Complete Plays, The

by William Shakespeare

  To view the sick and feeble parts of France:

  And let us do it with no show of fear;

  No, with no more than if we heard that England

  Were busied with a Whitsun morris-dance:

  For, my good liege, she is so idly king’d,

  Her sceptre so fantastically borne

  By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth,

  That fear attends her not.

  Constable

  O peace, Prince Dauphin!

  You are too much mistaken in this king:

  Question your grace the late ambassadors,

  With what great state he heard their embassy,

  How well supplied with noble counsellors,

  How modest in exception, and withal

  How terrible in constant resolution,

  And you shall find his vanities forespent

  Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus,

  Covering discretion with a coat of folly;

  As gardeners do with ordure hide those roots

  That shall first spring and be most delicate.

  Dauphin

  Well, ’tis not so, my lord high constable;

  But though we think it so, it is no matter:

  In cases of defence ’tis best to weigh

  The enemy more mighty than he seems:

  So the proportions of defence are fill’d;

  Which of a weak or niggardly projection

  Doth, like a miser, spoil his coat with scanting

  A little cloth.

  King Of France

  Think we King Harry strong;

  And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.

  The kindred of him hath been flesh’d upon us;

  And he is bred out of that bloody strain

  That haunted us in our familiar paths:

  Witness our too much memorable shame

  When Cressy battle fatally was struck,

  And all our princes captiv’d by the hand

  Of that black name, Edward, Black Prince of Wales;

  Whiles that his mountain sire, on mountain standing,

  Up in the air, crown’d with the golden sun,

  Saw his heroical seed, and smiled to see him,

  Mangle the work of nature and deface

  The patterns that by God and by French fathers

  Had twenty years been made. This is a stem

  Of that victorious stock; and let us fear

  The native mightiness and fate of him.

  Enter a Messenger

  Messenger

  Ambassadors from Harry King of England

  Do crave admittance to your majesty.

  King Of France

  We’ll give them present audience. Go, and bring them.

  Exeunt Messenger and certain Lords

  You see this chase is hotly follow’d, friends.

  Dauphin

  Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs

  Most spend their mouths when what they seem to threaten

  Runs far before them. Good my sovereign,

  Take up the English short, and let them know

  Of what a monarchy you are the head:

  Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin

  As self-neglecting.

  Re-enter Lords, with Exeter and train

  King Of France

  From our brother England?

  Exeter

  From him; and thus he greets your majesty.

  He wills you, in the name of God Almighty,

  That you divest yourself, and lay apart

  The borrow’d glories that by gift of heaven,

  By law of nature and of nations, ’long

  To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown

  And all wide-stretched honours that pertain

  By custom and the ordinance of times

  Unto the crown of France. That you may know

  ’Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim,

  Pick’d from the worm-holes of long-vanish’d days,

  Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked,

  He sends you this most memorable line,

  In every branch truly demonstrative;

  Willing to overlook this pedigree:

  And when you find him evenly derived

  From his most famed of famous ancestors,

  Edward the Third, he bids you then resign

  Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held

  From him the native and true challenger.

  King Of France

  Or else what follows?

  Exeter

  Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown

  Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:

  Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,

  In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove,

  That, if requiring fail, he will compel;

  And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,

  Deliver up the crown, and to take mercy

  On the poor souls for whom this hungry war

  Opens his vasty jaws; and on your head

  Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries

  The dead men’s blood, the pining maidens groans,

  For husbands, fathers and betrothed lovers,

  That shall be swallow’d in this controversy.

  This is his claim, his threatening and my message;

  Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,

  To whom expressly I bring greeting too.

  King Of France

  For us, we will consider of this further:

  To-morrow shall you bear our full intent

  Back to our brother England.

  Dauphin

  For the Dauphin,

  I stand here for him: what to him from England?

  Exeter

  Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt,

  And any thing that may not misbecome

  The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.

  Thus says my king; an’ if your father’s highness

  Do not, in grant of all demands at large,

  Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty,

  He’ll call you to so hot an answer of it,

  That caves and womby vaultages of France

  Shall chide your trespass and return your mock

  In second accent of his ordnance.

