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Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick;
If that soldier strike him (as, I judge

By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,)
Some sudden mischief may arise of it;
For I do know Fluellen valiant,

And, touched with choler, hot as gunpowder,

And quickly will return an injury.

Follow, and see there be no harm between them.-
Go you with me, uncle of Exeter.


SCENE VIII. Before King Henry's Pavilion.


Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain.

Enter FLUEllen.

Flu. Got's will and his pleasure, captain, I peseech you now, come apace to the king. There is more goot toward you, peradventure, than is in your knowledge to dream of. Will. Sir, know you this glove?

Flu. Know the glove? I know, the glove is a glove. Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it.

[Strikes him. Flu. 'Sblud, an arrant traitor, as any's in the universal

'orld, or in France, or in England.

Gow. How now, sir? you villain !

Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn?

Flu. Stand away, captain Gower; I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant you.

Will. I am no traitor.

Flu. That's a lie in thy throat.-I charge you in his majesty's name, apprehend him; he's a friend of the duke Alençon's.


War. How now, how now! what's the matter?

Flu. My lord of Warwick, here is (praised be Got for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's day. Here is his majesty.


K. Hen. How now! what's the matter?

Flu. My liege, here is a villain, and a traitor, that, look your grace, has struck the glove which your majesty is take out of the helmet of Alençon.

Will. My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he that I gave it to in change, promised to wear it in his cap; I promised to strike him if he did; I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word.

Flu. Your majesty hear now (saving your majesty's manhood) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lowsy knave it is. I hope your majesty is pear me testimony, and witness, and avouchments, that this is the glove of Alençon, that your majesty is give me, in your conscience now.

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier; look, here is the fellow of it. 'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike; and thou hast given me most bitter terms.

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any martial law in the 'orld.

K. Hen. How canst thou make me satisfaction?

Will. All offences, my liege, come from the heart; never came any from mine that might offend your majesty. K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse.

Will. Your majesty came not like yourself; you appeared to me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you, take it for your own fault, and not mine; for had you been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me. K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns, And give it to this fellow.-Keep it, fellow; And wear it for an honor in thy cap,

Till I do challenge it.-Give him the crowns:
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.

Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his pelly.-Hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to serve Got, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you.

Will. I will none of your money.

Flu. It is with a goot will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? your shoes is not so goot: 'tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.

Enter an English Herald.

K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead numbered?
Her. Here is the number of the slaughtered French.
[Delivers a paper.
K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?

Exe. Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king; John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt:

Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'squires,

Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.

K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thousand French, That in the field lie slain; of princes, in this number, And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead One hundred twenty-six; added to these, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, Five hundred were but yesterday dubbed knights: So that, in these ten thousand they have lost, There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;

The rest are-princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.

The names of those their nobles that lie dead,
Charles De-la-bret, high constable of France;
Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France;

The master of the cross-bows, lord Rambures;

Great-master of France, the brave sir Guischard Dauphin;
John duke of Alençon; Antony duke of Brabant,
The brother to the duke of Burgundy;
And Edward duke of Bar; of lusty earls,
Grandpre, and Roussi, Fauconberg, and Foix,
Beaumont, and Marle, Vaudemont, and Lestrale.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!-
Where is the number of our English dead?

[Herald presents another paper.
Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam, esquire.
None else of name; and, of all other men,
But five-and-twenty. O God, thy arm was here,
And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
Ascribe we all. When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock, and even play of battle,
Was ever known so great and little loss,

On one part and on the other?-Take it, God,
For it is only thine!


"Tis wonderful!

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village; And be it death proclaimed through our host,

To boast of this, or take that praise from God

Which is his only.

Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell how

many is killed?

K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment, That God fought for us.

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot.
K. Hen, Do we all holy rites;

Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum.
The dead with charity inclosed in clay,

We'll then to Calais; and to England then;

Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men.



Enter CHORus.

Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story,
That I may prompt them; and of such as have,
I humbly pray them to admit the excuse
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the king
Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts,
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys,
Whose shouts and claps outvoice the deep-mouthed sea,
Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the king,
Seems to prepare his way; so let him land;
And, solemnly, see him set on to London.
So swift a pace hath thought, that even now
You may imagine him upon Blackheath ;
Where that his lords desire him, to have borne
His bruised helmet, and his bended sword,
Before him, through the city: he forbids it,
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent,

Quite from himself, to God. But now behold,
In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens!
The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort,—
Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels,-
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Cæsar in;
As, by a lower, but by loving likelihood,
Were now the general of our gracious empress

(As, in good tune, he may) from Ireland coming, Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,

How many would the peaceful city quit,

To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause,
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him;
(As yet the lamentation of the French

Invites the king of England's stay at home;)
The emperor's coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them, we omit,
And all the occurrences, whatever chanced,
Till Harry's back-return again to France;
There must we bring him; and myself have played
The interim, by remembering you'tis past.
Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance

After your thoughts, straight back again to France. [Exit.

SCENE I. France. An English Court of Guard.
Enter FLUELLEN and Gower.

Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek today? Saint Davy's day is past.


Flu. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things I will tell you, as my friend, captain Gower; the rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in a place where I could not breed no contentions with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.


Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock. Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkeycocks.- Got pless you, ancient Pistol! you scurvy, lowsy knave, Got pless you!

Pist. Ha! art thou Bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?

Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.

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