_Dau._ If the English had any apprehension, they would run away.
_Con._ That island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their
mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.
_Dau._ 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.
_Con._ Just, just: give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel,
they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils.
_Orl._ Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.
_Con._ Then we shall find to-morrow--they have only stomachs to eat, and
none to fight. Now is it time to arm: Come, shall we about it?
_Dau._ It is now two o'clock: but, let me see,--by ten We shall have
each a hundred Englishmen.
SCENE CLOSES IN.
_Cho._ The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger; and their gestures sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts.
[_Scene re-opens, discovering the English camp, with group
of soldiery praying. After a pause the scene closes._
O, now, who will behold
The royal captain of this ruin'd 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-watched 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:
Then, 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;
The field of Agincourt. Yet, sit and see;
Minding true things[7] by what their mockeries be.
[_Exit._
[Footnote IVc.1: _----+stilly+ sounds,_] i.e., gently, lowly.]
[Footnote IVc.2: _The secret whispers of each other's watch:_]
Holinshed says, that the distance between the two armies was but
250 paces.]
[Footnote IVc.3: _Fire answers fire;_] This circumstance is also
taken from Holinshed. "But at their coming into the village,
_fires_ were made by the English to give light on every side, as
there likewise were in the French hoste."]
[Footnote IVc.4: _----the other's +umber'd+ face:_] _Umber'd_
means here _discoloured_ by the gleam of the fires. _Umber_ is a
dark yellow earth, brought from Umbria, in Italy, which, being
mixed with water, produces such a dusky yellow colour as the
gleam of fire by night gives to the countenance. Shakespeare's
theatrical profession probably furnished him with the epithet,
as burnt umber is occasionally used by actors for colouring the
face.]
[Footnote IVc.5: _----over-+lusty+_] i.e., over-_saucy._]
[Footnote IVc.6: _Do the low-rated English play at dice;_] i.e.,
do play them away at dice. Holinshed says-- "The Frenchmen, in the
meanwhile, as though they had been sure of victory, made great
triumph; for the captains had determined before how to divide the
spoil, and _the soldiers the night before had played the
Englishmen at dice_."]
[Footnote IVc.7: _Minding true things_] To _mind_ is the same as
to _call to remembrance_.]
ACT IV.
SCENE I.--THE ENGLISH CAMP AT AGINCOURT.(A) NIGHT.
_Enter KING HENRY and GLOSTER, U.E.L.H._
_K. Hen._ Gloster, 'tis true that we are in great danger;
The greater therefore should our courage be.
_Enter BEDFORD, R.H._
Good morrow, brother Bedford.--Gracious Heaven!
There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
Would men observingly distil it out;
For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
Which is both healthful and good husbandry.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.
_Enter ERPINGHAM.(B) L.H._
Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:
A good soft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlish turf of France.
_Erp._ Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better,
Since I may say--now lie I like a king.
_K. Hen._ Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas.--Brothers both,
Commend me to the princes in our camp;
Do my good morrow to them; and anon
Desire them all to my pavilion.
_Glo._ We shall, my liege.
[_Exeunt GLOSTER and BEDFORD, R.H._
_Erp._ Shall I attend your grace?
_K. Hen._ No, my good knight;
Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
[_ERPINGHAM crosses to R._
I and my bosom must debate a while,
And then I would no other company.
_Erp._ Heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
[_Exit ERPINGHAM, R.H._
_K. Hen._ Gad-a-mercy, old heart! thou speakest cheerfully.
_Enter PISTOL, L.H._
_Pist._ _Qui va lГ ?_
_K. Hen._ A friend.
_Pist._ Discuss unto me; Art thou officer?
Or art thou base, common, and popular?[1]
_K. Hen._ I am a gentleman of a company.
_Pist._ Trail'st thou the puissant pike?
_K. Hen._ Even so. What are you?
_Pist._ As good a gentleman as the emperor.
_K. Hen._ Then you are a better than the king.[2]
_Pist._ The king's a bawcock,[3] and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame;[4]
Of parents good, of fist most valiant:
I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?
_K. Hen._ Harry _le Roi_.
_Pist._ _Le Roi!_ a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?
_K. Hen._ No, I am a Welshman.
_Pist._ Knowest thou Fluellen?
_K. Hen._ Yes.
_Pist._ Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate,
Upon Saint Davy's day.
[_Crosses to R._
_K. Hen._ Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he
knock that about yours.
_Pist._ Art thou his friend?
