Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me
Egregious fanfom.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez mifericorde, ayez pitie de moy. Pift. Moy fhall not ferve, I will have forty moys; 7 or I will fetch thy ranfom out at thy throat, in drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Eft-il impossible d' eschapper la forcë dë ton Was?

Pift. Brafs, cur?

Thou damned and luxurious mountain Goat, offer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pift. Say'st thou me fo? is that a ton of moys? Come hither, Boy; ask me this slave in French, What is his name?

Boy. Efcoutez, comment estes vous appellé ?
Fr. Sol. Monfieur le Fer.

Boy. He fays, his name is Mr. Fer.

Pift. Mr. Fer! I'll fer him, and ferk him, and ferret him difcufs the fame in French unto him.

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and ferk.

Pift. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, Monfieur?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire qué vous vous teniez preft; car ce foldat icy eft difpofe tout à cette heure de couper voftre gorge.

Pift. Owy, cuppelle gorge, parmafoy, pefant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns: or mangled fhalt thou be by this my fword.

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, mé pardonner; je fuis gentilhomme de bonne maison, gardez ma vie, & je vous donneray deux cents efcus.

Pift. What are his words?

7 FOR Iwill fetch thy RYM] We should read,
OR I will fetch thy RANSOM out of thy throat.

Boy.

Boy. He prays you to fave his life, he is a gentleman of a good houfe, and for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.

Pift. Tell him, my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take.

Fr. Sol. Petit Monfieur, que dit-il?

Boy. Encore qu'il eft contre fon jurement, de pardonner aucun prifonnier: neantmoins pour les efcus que vous l'avez promettes, il eft content de vous donner la liberté, le franchifement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciemens, & je me eftime beureux qui je fuis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier, je penfe, le plus brave, valiant, &tres eftimé Signeur d'Angleterre.

Pift. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you upon his knees a thousand thanks, and esteems himself happy that he hath fall'n into the hands of one, as he thinks, the moft brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy Signieur of England.

Pift. As I fuck blood, I will fome mercy fhew. Follow me, cur.

Boy. Suivez le grand capitain. [Ex. Pift. and Fr. Sol. I did never know fo full a voice iffue from fo empty a heart; but the saying is true, The empty veffel makes the greatest found. Bardolph and Nim had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i'th' old play; every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger: yet they are both hang'd; and so would this be, if he durft steal any thing advent'roufly. I must stay with the lacqueys, 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.

VOL. IV.

D d

SCENE

Another part of the Field of Battle.

Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, and Rambures.

Con. O

Diable!

Orl. O Signeur! le jour eft perdu, tout eft perdu.

Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our plumes.

[A foort alarm. O mefchante fortune! do not run away. Con. Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable fhame! let's ftab our felves: Be there the wretches, that we play'd at dice for? Orl. Is this the King we fent to for his ransom? Bour. Shame, and eternal fhame, nothing but shame! Let us die, (a) inftant: -Once more back again; The man, that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand Like a base pander hold the chamber-door, Whilft by a flave, no gentler than a dog, His faireft daughter is contaminated.

Con. Diforder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

Orl. We are enow, yet living in the field,

To fmother up the English in our throngs;

If any order might be thought upon.

Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng; Let life be short, elfe fhame will be too long. [Exeunt.

[(a) infant. Mr. Theobald.-Old Folio, ix.]

SCENE

Alarum. Enter the King and his train, with prisoners.

K. Henry. Well have we done, thrice valiant country

men;

But all's not done; the French yet keep the field.
Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your
Majefty.

K. Henry. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this
hour

I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting:
From helmet to the fpur all bleeding o'er.

Exe. In which array, brave foldier, doth he lie,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody fide
(Yoak-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble Earl of Suffolk alfo lies.

Suffolk firft dy'd, and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the beard; kiffes the gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,
And cries aloud, tarry, my coufin Suffolk,
My foul fhall thine keep company to heav'n:
Tarry, fweet foul, for mine, then fly a-breaft:
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry.

Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up;
He fmil'd me in the face, gave me his hand,
And, with a feeble gripe, fays, dear my lord,
Commend my service to my Sovereign;
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kift his lips;
And fo efpous'd to death, with blood he feal'd
A teftament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and fweet manner of it forc'd

Those waters from me, which I would have stop'd; But I had not fo much of man in me,

But all my mother came into mine
And gave me up to tears.

K. Henry. I blame you not;

eyes,

[Alarum.

8 For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will iffue too.
But, hark, what new alarum is this fame?
The French have re-inforc'd their scatter'd men :
Then every foldier kill his prisoners.

Give the word through.

[Exeunt.

Alarms continued; after which, Enter Fluellen and Gower.

Flu. Kill the poyes and the luggage ! 'tis exprefly against the law of arms; 'tis as arrant a piece of Knavery, mark you now, as can be defir'd in your confcience now, is it not?

Gow. 'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rafcals, that ran away from the battle, ha' done this flaughter: befides, they have burn'd or carried away all that was in the King's tent; wherefore the King most worthily has caus'd ev'ry foldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O'tis a gallant King!

Flu. I, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower; what call you the town's name, where Alexander the pig, was born?

Gow. Alexander the great.

8 For, bearing this, Imust perforce compound

With mixtful eyes,] The poet muft have wrote, mifful: i. e. juft ready to over-run with tears. The word he took from his obfervation of Nature: for juft before the bufting out of tears the eyes grow dim as if in a mist.

9 SCENE XIII.] Here, in the other editions, they begin the fourth act, very abfurdly, fince both the place and time evidently continue, and the words of Fluellen immediately follow thofe of the King juft before. Mr. Pope.

Flu.