The blind and bloody foldier with foul hand
Defile the locks of your fhrill-fhrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the filver beards,

And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls;
Your naked infants fpitted upon pikes;

Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod's bloody-hunting flaughtermen.
What say you? will you yield, and this avoid?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus deftroy'd?

Enter Governor, upon the walls.

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dauphin, whom of fuccour we entreated,
Returns us-that his powers are not yet ready
To raise so great a fiege. Therefore, dread king,
We yield our town, and lives, to thy soft mercy :
Enter our gates; difpofe of us, and ours;
For we no longer are defenfible.

K. Henry. Open your gates.-Come, uncle Exeter,
Go you and enter Harfleur; there remain,
And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French:
Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,-
The winter coming on, and sickness growing
Upon our foldiers,-we'll retire to Calais.
To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest;
To-morrow for the march are we addreft.

[Flourish, and enter the town,

SCENE IV.

The French camp.

Enter Katharine, and an old gentlewoman.

Kath. Alice, tu as efté en Angleterre, & tu parles bien le language.

Alice. Un peu, madame.

Kath. Je te prie, m'enfeignez; il faut que j'apprenne à parler. Comment appellez vous la main, en Anglois? Alice. La main? elle eft appellée, de hand.

Kath. De hand. Et les doigts?

Alice. Les doigts? may foy, je oublie les doigts; mais je me fouviendray. Les doigts? je penfe, qu'ils font appellé de fingres; ouy, de fingers; oui, de fingers.

Kath. La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je penfe, que je fuis le bon efcolier. J'ay gagnée deux mots d'Anglois viftement. Comment appellez vous les ongles? Alice. Les ongles? les appellons, de nails.

Kath. De nails. Efcoutez: dites moy, fi je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, de nails.

Alice. C'est bien dit, madame; il eft fort bon Anglois.
Kath. Dites moy en Anglois, le bras.

Alice. De arm, madame.

Kath. Et le coude.

Alice. De elbow,

Kath. De elbow. Je m'en faitz la repetition de tous les mots, que vous m'avez appris dès a prefent.

Alice. Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.

Kath. Excufez moy, Alice; efcoutez: De hand, de fingre,

de nails, de arm, de bilbow.

Alice. De elbow, madame.

Kath. O Seigneur Dieu! je m'en oublie; De elbow. Comment appellez vous le col?

Alice. De neck, madame.

Kath. De neck: Et le menton?

Alice. De chin.

Kath. De fin.
Alice. Ouy.

Le col, de neck: le menton, de fin.
Sauf voftre bonneur; en verité, vous pro-

noncez les mots auffi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre.
Alice. Je ne doute point d'apprendre par la grace de Dieu;
en peu de temps.

Alice. N'avez vous pas deja oublié ce que je vous ay enfeignée ?

Kath. Non, je reciteray à vous promptement. De hand, de fingre, de mails.

Alice. De nails, madame.

Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow.

Alice. Sauf, voftre honneur, de elbow.

Kath. Ainfi dis je; de elbow, de neck, et de fin: Comment appellez vous les pieds, & la robe?

Alice. De foot, madame; & de con.

Kath. De foot, & de con? O Seigneur Dieu! ces font mots de fon mauvais, corruptible, groffe, et impudique, & non pour les dames d'honneur d'user: Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant les Seigneurs de France, pour tout le monde. Il faut de foot, & de con, neant-moins. Je reciterai une autre fois ma leçon enfemble: De hand, de fingre, de nails, de arm, de elbow, de neck, de fin, de foot, de con.

Alice. Excellent, madame!

Kath. C'eft affez pour une fois; allons nous a difner.

SCENE V.

Prefence-chamber in the French court.

[Exeunt.

Enter the king of France, the Dauphin, duke of Bourbon, the Conftable of France, and others.

Fr. King. 'Tis certain, he hath pass'd the river Some.
Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord,

Let

Let us not live in France; let us quit all,

с

And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.

Dau. O Dieu vivant! fhall a few fprays of us,

The emptying of our fathers' luxury,—

Our 'fyens, put in wild and favage stocks,

Sprout up fo fuddenly into the clouds,

And over-look their grafters?

Bour. Normans, but baftard Normans, Norman baftards!

Mort de ma vie! if thus they march along

Unfought withal, but I will fell my dukedom,
To buy a 'flobbery and a dirty farm

In that f nook-fhotten ifle of Albion.

Con. Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle?
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull?
On whom, as in defpight, the fun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can fodden water,
A drench for fur-reyn'd jades, their barley broth,
Decoct their cold blood to fuch valiant heat?
And fhall our quick blood, fpirited with wine,
Seem frosty? Oh, for honour of our land,

Let us not hang like roping icicles

Upon the houses' thatch, whiles a more frofty people
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields;
Poor-we may call them, 'in their native lords.
Dau. By faith and honour,

Our madams mock at us; and plainly say,
Our mettle is bred qut; and they will give

The emptying of our fathers' luxury,]—their illegitimate iffuemurfery. d fyens, &c. feions-filvan, uncultivated. f nook-shotten]-fhooting out into

e

fiobbery-lovenly.

nooks, or necks of land, promontories.

& jur-reyn'd jades, Jover-ridden horfes, ftrained, hurt in reins.

h Deco-Raife by fermenting.

i in]-in refpect of.

bred out;]-degénérate, no longer fit to breed by.

Their bodies to the luft of English youth,

To new ftore France with baftard warriors.

Bour. They bid us-to the English dancing-fchools, And teach 'lavoltas high, and fwift corantos;

Saying, our grace is only in our heels,

And that we are moft lofty run-aways.

Fr. King. Where is Montjoy, the herald? speed him

hence ;

Let him greet England with our fharp defiance.
Up, princes; and, with spirit of honour edg'd,
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
Charles De-la-bret, high conftable of France;
You dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
Jaques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpré, Rouffi, and Fauconberg,
Foix, Leftrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;

High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,
"For your great feats, now quit you of great fhames.
Bar Harry England, that fweeps through our land
With "pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur:
Rush on his hoft, as doth the melted fnow
Upon the vallies; whofe low vaffal feat

The Alps doth fpit and void his rheum upon,

Go down upon him, you have power enough,→→→
And in a captive chariot, into Roan

Bring him our prisoner.

Con. This becomes the great.

Sorry am I, his numbers are so few,

His foldiers fick, and famish'd in their march;

lavoltas]-dances wherein was much capering.
For your great feats,]—Suitably to your high ftations.
pennons]-flags; pendants on which were painted arms, &c. of

knights.