_K. Hen._ And his kinsman too.
_Pist._ The _figo_ for thee, then!
_K. Hen._ I thank you: Heaven be with you!
_Pist._ My name is Pistol call'd.
[_Exit, R.H._
_K. Hen._ It sorts[5] well with your fierceness.
_Enter FLUELLEN, L.H., and crosses to R., and GOWER, U.E.R.H.,
following hastily._
_Gow._ Captain Fluellen!
_Flu._ (R.C.) So! in the name of Heaven, speak lower.[6] It is the
greatest admiration in the universal 'orld, when the true and auncient
prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the
pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find,
I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, or pibble pabble in
Pompey's camp.
_Gow._ (L.C.) Why, the enemy is loud; you heard him all night.
_Flu._ If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it
meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool,
and a prating coxcomb, in your own conscience, now?
_Gow._ I will speak lower.
_Flu._ I pray you, and beseech you, that you will.
[_Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN, R.H._
_K. Hen._ Though it appear a little out of fashion, there is much care
and valour in this Welshman.
_Enter BATES and WILLIAMS, L.H._
_Will._ Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?
_Bates._ I think it be: but we have no great cause to desire the
approach of day.
_Will._ We see yonder the beginning of the day, but, I think, we shall
never see the end of it.--Who goes there?
_K. Hen._ A friend.
[_Comes down, R._
_Will._ Under what captain serve you?
_K. Hen._ Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.
_Will._ A good old commander, and a most kind gentleman: I pray you,
what thinks he of our estate?
_K. Hen._ Even as men wrecked upon a sand, that look to be washed off
the next tide.
_Bates._ (L.) He hath not told his thought to the king?
_K. Hen._ No; nor it is not meet he should. (_Crosses to centre._) For,
though I speak it to you, I think the king is but a man, as I am: the
violet smells to him as it doth to me; the element shows to him as it
doth to me; all his senses have but human conditions:[7] therefore when
he sees reason of fears, as we do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the
same relish as ours are: Yet, in reason, no man should possess him with
any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it, should dishearten his
army.
_Bates._ He may show what outward courage he will; but I believe, as
cold a night as 'tis, he could wish himself in the Thames up to the
neck; and so I would he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we
were quit here.
_K. Hen._ (C.) By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the king:
I think he would not wish himself any where but where he is.
_Bates._ (L.) Then 'would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be
ransomed, and a many poor men's lives saved.
_K. Hen._ I dare say you love him not so ill, to wish him here alone,
howsoever you speak this, to feel other men's minds: Methinks I could
not die any where so contented as in the king's company; his cause being
just, and his quarrel honourable.[8]
_Will._ (R.) That's more than we know.
_Bates._ Ay, or more than we should seek after; for we know enough, if
we know we are the king's subjects: if his cause be wrong, our obedience
to the king wipes the crime of it out of us.
_Will._ But if the cause be not good, the king himself hath a heavy
rekoning to make, when all those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in
battle, shall join together at the latter day,[9] and cry all--We died
at such place; some swearing; some crying for a surgeon; some, upon
their wives left poor behind them; some, upon the debts they owe; some,
upon their children rawly left.[10] I am afeard there are few die well
that die in battle; for how can they charitably dispose of any thing,
when blood is their argument? Now, if these men do not die well, it will
be a black matter for the king that led them to it; whom to disobey were
against all proportion of subjection.
_K. Hen._ So, if a son, that is by his father sent about merchandise, do
sinfully miscarry upon the sea, the imputation of his wickedness, by
your rule, should be imposed upon his father that sent him:--But this is
not so: the king is not bound to answer the particular endings of his
soldiers, nor the father of his son, for they purpose not their death,
when they purpose their services. Every subject's duty is the king's;
but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in
the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his
conscience: and dying so, death is to him advantage; or not dying, the
time was blessedly lost wherein such preparation was gained.
_Will._ 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own
head; the king is not to answer for it.
_Bates._ I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to
fight lustily for him.
_K. Hen._ I myself heard the king say he would not be ransomed.
_Will._ Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but, when our
throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser.
_K. Hen._ If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after.
_Will._ That's a perilous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and
private displeasure can do against a monarch! you may as well go about
to turn the sun to ice with fanning in his face with a peacock's
feather. You'll never trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying.
_K. Hen._ Your reproof is something too round:[11] I should be angry
with you, if the time were convenient.
_Will._ Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live.
_K. Hen._ I embrace it.
