Enter Gloucefter, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all the Hoft; Salisbury and Weftmorland.

HERE is the King?

Glou. W Bed. The King himself is rode to view

their battle.

Weft. Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.

Exe. There's five to one; befides, they all are fresh. Sal. God's arm strike with us, 'tis a fearful odds! God be wi' you, Princes all; I'll to my charge. If we no more meet till we meet in heav'n, Then joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford, My dear lord Glofter, and my good lord Exeter, And my kind kinfman, warriors all, adieu!

Bed. Farewel, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!

Exe. [to Sal.] Farewel, kind lord; fight valiantly to

day:

And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,

For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.

[Exit Sal. Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness; Princely in both.

Enter King Henry.

Weft. O, that we now had here

But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to day!

K. Henry. What's he, that wishes fo?

My coufin Westmorland? no, my fair coufin,
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow

To do our country lofs;

and if to live,

The

The fewer men, the greater fhare of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, with not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold;

Nor care I, who doth feed upon my coft;
It yerns me not, if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my defires:
But if it be a fin to covet honour,

I am the most offending foul alive,

No, faith, my lord, wish not a man from England:
God's peace, I would not lofe fo great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would fhare from me,
For the best hopes I have. Don't wifh one more:
Rather proclaim it (Westmorland) through my hoft,
That he, which hath no ftomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport fhall 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 feaft of Crifpian:
He that out-lives this day, and comes fafe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam❜d,
And rouze him at the name of Crifpian :
"He that out-lives this day, and fees old
"Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
"And fay, to morrow is Saint Crispian :

age,

"Then will he ftrip his fleeve, and fhew his fcars: "Old men forget; yet fhall not all forget, "But they'll remember, with advantages,

"What feats they did that day. Then fhall our names, "Familiar in their mouth as houfhold words, "Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter, "Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glofter, "Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. This ftory fhall the good man teach his fon: And Crifpin Crifpian fhall ne'er go by,

5 He that fhall live this day,] The Quarto of 16c8 reads better, He that out-lives this day.

From

From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it fhall 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 fo vile,
This day fhall gentle his condition.

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themfelves accurs'd, they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any fpeaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crifpian's day.
Enter Salisbury.

Sal. My fov'reign lord, beftow your felf with speed
The French are bravely in their battles fet,
And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. Henry. All things are ready, if our minds be fo. Weft. Perifh the man, whose mind is backward now? K. Henry. Thou doft not wish more help from England, coufin?

Weft. God's will, my Liege, would you and I alone
Without more help could fight this royal battle!
K. Henry. Why, now thou haft unwifh'd five thou-
fand men :

Which likes me better than to wifh us one.
You know your places: God be with you all!

A Tucket founds. Enter Mountjoy.

Mount. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,

If for thy ranfom thou wilt now compound,

Before thy moft affured over-throw :

For, certainly, thou art fo near the gulf,

Thou needs must be englutted. Thus, in mercy,
The Constable defires thee, thou wilt mind

Thy followers of repentance; that their fouls

May

May make a peaceful and a fweet retire

From off these fields; where, wretches, their poor bodies

Muft lie and fefter.

K. Henry. Who hath fent thee now?

Mount. The Conftable of France.

K. Henry. I pray thee, bear my former anfwer back. Bid them atchieve me, and then fell my bones.

Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus ?
The man that once did fell the lion's skin

While the beast liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.
And many of our bodies fhall, 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, tho' buried in your dunghils,
They shall be fam'd; for there the fun fhall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heav'n;
Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime,
The smell whereof fhall breed a plague in France.
Mark then a bounding valour in our English:
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Breaks out into a fecond course of mifchief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.

Let me speak proudly; tell the Conftable,
We are but warriors for the working day:
Our gayness, and our gilt, are all be-fmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field.
There's not a piece of feather in our hoft;
(Good argument, I hope, we will not fly:)
And time hath worn us into flovenry.
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim:
And my poor foldiers tell me, yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French foldiers' heads;
And turn them out of fervice. If they do,
(As, if God please, they fhall) my ransom then

Will foon be levy'd. Herald, fave thy labour.
Come thou no more for ranfom, gentle herald;
They shall have none, I fwear, but these my joints:
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

Mount. I fhall, King Harry: and so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
[Exit.
K. Henry. I fear, thoul't once more come again for
Ranfom.

Enter York.

York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward.

K. Henry. Take it, brave York; now, foldiers, march

away.

And how thou pleaseft, God, difpofe the day!

SCENE

[Exeunt.

X.

The Field of Battle.

Alarm, Excurfions. Enter Piftol, French foldier,

VIELD, cur.

and boy.

Pist. YIEL. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentil

Fr.

bomme de bonne qualité.

Pift. Quality, cality-confture me, art thou a gentleman? what is thy name? difcufs.

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu!

Pift. O, Signieur Dewe should be a gentleman : Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark ; O Signieur Dewe, thou dieft on point of fox,

6 Quality, CALMY, CUSTURE me, art thou a gentleman ? ] We fhould read this nonsense thus,

Quality, CALITY-CONSTURE me, art thou a gentleman ? i. e. tell me, let me understand whether thou be'it a gentleman.

Except,