The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  My purpose should not fail with me

  But thither would I hie.

  BOY ⌈sings⌉ As duly

  But not as truly

  As bird doth sing on bough.Enter Captain Fluellen and beats them in

  FLUELLEN God’s plud! Up to the breaches, you dogs! Avaunt, you cullions!

  PISTOL

  Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.

  Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage,

  Abate thy rage, great duke. Good bawcock, bate

  Thy rage. Use lenity, sweet chuck.

  NIM These be good humours! ⌈Fluellen begins to beat Nim⌉ Your honour runs bad humours.

  Exeunt all but ⌈the Boy⌉

  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 should serve me, could not be man to me, for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered 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 Nim, 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 matched 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 anything, and call it ‘purchase’. Bardolph stole a lute case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nim 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

  3.3 Enter Captain Gower ⌈and Captain Fluellen, meeting⌉

  GOWER Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines. The Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.

  FLUELLEN 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’thversary, you may discuss unto the Duke, look you, is digt himself, four yard under, the countermines. By Cheshu, I think a will plow up all, if there is not better directions.

  GOWER The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman, a very valiant gentleman, i’faith.

  FLUELLEN It is Captain MacMorris, is it not?

  GOWER I think it be.

  FLUELLEN By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world. I will verify as much in his beard. He has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you—of the Roman disciplines—than is a puppy dog.

  Enter Captain MacMorris and Captain Jamy

  GOWER Here a comes, and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him.

  FLUELLEN Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th’anciant wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.

  JAMY I say gud day, Captain Fluellen.

  FLUELLEN Good e’en to your worship, good Captain James.

  GOWER How now, Captain MacMorris, have you quit the mines? Have the pioneers given o’er?

  MACMORRIS By Chrish law, ‘tish ill done. The work ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand I swear, and my father’s soul, the work ish ill done, it ish give over. I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me law, in an hour. O ’tish ill done, ‘tish ill done, by my hand ’tish ill done.

  FLUELLEN Captain MacMorris, I beseech you now, will you vouchsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines 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 satisfaction, look you, of my mind. As touching the direction of the military discipline, that is the point.

  JAMY It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath, and I sall quite you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion. That sall I, marry.

  MACMORRIS 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 discourse. The town is besieched. An the trumpet call us to the breach, and we talk and, be Chrish, do nothing, ‘tis shame for us all. So God sa’ me, ’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 law.

  JAMY By the mess, ere these eyes of mine take themselves to slumber, ay’ll de gud service, or I’ll lig i‘th’ grund for it. Ay owe Got a death, and I’ll pay’t as valorously as I may, that sall I suirely do, that is the brief and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard some question ’tween you twae.

  FLUELLEN Captain MacMorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation—

  MACMORRIS 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?

  FLUELLEN 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 good a man as yourself, both in the disciplines of war and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities.

  MACMORRIS I do not know you so good a man as myself. So Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.

  GOWER Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.

  JAMY Ah, that’s a foul fault.

  A parley is sounded

  GOWER The town sounds a parley.

  FLUELLEN 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.

  Exit

  [Flourish.] Enter King Harry and all his train before the gates

  KING HARRY

  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 batt‘ry 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 fleshed 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 flow’ring infants.

  What is it then to me if impious war

  Arrayed in flames like to the prince of fiends

  Do with his smirched complexion all fell feats

  Enlinked 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 th‘enragèd 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 heady murder, spoil, and vill
ainy.

  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 dashed 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 destroyed?

  Enter Governor [on the wall]

  GOVERNOR

  Our expectation hath this day an end.

  The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated,

  Returns us that his powers are yet not 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.

  KING HARRY

  Open your gates.

  [Exit Governor]

  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 will retire to Calais.

  Tonight in Harfleur will we be your guest;

  Tomorrow for the march are we addressed.

  [The gates are opened.] Flourish, and they enter the town

  3.4 Enter Princess Catherine and Alice, an old gentlewoman

  CATHERINE Alice, tu as été en Angleterre, et tu bien parles le langage.

  ALICE Un peu, madame.

  CATHERINE Je te prie, m‘enseignez. Il faut que j’apprenne à parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en anglais?

  ALICE La main? Elle est appelée de hand.

  CATHERINE De hand. Et les doigts?

  ALICE Les doigts? Ma foi, j‘oublie les doigts, mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts—je pense qu’ils sont appelés de fingres. Oui, de fingres.

  CATHERINE La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis la bonne écolière; j‘ai gagné deux mots d’anglais vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles? ALICE Les ongles? Nous les appelons de nails.