_Will._ How shall I know thee again?
_K. Hen._ Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet:
then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel.
_Will._ Here's my glove: give me another of thine.
_K. Hen._ There.
_Will._ This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou come to me and
say, after to-morrow. _This is my glove_, by this hand, I will take thee
a box on the ear.
_K. Hen._ If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it.
_Will._ Thou darest as well be hanged.
_K. Hen._ Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king's company.
_Will._ Keep thy word: fare thee well.
_Bates._ Be friends, you English fools, be friends: (_Crosses to_
WILLIAMS, R.) we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how to
reckon.
[_Exeunt Soldiers, R.H._
_K. Hen._ Upon the king! let us our lives, our souls,
Our sins, lay on the king!--we must bear all.
O hard condition, twin-born with greatness,
Subjected to the breath of every fool.
What infinite heart's ease must king's neglect,
That private men enjoy!
And what have kings, that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Than they in fearing.
What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose:
I am a king that find thee; and I know,
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world,
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,
Who, with a body fill'd and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
And but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
_Enter ERPINGHAM, R.H._
_Erp._ My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
Seek through your camp to find you.
_K. Hen._ Good old knight,
Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.
[_Gives back the Cloak to ERPINGHAM._
_Erp._ I shall do't, my lord. _[Exit, R.H._
_K. Hen._ O God of battles! steel my soldier's hearts;
Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, lest the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them!--Not to-day, O Lord,
O, not to-day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown!
I Richard's body have interred new;(C)
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears,
Than from it issu'd forced drops of blood:
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood:
More will I do--
[_Trumpet sounds without, R._
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
[_Exit, R.H._
[Footnote IV.1: _----popular_] i.e., one of the people.]
[Footnote IV.2: _----you are a better than the king._] i.e.,
a better _man_ than the king.]
[Footnote IV.3: _The king's a bawcock,_] A burlesque term of
endearment, supposed to be derived from _beau coq_.]
[Footnote IV.4: _----an imp of fame;_] An _imp_ is a young shoot,
but means a _son_ in Shakespeare. In this sense the word has
become obsolete, and is now only understood as a small or inferior
devil.
In Holingshed, p. 951, the last words of Lord Cromwell are
preserved, who says:-- "----and after him, that his son Prince
Edward, that goodly _imp_, may long reign over you."]
[Footnote IV.5: _It sorts_] i.e., it agrees.]
[Footnote IV.6: _----speak lower._] Shakespeare has here, as
usual, followed Holinshead: "Order was taken by commandement from
the king, after the army was first set in battle array, that _no
noise or clamor should be made in the host_."]
[Footnote IV.7: _----conditions:_] i.e., _qualities_. The meaning
is, that objects are represented by his senses to him, as to other
men by theirs. What is danger to another is danger likewise to him;
and, when he feels fear, it is like the fear of meaner mortals.
--JOHNSON.]
[Footnote IV.8: _----his cause being just, and his quarrel
honourable._] In his address to the army, King Henry called upon
them all to remember _the just cause and quarrel_ for which they
fought. --HOLINSHED.]
[Footnote V.9: _----the latter day,_] i.e., the last day, the day
of Judgment. Shakespeare frequently uses the _comparative_ for the
_superlative_.]
[Footnote V.10: _----their children +rawly+ left._] i.e., _left
young and helpless_.]
[Footnote IV.11: _----too +round+:_] i.e., too rough, too
unceremonious.]
SCENE II.--THE FRENCH CAMP--SUNRISE.
_Flourish of trumpets._
_Enter DAUPHIN, GRANDPRГ€, RAMBURES,[12] and Others._
_Dau._ The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!
My horse! _varlet! lacquay!_ ha!
[_Servants exeunt hastily._
_Grand._ O brave spirit!
_Dau._ Cousin Orleans.--
_Enter CONSTABLE, L.H._
Now, my lord Constable!
_Con._ Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!
_Dau._ Mount them, and make incision in their hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And dout them[13] with superfluous courage, Ha!
_Con._ What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?
_Enter MONTJOY, R.H._
_Mont._ The English are embattled, you French peers.
[_Exit R.H._
_Con._ To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band.
There is not work enough for all our hands;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins,
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys, are enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe.[14]
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
_Enter ORLEANS,(D) hastily, R.H._
_Orl._ Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions,[15] desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,[16]
And our air shakes them passing scornfully:
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
_Dau._ Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?
_Con._ On, to the field!
Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day.
