The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works
Page 203
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
CONSTABLE
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.
⌈BOURBON⌉
Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?
CONSTABLE
I stay but for my guidon. To the field!
I will the banner from a trumpet take
And use it for my haste. Come, come away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. Exeunt
4.3 Enter the Dukes of Gloucester, ⌈Clarence⌉, and Exeter, the Earls of Salisbury and ⌈Warwick⌉, and Sir Thomas Erpingham, with all ⌈the⌉ host
GLOUCESTER Where is the King?
⌈CLARENCE⌉
The King himself is rode to view their battle.
[WARWICK]
Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.
EXETER
There’s five to one. Besides, they all are fresh.
SALISBURY
God’s arm strike with us! ‘Tis a fearful odds.
God b’wi’ you, princes all. I’ll to my charge.
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
Then joyfully, my noble Lord of Clarence,
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
And (to Warwick) my kind kinsman, warriors all,
adieu.
⌈CLARENCE⌉
Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee.
EXETER
Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly today—
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.
Exit Salisbury
⌈CLARENCE⌉
He is as full of valour as of kindness,
Princely in both.
Enter King Harry, behind
⌈WARWICK⌉
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work today.
KING HARRY What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Warwick? No, my fair cousin.
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will, I pray thee wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It ernes me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace, I would not lose so great an honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O do not wish one more.
Rather proclaim it presently through my host
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart. His passport shall be made
And crowns for convoy put into his purse.
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the Feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t‘old age
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours
And say, ’Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
And say, ’These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words—
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester—
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son,
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by
From this day to the ending of the world
But we in it shall be remembered,
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.Enter the Earl of Salisbury
SALISBURY
My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.
The French are bravely in their battles set
And will with all expedience charge on us.
KING HARRY
All things are ready if our minds be so.
⌈WARWICK⌉ Perish the man whose mind is backward now.
KING HARRY
Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?
⌈WARWICK⌉
God’s will, my liege, would you and I alone,
Without more help, could fight this royal battle.
KING HARRY
Why now thou hast unwished five thousand men,
Which likes me better than to wish us one.—
You know your places. God be with you all.Tucket. Enter Montjoy
MONTJOY
Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound
Before thy most assured overthrow.
For certainly thou art so near the gulf
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy
The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind
Thy followers of repentance, that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these fields where, wretches, their poor
bodies
Must lie and fester.
KING HARRY Who hath sent thee now?
MONTJOY The Constable of France.
KING HARRY
I pray thee bear my former answer back.
Bid them achieve me, and then sell my bones.
Good God, why should they mock poor fellows thus?
The man that once did sell the lion’s skin
While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him. 95
A many of our bodies shall no doubt
Find native graves, upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day’s work.
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills
They shall be famed. For there the sun shall greet
them
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven,
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then abounding valour in our English,
That, being dead, like to the bullets grazing
Break 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 gayness and our gilt are all besmirched
With rainy marching in the painful field.
There’s not a piece of feather in our host—
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly—
And time hath worn us into slovenry.
But by the mass, our hearts are in the trim.
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night
They’ll be in fresher robes, as they will pluck
The gay new coats o‘er your Frenc
h soldiers’ heads,
And turn them out of service. If they do this—
As if God please, they shall—my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour.
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald.
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints—
Which if they have as I will leave ’em them,
Shall yield them little. Tell the Constable.
MONTJOY
I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
KING HARRY
I fear thou wilt once more come for a ransom.Exit Montjoy
Enter the Duke of York
YORK
My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vanguard.
KING HARRY
Take it, brave York.—Now soldiers, march away,
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day. Exeunt
4.4 Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, a French soldier, and the Boy
PISTOL Yield, cur.
FRENCH SOLDIER je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bon qualité.
PISTOL
Qualité? ‘Calin o custure me!’
Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss.
FRENCH SOLDIER O Seigneur Dieu!
PISTOL ⌈aside⌉
O Seigneur Dew should be a gentleman.—
Perpend my words, O Seigneur Dew, and mark:
O Seigneur Dew, thou diest, on point of fox,
Except, O Seigneur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.
FRENCH SOLDIER O prenez miséricorde! Ayez pitie de moi!
PISTOL
‘Moy’ shall not serve, I will have forty ‘moys’,
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
In drops of crimson blood.
FRENCH SOLDIER Est-il impossible d’échapper la force de ton bras?
PISTOL
Brass, cur? Thou damned and luxurious mountain
goat,
Offer’st me brass?
FRENCH SOLDIER O pardonne-moi!
PISTOL
Sayst thou me so? Is that a ton of moys?—
Come hither boy. Ask me this slave in French
What is his name.
BOY Écoutez: comment êtes-vous appelé?
FRENCH SOLDIER Monsieur le Fer.