  CATHERINE De nails. Écoutez—dites-moi si je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails.

  ALICE C’est bien dit, madame. Il est fort bon anglais.

  CATHERINE Dites-moi l’anglais pour le bras.

  ALICE De arma, madame.

  CATHERINE Et le coude?

  ALICE D’elbow.

  CATHERINE D‘elbow. Je m’en fais la repetition de tous les mots que vous m’avez appris dès a present.

  ALICE Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.

  CATHERINE Excusez-moi, Alice. Écoutez: d‘hand, de fingre, de nails, d’arma, de bilbow.

  ALICE D’elbow, madame.

  CATHERINE O Seigneur Dieu, je m‘en oublie! D’elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col?

  ALICE De nick, madame.

  CATHERINE De nick. Et le menton?

  ALICE De chin.

  CATHERINE De sin. Le col, de nick; le menton, de sin.

  ALICE Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en vérité vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d’Angleterre.

  CATHERINE Je ne doute point d’apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps.

  ALICE N’avez-vous y déjà oublié ce que je vous ai enseigné?

  CATHERINE Non, et je réciterai à vous promptement: d’hand, de fingre, de mailès—

  ALICE De nails, madame.

  CATHERINE De nails, de arma, de ilbow—

  ALICE Sauf votre honneur, d’elbow.

  CATHERINE Ainsi dis-je. D’elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment appelez-vous les pieds et la robe?

  ALICE De foot, madame, et de cown.

  CATHERINE De foot et de cown? O Seigneur Dieu! Ils sont les mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d‘honneur d’user. Je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! De foot et de cown! Néanmoins, je réciterai une autre fois ma leçon ensemble. D‘hand, de fingre, de nails, d’arma, d’elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de cown.

  ALICE Excellent, madame!

  CATHERINE C’est assez pour une fois. Allons-nous à diner.

  Exeunt

  3.5 Enter King Charles the Sixth of France, the Dauphin, the Constable, the Duke of ⌈Bourbon⌉, and others

  KING CHARLES

  ‘Tis certain he hath passed the River Somme.

  CONSTABLE

  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.

  DAUPHIN

  O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us,

  The emptying of our fathers’ luxury,

  Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,

  Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds

  And over-look their grafters?

  ⌈BOURBON⌉

  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 slobb’ry and a dirty farm

  In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

  CONSTABLE

  Dieu de batailles! 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-reined 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’ may we call them, in their native lords.

  DAUPHIN 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.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉

  They bid us, ‘To the English dancing-schools,

  And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos’—

  Saying our grace is only in our heels,

  And that we are most lofty runaways.

  KING CHARLES

  Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence.

  Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.

  Up, princes, and with spirit of honour edged

  More sharper than your swords, hie to the field.

  Charles Delabret, High Constable of France,

  You Dukes of Orléans, Bourbon, and of Berri,

  Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy,

  Jaques Châtillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,

  Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconbridge,

  Foix, Lestrelles, Boucicault, and Charolais,

  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 valleys, 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

  Bring him our prisoner.

  CONSTABLE This becomes the great.

  Sorry am I his numbers are so few,

  His soldi
ers sick and famished in their march,

  For I am sure when he shall see our army

  He’ll drop his heart into the sink of fear

  And, fore achievement, offer us his ransom.

  KING CHARLES

  Therefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy,

  And let him say to England that we send

  To know what willing ransom he will give.—

  Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.

  DAUPHIN

  Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

  KING CHARLES

  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 severally

  3.6 Enter Captains Gower and Fluellen, meeting

  GOWER How now, Captain Fluellen, come you from the bridge?

  FLUELLEN I assure you there is very excellent services committed at the bridge.

  GOWER Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

  FLUELLEN 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 live and my living and my uttermost power. He is not, God be praised and blessed, any hurt in the world, but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an ensign lieutenant there at the pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony, and he is a man of no estimation in the world, but I did see him do as gallant service.

  GOWER What do you call him?

  FLUELLEN He is called Ensign Pistol.

  GOWER I know him not.

  Enter Ensign Pistol

  FLUELLEN Here is the man.

  PISTOL

  Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours.

  The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

  FLUELLEN Ay, I praise God, and I have merited some love at his hands.

  PISTOL

  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 rollingrestless stone—

  FLUELLEN By your patience, Ensign Pistol: Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind. 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 mutability and variation. And her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls and rolls and rolls. In good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it; Fortune is an excellent moral.