[_Exeunt, R.H._
_Flourish of trumpets._
[Footnote IV.12: _Rambures_,] The Lord of Rambures was commander
of the cross-bows in the French army at Agincourt.]
[Footnote IV.13: _And dout them_] _Dout_, is a word still used in
Warwickshire, and signifies to _do out_, or _extinguish_.]
[Footnote IV.14: _----a hilding foe._] _Hilding_, or _hinderling_,
is a _low wretch_.]
[Footnote IV.15: _Yon island carrion,_] This description of the
English is founded on the melancholy account given by our
historians of Henry's army, immediately before the battle of
Agincourt.]
[Footnote IV.16: _Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,_] By
their _ragged curtains_, are meant their colours.]
SCENE III.--THE ENGLISH POSITION AT AGINCOURT.
_The English Army drawn up for battle;(E) GLOSTER, BEDFORD,
EXETER, SALISBURY, ERPINGHAM, and WESTMORELAND._
_Glo._ (R.C.) Where is the king?
_Bed._ (L.C.) The king himself is rode to view their battle.[17]
_West._ (L.) Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.
_Exe._ (L.C.) There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
_Erp._ It is fearful odds.
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
Then, joyfully,--my noble lord of Bedford,--
[_Crosses to L._
My dear lord Gloster,--and my good lord Exeter,--
Warriors all, adieu!
[_Crosses back to R._
_West._ O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to-day!(F)
_Enter KING HENRY, attended.(G) U.E.L.H._
_K. Hen._ (C.) What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland?--No, my fair cousin:
If we are mark'd to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
I pray thee, wish not one man more.
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he who 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 call'd--the feast of Crispian:(H)
He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,[18]
And say--to-morrow is Saint Crispian:
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say, those wounds I had on Crispin's day.
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages[19]
What feats he did that day: Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words,--
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,--(I)
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending[20] of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:[21]
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.
_Enter GOWER, hastily, U.E.L.H._
_Gow._ (R.C.) My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:
The French are bravely in their battles set,[22]
And will with all expedience charge on us.
_K. Hen._ (C.) All things are ready, if our minds be so.
_West._ Perish the man whose mind is backward now!
_K. Hen._ Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin?
_West._ (L.) Would you and I alone, my liege,
Without more help, might fight this battle out!
_Trumpet sounds without, L.H._
_Enter MONTJOY, and attendants, U.E.L.H._
_Mont._ (_uncovers and kneels._)
Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured overthrow.
_K. Hen._ (C.) Who hath sent thee now?
_Mont._ The Constable of France.
_K. Hen._ I pray thee, bear my former answer back:
Bid them achieve me,[23] and then sell my bones.
Good Heaven! Why should they mock poor fellows thus?
The man, that once did sell the lion's skin
While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.
Let me speak proudly:--Tell the Constable,
We are but warriors for the working-day:[24]
Our gayness and our guilt[25] are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field,
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; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads,
And turn them out of service.
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 to them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.
_Mont._ I shall, King Harry.
(_Rises from his knee._)
And so, fare thee well:
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
[_Exit with Attendants, U.E.L.H._
_K. Hen._ Now, soldiers, march away:--
And how thou pleasest, Heaven, dispose the day!(K)
_Trumpet March._
[_Exeunt L.H._
[Footnote IV.17: _The king himself is rode to view their battle._]
The king is reported to have dismounted before the battle
commenced, and to have fought on foot.]
[Footnote IV.18: _----on the vigil feast his friends_,] i.e., the
evening before the festival.]
[Footnote IV.19: _----with advantages_,] Old men, notwithstanding
the natural forgetfulness of age, shall remember _their feats of
this day_, and remember to tell them _with advantage_. Age is
commonly boastful, and inclined to magnify past acts and past
times. --JOHNSON.]
[Footnote IV.20: _From this day to the ending_] It may be observed
that we are apt to promise to ourselves a more lasting memory than
the changing state of human things admits. This prediction is not
verified; the feast of Crispin passes by without any mention of
Agincourt. Late events obliterate the former: the civil wars have
left in this nation scarcely any tradition of more ancient
history. --JOHNSON.]
[Footnote IV.21: _----gentle his condition:_] This day shall
advance him to the rank of a gentleman.
King Henry V. inhibited any person but such as had a right by
inheritance, or grant, to assume coats of arms, except those who
fought with him at the battle of Agincourt; and, I think, these
last were allowed the chief seats of honour at all feasts and
publick meetings. --TOLLET.]
