The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  PISTOL

  Fortune is Bardolph’s foe and frowns on him,

  For he hath stol’n a pax, and hangèd must a be.

  A damned death—

  Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free,

  And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate.

  But Exeter hath given the doom of death

  For pax 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.

  FLUELLEN Ensign Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.

  PISTOL Why then rejoice therefor.

  FLUELLEN Certainly, ensign, it is not a thing to rejoice at. For if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the Duke to use his good pleasure, and put him to executions. For discipline ought to be used.

  PISTOL

  Die and be damned! and fico for thy friendship.

  FLUELLEN It is Well.

  PISTOL The fig of Spain.

  FLUELLEN Very good.

  PISTOL

  I say the fig within thy bowels and thy dirty maw.

  Exit

  FLUELLEN Captain Gower, cannot you hear it lighten and thunder?

  GOWER Why, is this the ensign you told me of? I remember him now. A bawd, a cutpurse.

  FLUELLEN I’ll assure you, a uttered as prave words 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.

  GOWER 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 the 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 new-tuned 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 marvellously mistook.

  FLUELLEN I tell you what, Captain Gower, I do perceive he is not the man that he would gladly make show to the world he is. If I find a hole in his coat, I will tell him my mind.A drum is heard

  Hark you, the King is coming, and I must speak with him from the pridge.Enter King Harry and his poor soldiers, with drum and colours

  God pless your majesty.

  KING HARRY

  How now, Fluellen, com’st thou from the bridge?

  FLUELLEN 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.

  KING HARRY What men have you lost, Fluellen?

  FLUELLEN The perdition of th’athversary hath been very great, 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 bubuncles and whelks and knobs and flames o’ fire, and his lips blows 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.

  KING HARRY We would have all such offenders so cut off, and we here give express charge that in our marches through the country there be nothing compelled 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. Enter Montjoy

  MONTJOY You know me by my habit.

  KING HARRY

  Well then, I know thee. What shall I know of thee?

  MONTJOY

  My master’s mind.

  KING HARRY Unfold it.

  MONTJOY 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. Bid him therefore consider of his ransom, which must proportion the losses we have borne, the subjects 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 th’ffusion 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 my office.

  KING HARRY

  What is thy name? I know thy quality.

  MONTJOY Montjoy.

  KING HARRY

  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 lessened, 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 ransom 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 neighbour

  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 hindered,

  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.

  MONTJOY

  I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness. Exit

  GLOUCESTER

  I hope they will not come upon us now.

  KING HARRY

  We are in God’s hand, brother, not in theirs.

  March to the bridge. It now draws toward night.

  Beyond the river we’ll encamp ourselves,

  And on tomorrow bid them march away. Exeunt

  3.7 Enter the Constable, Lord Rambures, the Dukes of Orléans and ⌈Bourbon⌉, with others

  CONSTABLE Tut, I have the best armour of the world. Would it were day.

  ORLEANS You have an excellent armour. But let my horse have his due.

  CONSTABLE It is the best horse of Europe.

  ORLÉANS Will it never be morning?

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ My lord of Orléans and my Lord High Constable, you talk of horse and armour?

  ORLÉANS You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. Ah ha! He bounds from the earth as if his entrails were hares-le cheval volant, the Pegasus, qui a les narines de feu! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk; he trots the air, the earth sings when he touches it, the basest horn of his hoof is more
musical than the pipe of Hermes.

  ORLÉANS He’s of the colour of the nutmeg.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus. He is pure air and fire, and the dull elements 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.

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

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ It is the prince of palfreys. His neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage.

  ORLÉANS No more, cousin.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ 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!—’

  ORLÉANS I have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s mistress.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ Then did they imitate that which I composed to my courser, for my horse is my mistress.

  ORLÉANS Your mistress bears well.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ Me well, which is the prescribed praise and perfection of a good and particular mistress.

  CONSTABLE Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly shook your back.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ So perhaps did yours.

  CONSTABLE Mine was not bridled.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ O then belike she was old and gentle, and you rode like a kern of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait strossers.

  CONSTABLE You have good judgement in horsemanship.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ 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.

  CONSTABLE I had as lief have my mistress a jade.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ I tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears his own hair.

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

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ 'Le chien est retourné à son propre vomissement, et la truie lavée au bourbier.’ Thou makest use of anything.

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

  RAMBURES My Lord Constable, the armour that I saw in your tent tonight, are those stars or suns upon it?

  CONSTABLE Stars, my lord.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ Some of them will fall tomorrow, I hope.

  CONSTABLE And yet my sky shall not want.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honour some were away.

  CONSTABLE Even as your horse bears your praises, who would trot as well were some of your brags dismounted.

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I will trot tomorrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces.

  CONSTABLE 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.

  RAMBURES Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?

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

  ⌈BOURBON⌉ ’Tis midnight. I’ll go arm myself. Exit

  ORLÉANS The Duke of Bourbon longs for morning.

  RAMBURES He longs to eat the English.

  CONSTABLE I think he will eat all he kills.

  ORLÉANS By the white hand of my lady, he’s a gallant prince.

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

  ORLÉANS He is simply the most active gentleman of France.

  CONSTABLE Doing is activity, and he will still be doing.

  ORLÉANS He never did harm that I heard of.

  CONSTABLE Nor will do none tomorrow. He will keep that good name still.

  ORLÉANS I know him to be valiant.

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

  ORLÉANS What’s he?

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

  ORLÉANS He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.

  CONSTABLE By my faith, sir, but it is. Never anybody saw it but his lackey. ’Tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate.

  ORLÉANS ‘Ill will never said well.’ no

  CONSTABLE I will cap that proverb with ‘There is flattery in friendship.’

  ORLÉANS And I will take up that with ‘Give the devil his due.’

  CONSTABLE Well placed! There stands your friend for the devil. Have at the very eye of that proverb with ‘A pox of the devil!’

  ORLÉANS You are the better at proverbs by how much ‘a fool’s bolt is soon shot’.

  CONSTABLE You have shot over.

  ORLÉANS ’Tis not the first time you were overshot. Enter a Messenger

  MESSENGER My Lord High Constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tents.

  CONSTABLE Who hath measured the ground?

  MESSENGER The Lord Grandpré.

  CONSTABLE A valiant and most expert gentleman.

  ⌈Exit Messenger⌉

  Would it were day! Alas, poor Harry of England. He

  longs not for the dawning as we do.

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

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

  ORLÉANS That they lack—for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy headpieces.

  RAMBURES That island of England breeds very valiant creatures. Their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.

  ORLÉANS 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 eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.’

  CONSTABLE 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.

  ORLÉANS Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.

  CONSTABLE Then shall we find tomorrow they have only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we about it?

  ORLÉANS

  It is now two o’clock. But let me see—by ten

  We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.

  Exeunt

  4.0 Enter Chorus

  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 fixed sentinels almost receive

  The secret whispers of each other’s watch.

  Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames

  Each battle sees the other’s umbered 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 dreadful 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 overlusty 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 sacrific
es, 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,

  Presented them unto the gazing moon

  So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold

  The royal captain of this ruined 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-watchèd 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 everyone,

  Thawing cold fear, that 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-disposed in brawl ridiculous,

  The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,

  Minding true things by what their mock’ries be. Exit

  4.1 Enter King Harry and the Duke of Gloucester, then the Duke of ⌈Clarence⌉

  KING HARRY

  Gloucester, ’tis true that we are in great danger;

  The greater therefore should our courage be.

  Good morrow, brother Clarence. God Almighty!

  There is some soul of goodness in things evil,

  Would men observingly distil it out—