BOY He says his name is Master Fer.
PISTOL Master Fer? I’ll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him.
Discuss the same in French unto him.
BOY I do not know the French for fer and ferret and firk.
PISTOL Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
FRENCH SOLDIER Que dit-il, monsieur?
BOY Il me commande à vous dire que vous faites vous prêt, car ce soldat ici est dispose tout à cette heure de couper votre gorge. 35
PISTOL
Oui, couper la gorge, par ma foi,
Peasant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.
FRENCH SOLDIER O je vous supplie, pour l’amour de Dieu, me pardonner. Je suis le gentilhomme de bonne maison. Gardez ma vie, et je vous donnerai deux cents écus.
PISTOL What are his words?
BOY He prays you to save his life. He is a gentleman of a good house, and for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.
PISTOL
Tell him, my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take.
FRENCH SOLDIER Petit monsieur, que dit-il?
BOY Encore qu’il est centre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier; neanmoins, pour les ecus que vous lui ci promettez, il est content à vous donner la liberté, le franchisement.
FRENCH SOLDIER (kneeling to Pistol) Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciements, et je m‘estime heureux que j’ai tombe entre les mains d‘un chevalier, comme je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et treis-distingué seigneur d’Angleterre. PISTOL Expound unto me, boy.
BOY He gives you upon his knees a thousand thanks, and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy seigneur of England.
PISTOL
As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.
Follow me.
BOY Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. Exeunt Pistol and French Soldier
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a
heart. But the saying is true: ‘The empty vessel makes
the greatest sound.’ Bardolph and Nim had ten times
more valour than this roaring devil i’th’ old play, that
everyone may pare his nails with a wooden dagger,
and they are both hanged, and so would this be, if he
durst steal anything adventurously. I must stay with
the lackeys 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. Exit
4.5 Enter the Constable, the Dukes of Orléans and ⌈Bourbon⌉, and Lord Rambures
CONSTABLE O diable!
ORLÉANS O Seigneur! Le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!
⌈BOURBON⌉
Mort de ma vie! All is confounded, all.
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.
A short alarum
O mechante fortune!– (To Rambures) Do not run away.
⌈ORLÉANS⌉
We are enough yet living in the field
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.
BOURBON
The devil take order. Once more back again!
And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go home, and with his cap in hand
Like a base leno hold the chamber door
Whilst by a slave no gentler than my dog
His fairest daughter is contaminated.
CONSTABLE
Disorder that hath spoiled us friend us now.
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.
BOURBON I’ll to the throng.
Let life be short, else shame will be too long. Exeunt
4.6 Alarum. Enter King Harry and his train, with prisoners
KING HARRY
Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen.
But all’s not done; yet keep the French the field.[Enter the Duke of Exeter]
EXETER
The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.
KING HARRY
Lives he, good uncle? Thrice within this hour
I saw him down, thrice up again and fighting.
From helmet to the spur, all blood he was.
EXETER
In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,
Larding the plain. And by his bloody side,
Yokefellow to his honour-owing wounds,
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
Suffolk first died, and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteeped,
And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,
And cries aloud, ‘Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk.
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven.
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry.’
Upon these words I came and cheered him up.
He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,
And with a feeble grip says, ‘Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign.’
So did he turn, and over Suffolk’s neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kissed his lips,
And so espoused to death, with blood he sealed
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of
it forced
Those waters from me which I would have stopped.
But I had not so much of man in me,
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears.
KING HARRY
I blame you not,
For hearing this I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.Alarum
But hark, what new alarum is this same?
The French have reinforced their scattered men.
Then every soldier kill his prisoners.[The soldiers kill their prisoners]
Give the word through.
⌈PISTOL⌉ Coup’ la gorge.
Exeunt
4.7 Enter Captains Fluellen and Gower
FLUELLEN Kill the poys and the luggage! ‘Tis expressly against the law of arms. ’Tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offert. In your conscience now, is it not?
GOWER ‘Tis certain there’s not a boy left alive. And the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha’ done this slaughter. Besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the King’s tent; wherefore the King most worthily hath caused every soldier to cut his prisoner’s throat. O ’tis a gallant king.
FLUELLEN Ay, he was porn at Monmouth. Captain Gower, what call you the town’s name where Alexander the Pig was born?
GLOWER Alexander the Great.
FLUELLEN Why I pray you, is not ‘pig’ great? The pig or the great or the mighty or the huge or the magnanimous are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations.
GOWER I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon. His father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.
FLUELLEN I think it is e‘en Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look in the maps of the world I warrant you sail find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon, and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth. It is called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river—but ’tis all one, ’tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander’s life well, Harry of Monmouth’s life is come after it indifferent well. For there is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages and his furies and his wraths and his cholers and his moods and his displeasures and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend Cleitus—