[Footnote IV.22: _----bravely in their battles set._] Bravely, for
gallantly.]
[Footnote IV.23: _Bid them achieve me,_] i.e., gain, or obtain
me.]
[Footnote IV.24: _----warriors for the +working-day+:_] We are
soldiers but coarsely dressed; we have not on our holiday
apparel.]
[Footnote IV.25: _----our +guilt+_] i.e., golden show, superficial
gilding. The word is obsolete.]
SCENE IV.--ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD OF BATTLE.
_Alarums. Enter DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, BOURBON, CONSTABLE, RAMBURES,
and Others, hastily, and in confusion, L.H._
_Dau._ (C.) All is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.
[_Alarums, L._
_Con._ Why, all our ranks are broke.
_Dau._ O perdurable shame![26]--let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
_Orl._ (L.C.) Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?
_Dau._ Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us die in honor: Once more back again.
_Con._ (C.) Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
Let us in heaps go offer up our lives
Unto these English, or else die with fame.
_Dau._ (R.C.) We are enough, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.
_Con._ The devil take order now! I'll to the throng:
Let life be short; else shame will be too long.
_Alarums._
[_Exeunt L.H._
[Footnote IV.26: _O +perdurable+ shame!_] _Perdurable_ is
lasting.]
SCENE V.--THE FIELD OF AGINCOURT AFTER THE BATTLE.
[_The bodies of the DUKE OF YORK(L) and EARL OF SUFFOLK are borne
across the stage by soldiers._
_Trumpets sound._
_Enter KING HENRY with a part of the English forces; WARWICK,
BEDFORD, GLOSTER, EXETER, and others, L.H._
_K. Hen._ (C.) I was not angry since I came to France,
Until this instant.--Take a trumpet, herald;
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:(M)
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field;[27] they do offend our sight:
If they'll do neither, we will come to them;
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings.
Go, and tell them so.
[_Exit HERALD with Trumpeter, R.H._
_Exe._ The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.
_K. Hen._ 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.
_Exe._ In which array, (brave soldier), did he lie,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
(Yoke fellow to his honour-owing wounds),
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lay.
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the hand; kisses the gashes,
That bloodily did yarn 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 keep together in our chivalry!_
Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up:
He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand,[28]
And with a feeble gripe, 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 kiss'd his lips;
And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd;
But I had not so much of man in me,
But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.
[_Re-enter ENGLISH HERALD and Trumpeter, R.H._
_K. Hen._ I blame you not:
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.
[_Trumpet without, R._
_Exe._ Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
_Glo._ His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
_Enter MONTJOY,(N) and attendants, R.H. MONTJOY uncovers
and kneels._
_K. Hen._ How now! what means this, herald?
Com'st thou again for ransom?
_Mont._ No, great king:
I come to thee for charitable licence,
That we may wander o'er this bloody field
To book our dead, and then to bury them;
To sort our nobles from our common men,
For many of our princes (woe the while!)
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
(So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes;) and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies!
_K. Hen._ I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o'er the field.
_Mont._ The day is yours.
_K. Hen._ Praised be Heaven, and not our strength, for it!--
What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?
_Mont._ They call it--Agincourt.
_K. Hen._ Then call we this--the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
[_Loud flourish of Trumpets, and shouts of the soldiers.
MONTJOY rises from his knee, and stands R._
_Flu._ (L.) Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your majesty,
and your great uncle Edward the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in
the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France.
_K. Hen._ (C.) They did, Fluellen.
_Flu._ Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is remembered of
it, the Welshman did goot service in a garden where leeks did grow,
wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps;[29] which, your majesty knows, to
this hour is an honourable padge of the service; and I do believe, your
majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy's day.
_K. Hen._ I wear it for a memorable honour;
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
_Flu._ All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty's Welsh plood out
of your pody, I can tell you that: Heaven pless it, and preserve it, as
long as it pleases his grace, and his majesty too!
_K. Hen._ Thanks, good my countryman.
_Flu._ I am your majesty's countryman, I care not who know it: I will
confess it to all the 'orld: I need not to be ashamed of your majesty,
praised be Heaven, so long as your majesty is an honest man.
_K. Hen._ Heaven keep me so!--Our herald go with him:
Bring me just notice of the numbers dead
On both our parts.--
[_Exeunt MONTJOY and attendants, with English Herald, R.H._
Call yonder fellow hither.
