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur: but that we thought not good to bruise an injury, till it were full ripe :-now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is imperial: England shall repent his folly, see his weakness, and admire our sufferance. him, therefore, consider of his ransome: which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subIjects we have lost, the disgrace we have digested; which, in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too poor; for the effusion of our blood, the muster of his kingdom too faint a number; and for our disgrace, his own person, kneeling at our feet, but a weak and worthless satisfaction. To this add-defiance: and tell him, for conclusion, he hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is pronounced. So far my king and master; so much office.

my

K. Hen. What is thy name? I know thy quality. Mont. Montjoy.

K. Hen. Thou dost thy office fairly. Turn thee back;

And tell thy king, I do not seek him now;
But could be willing to march on to Calais
Without impeachment: for, to say the sooth,
(Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage,)
My people are with sickness much enfeebled;
My numbers lessen'd; and those few I have,
Almost no better than so many French:
Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,
I thought, upon one pair of English legs
Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me,
God,

That I do brag thus ! — this your air of France
Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent.
Go, therefore, tell thy master, here I am;
My ransome, is this frail and worthless trunk ;
My army, but a weak and sickly guard;
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on,
Though France himself, and such another neigh-
bour,

Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy.
Go bid thy master well advise himself:
If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd,
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolour and so, Montjoy, fare you well.
The sum of all our answer is but this:
We would not seek a battle, as we are ;
Nor as we are, we say, we will not shun it;
So tell your master.

Mont. I shall deliver so.

ness.

Thanks to your high[Exit MONTJOY.

Glo. I hope, they will not come upon us now.
K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in

theirs.