  Dauphin

  Say, if my father render fair return,

  It is against my will; for I desire

  Nothing but odds with England: to that end,

  As matching to his youth and vanity,

  I did present him with the Paris balls.

  Exeter

  He’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,

  Were it the mistress-court of mighty Europe:

  And, be assured, you’ll find a difference,

  As we his subjects have in wonder found,

  Between the promise of his greener days

  And these he masters now: now he weighs time

  Even to the utmost grain: that you shall read

  In your own losses, if he stay in France.

  King Of France

  To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.

  Exeter

  Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king

  Come here himself to question our delay;

  For he is footed in this land already.

  King Of France

  You shall be soon dispatch’s with fair conditions:

  A night is but small breath and little pause

  To answer matters of this consequence.

  Flourish. Exeunt

  ACT III

  PROLOGUE

  Enter Chorus

  Chorus

  Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies

  In motion of no less celerity

  Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen

  The well-appointed king at Hampton pier

  Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet

  With silken streamers the young Phoebus
fanning:

  Play with your fancies, and in them behold

  Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;

  Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give

  To sounds confused; behold the threaden sails,

  Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,

  Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea,

  Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think

  You stand upon the ravage and behold

  A city on the inconstant billows dancing;

  For so appears this fleet majestical,

  Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow:

  Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,

  And leave your England, as dead midnight still,

  Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women,

  Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance;

  For who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d

  With one appearing hair, that will not follow

  These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?

  Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;

  Behold the ordnance on their carriages,

  With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.

  Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back;

  Tells Harry that the king doth offer him

  Katharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry,

  Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.

  The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner

  With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,

  Alarum, and chambers go off

  And down goes all before them. Still be kind,

  And eke out our performance with your mind.

  Exit

  SCENE I. FRANCE. BEFORE HARFLEUR.

  Alarum. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloucester, and Soldiers, with scaling-ladders

  King Henry V

  Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

  Or close the wall up with our English dead.

  In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man

  As modest stillness and humility:

  But when the blast of war blows in our ears,

  Then imitate the action of the tiger;

  Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,

  Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage;

  Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

  Let pry through the portage of the head

  Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it

  As fearfully as doth a galled rock

  O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,

  Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.

  Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,

  Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit

  To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.

  Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!

  Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,

  Have in these parts from morn till even fought

  And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:

  Dishonour not your mothers; now attest

  That those whom you call’d fathers did beget you.

  Be copy now to men of grosser blood,

  And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,

  Whose limbs were made in England, show us here

  The mettle of your pasture; let us swear

  That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;

  For there is none of you so mean and base,

  That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.

  I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

  Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:

  Follow your spirit, and upon this charge

  Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’

  Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off

  SCENE II. THE SAME.

  Enter Nym, Bardolph, Pistol, and Boy

  Bardolph

  On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach!

  Nym

  Pray thee, corporal, stay: the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it.

  Pistol

  The plain-song is most just: for humours do abound:

  Knocks go and come; God’s vassals drop and die;

  And sword and shield,

  In bloody field,

  Doth win immortal fame.

  Boy

  Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.

  Pistol

  And I:

  If wishes would prevail with me,

  My purpose should not fail with me,

  But thither would I hie.

  Boy

  As duly, but not as truly,

  As bird doth sing on bough.

  Enter Fluellen

  Fluellen

  Up to the breach, you dogs! avaunt, you cullions!

  Driving them forward

  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!

  Nym

  These be good humours! your honour wins bad humours.

  Exeunt all but 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 would 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 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 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 any thing, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three half pence. 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 handkerchers: 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 villany goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.

  Exit

  Re-enter Fluellen, Gower following

  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, the athversary, you may discuss unto the duke, look you, is digt himself four yard under the countermines: by Cheshu, I think a’ will plough 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: be 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 Captain Jamy

  Gower

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

  Fluellen

  Captain Jamy is a marvellous falourous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and know
ledge in th’ aunchient 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

  God-den 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, la! tish ill done: the work ish give over, the trompet 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, la! 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 voutsafe 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 quit 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 beseeched, and 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, la!

  Jamy

  By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay’ll de gud service, or ay’ll lig i’ the grund for it; ay, or go to death; and ay’ll pay ’t as valourously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry, I wad full fain hear some question ’tween you tway.

  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