[_Points to WILLIAMS, who is standing in the ranks up the stage, L._
_Exe._ Soldier, you must come to the king.
_K. Hen._ (C.) Soldier, why wear'st thou that glove in thy cap?
_Will._ (_kneels R._) An't please your majesty, 'tis the gage of one
that I should fight withal, if he be alive.
[_Rises from his knee._
_K. Hen._ An Englishman?
_Will._ An't please your majesty, a rascal that swaggered with me last
night; who, if 'a live, and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have
sworn to take him a box o' the ear: or, if I can see my glove in his cap
(which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear, if alive,) I will
strike it out soundly.
_K. Hen._ What think you, Captain Fluellen? is it fit this soldier keep
his oath?
_Flu._ (L.) He is a craven and a villain else, an't please your majesty,
in my conscience.
_K. Hen._ It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort,[30] quite
from the answer of his degree.[31]
_Flu._ Though he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil is, as Lucifer and
Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow
and his oath.
_K. Hen._ Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet'st the fellow.
_Will._ So I will, my liege, as I live.
_K. Hen._ Who servest thou under?
_Will._ Under Captain Gower, my liege.
_Flu._ Gower is a goot captain, and is good knowledge and literature in
the wars.
_K. Hen._ Call him hither to me, soldier.
_Will._ I will, my liege.
[_Exit, R.H._
_K. Hen._ Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me, and stick it in
thy cap: When Alençon and myself were down together,(O) I plucked this
glove from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a friend to
Alençon and an enemy to our person; if thou encounter any such,
apprehend him, an thou dost love me.
_Flu._ Your grace does me as great honours as can be desired in the
hearts of his subjects: I would fain see the man, that has but two legs,
that shall find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all.
_K. Hen._ Knowest thou Gower?
_Flu._ He is my dear friend, an please you.
_K. Hen._ Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.
_Flu._ (L.) I will fetch him.
[_Crosses to R., and exit R.H._
_K. Hen._ (L.C.) My lord of Warwick,--and my brother Gloster,
[_Both advance to the KING._
Follow Fluellen closely at the heels:
The glove which I have given him for a favour
May haply purchase him a box o' the ear;
It is the soldier's; I, by bargain, should
Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick:
[_WARWICK crosses to R._
If that the 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, touch'd with choler, hot as gunpowder,
And quickly will return an injury:
Follow,
(_GLOSTER crosses to R._)
and see there be no harm between them.--
[_WARWICK and GLOSTER exeunt R.H._
Go you with me, Uncle of Exeter.
[_Exeunt Omnes, L.H._
_Trumpets sound._
[Footnote IV.27: _Or void the field;_] i.e., avoid, withdraw from
the field.]
[Footnote IV.28: _----+raught+ me his hand,_] _Raught_ is the old
preterite of the verb _to reach_.]
[Footnote IV.29: _----Monmouth caps;_] Monmouth caps were formerly
much worn, and Fuller, in his "Worthies of Wales," says the best
caps were formerly made at Monmouth.]
[Footnote IV.30: _----great sort,_] High rank.]
[Footnote IV.31: _----quite from the answer of his degree._] A man
of such station as is not bound to hazard his person to _answer_
to a challenge from one of the soldier's _low degree_.]
SCENE VI.--BEFORE KING HENRY'S PAVILION.
_Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS, R.H._
_Will._ I warrant it is to knight you, captain.
_Enter FLUELLEN, R.H._
_Flu._ Heaven's will and 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._ (C.) Know the glove! I know, the glove is a glove.
_Will._ (R.C.) 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._ (L.C.) How now, sir! you villain!
_Will._ Do you think I'll be forsworn?
_Flu._ Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his payment in
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.
_Enter WARWICK and GLOSTER,(P) R.H._
_Glos._ (_crosses to C._) How now, how now! what's the matter?
_Flu._ My lord of Gloster, here is (praised be Heaven for it!) a most
contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a
summer's day. Here is his majesty.
_Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, and others, U.E.L.H._
_K. Hen._ (_coming down centre._) How now! what's the matter?
_Flu._ (L.H.) 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._ (R.C.) 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.
[_WILLIAMS falls on his knee._
_Flu._ An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is
any martial law in the 'orld.
_K. Hen._ How can'st 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.-- (_WILLIAMS rises._) Keep it, fellow;
And wear it for an honour in thy cap
Till I do challenge it.--Give him the crowns:--
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.
[_The KING goes up the stage with EXETER, BEDFORD, and GLOSTER._
_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
Heaven, 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 goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.
[_Exit WILLIAMS, R.H._
[_Enter ENGLISH HERALD, R.H._
_K. Hen._ (_coming down C._) Now, herald, are the dead number'd?
[_HERALD uncovers, kneels, and delivers papers.
The KING gives one paper to EXETER._
_K. Hen._ (C.) What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
_Exe._ (L.C.) 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._ (C.) 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 dubb'd knights:[32]
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries:[33]
The rest are--princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!----(Q)
What is the number of our English dead?
_Exe._ (L.C.) 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.
_K. Hen._ O Heaven, 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, Heaven,
For it is only thine!
[_Returns papers to HERALD, who rises and stands L._
_Exe._ '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 Heaven
Which is his only.
_Flu._ (R.C.) Is it not lawful, and please your majesty, to tell how
many is killed?
_K. Hen._ (_up the stage C._)
Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment,
That Heaven fought for us.
_Flu._ Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot.
_K. Hen._ Do we all holy rites:(R)
[_The curtains of the Royal Pavilion are drawn aside,
and discover an Altar and Priests._
Let there be sung _Non nobis_ and _Te Deum_;
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay:
We'll then to Calais; and to England then;
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.
[_Organ music; all kneel, and join in Song of Thanksgiving._
END OF ACT FOUR.
[Footnote IV.32: _Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd
knights:_] In ancient times, the distribution of this honor
appears to have been customary on the eve of a battle.]
[Footnote IV.33: _Sixteen hundred mercenaries;_] i.e., common
soldiers, hired soldiers.]
HISTORICAL NOTES TO ACT FOURTH.
(A) _The English Camp at Agincourt._] The French were about a quarter of
a mile from them at Agincourt and Ruisseauville, and both armies
proceeded to light their fires, and to make the usual arrangements for a
bivouack. The night was very rainy, and much inconvenience is said to
have been experienced in each camp from wet and cold, accompanied, among
the English, by hunger and fatigue. It was passed in a manner strictly
consistent with their relative situations. The French, confident in
their numbers, occupied the hours not appropriated to sleep in
calculating upon their success; and in full security of a complete
victory, played at dice with each other for the disposal of their
prisoners, an archer being valued at a blank, and the more important
persons in proportion; whilst the English were engaged in preparing
their weapons, and in the most solemn acts of religion. * * * The
Chronicler in the text states, that from the great stillness which
prevailed throughout the English camp, the enemy imagined they were
panic-struck, and intended to decamp. Monstrelet relates that the
English "were much fatigued and oppressed by cold, hunger, and other
annoyances; that they made their peace with God, by confessing their
sins with tears, and numbers of them taking the sacrament; for, as it
was related by some prisoners, they looked for certain death on the
morrow."
(B) _Enter Erpingham._] Sir Thomas Erpingham came over with Bolingbroke
from Bretagne, and was one of the commissioners to receive King
Richard's abdication. In Henry the Fifth's time Sir Thomas was warden of
Dover Castle, and at the battle of Agincourt, was commander of the
Archers. This venerable knight is described by Monstrelet to have grown
grey with age and honour; and when orders were given for the English
army to march toward the enemy, by Henry crying aloud, "Advance
banners," Sir Thomas threw his truncheon in the air as a signal to the
whole field, exclaiming, "Now strike;" and loud and repeated shouts
testified the readiness with which they obeyed the command.
(C) _I Richard's body have interred new;_] Henry was anxious not only to
repair his own misconduct, but also to make amends for those iniquities
into which policy or the necessity of affairs had betrayed his father.
He expressed the deepest sorrow for the fate of the unhappy Richard, did
justice to the memory of that unfortunate prince, even performed his
funeral obsequies with pomp and solemnity, and cherished all those who
had distinguished themselves by their loyalty and attachment towards
him. --_Hume's History of England._
(D) _Enter Orleans._] Charles Duke of Orleans was wounded and taken
prisoner at Agincourt. Henry refused all ransom for him, and he remained
in captivity twenty-three years.
This prince was a celebrated poet, and some of his most beautiful verses
were composed during his confinement in the Tower of London. He married
Isabella of Valois, daughter of Charles VI. and Isabeau of Bavaria,
eldest sister to the Princess Katharine, Queen of Henry V.
Isabella was the widow of our Richard the Second when she married the
Duke of Orleans.
After the victory of Agincourt, the following anecdote is related by
Remy:-- "During their journey to Calais, at a place where they rested,
Henry caused bread and wine to be brought to him, which he sent to the
Duke of Orleans; but the French Prince would neither eat nor drink. This
being reported to the King, he imagined that it arose from
dissatisfaction, and, therefore, went to the duke. 'Noble cousin,' said
Henry, 'how are you?' 'Well, my lord,' answered the duke. 'Why, then, is
it,' added the King, 'that you will neither eat nor drink?' To which
Orleans replied, 'that truly he had no inclination for food.' 'Noble
cousin,' rejoined Henry, 'be of good heart. I know that God gave me the
victory over the French, not that I deserved it, but I fully believe
that he wished to punish them; and if what I have heard is true, it is
not to be wondered at, for never were there greater disorder,
sensuality, sins, and vices seen than now prevail in France; which it is
horrible to hear described; and if God is provoked, it is not a subject
of surprise, and no one can be astonished.' Many more conversations are
said to have passed between the King and the Duke of Orleans, and the
commisseration and courtesy of the former to his prisoners is mentioned
by every writer in terms of just praise."
(E) _The English army, drawn up for battle;_] The victory gained at
Agincourt, in the year 1415, is, in a great measure, ascribed to the
English Archers, and that there might be no want of arrows, Henry V.
ordered the sheriffs of several counties to procure feathers from the
wings of geese, plucking six from each goose. An archer of this time was
clad in a cuirass, or a hauberk of chain-mail, with a salade on his
head, which was a kind of bacinet. Every man had a good bow, a sheaf of
arrows, and a sword. Fabian describes the archer's dress at the battle
of Agincourt. "The yeomen had their limbs at liberty, for their hose was
fastened with one point, and their jackets were easy to shoot in, so
that they might draw bows of great strength, and shoot arrows a yard
long." Some are described as without hats or caps, others with caps of
boiled leather, or wicker work, crossed over with iron; some without
shoes, and all in a very dilapidated condition. Each bore on his
shoulder a long stake, sharpened at both extremities, which he was
instructed to fix obliquely before him in the ground, and thus oppose a
rampart of pikes to the charge of the French Cavalry.
(F) _O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work to day!_]
A certain lord Walter Hungerford, knight, was regretting in the king's
presence that he had not, in addition to the small retinue which he had
there, ten thousand of the best English Archers, who would be desirous
of being with him; when the King said, Thou speaketh foolishly, for, by
the God of Heaven, on whose grace I have relied, and in whom I have a
firm hope of victory, I would not, even if I could, increase my number
by one; for those whom I have are the people of God, whom He thinks me
worthy to have at this time. Dost thou not believe the Almighty, with
these his humble few, is able to conquer the haughty opposition of the
French, who pride themselves on their numbers, and their own strength,
as if it might be said they would do as they liked? And in my opinion,
God, of his true justice, would not bring any disaster upon one of so
great confidence, as neither fell out to Judas Maccabeus until he became
distrustful, and thence deservedly fell into ruin. --_Nicolas's History
of Agincourt._
(G) _Enter King Henry, attended._] Henry rose with the earliest dawn,
and immediately heard three masses. He was habited in his "_cote
d'armes_," containing the arms of France and England quarterly, and wore
on his bacinet a very rich crown of gold and jewels, circled like an
imperial crown, that is, arched over. The earliest instance of an arched
crown worn by an English monarch. --_Vide PlanchГ©'s History of British
Costume._
King Henry had at Agincourt for his person five banners; that is, the
banner of the Trinity, the banner of St. George, the banner of St.
Edward, the banner of St. Edmund, and the banner of his own arms. "When
the King of England had drawn up his order of battle he made a fine
address to his troops, exhorting them to act well; saying, that he was
come into France to recover his lawful inheritance, and that he had good
and just cause to claim it; that in that quarrel they might freely and
surely fight; that they should remember that they were born in the
kingdom where their fathers and mothers, wives and children, now dwelt,
and therefore they ought to strive to return there with great glory and
fame; that the kings of England, his predecessors, had gained many noble
battles and successes over the French; that on that day every one should
endeavour to preserve his own person and the honor of the crown of the
King of England. He moreover reminded them that the French boasted they
would cut off three fingers from the right hand of every archer they
should take, so that their shot should never again kill man nor horse.
The army cried out loudly, saying, 'Sir, we pray God give you a good
life, and the victory over your enemies.'" --_Nicolas's History of
Agincourt._
