The Same. Before the Gates of Harfleur. |
| |
The Governor and some Citizens on the walls; the English forces below. Enter KING HENRY and his Train. |
| K. Hen. How yet resolves the governor of the town? |
| This is the latest parle we will admit: |
| Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves; |
| Or like to men proud of destruction |
| Defy us to our worst: for, as I am a soldier,— |
| A name that in my thoughts, becomes me best,— |
| If I begin the battery once again, |
| I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur |
| Till in her ashes she lie buried. |
| The gates of mercy shall be all shut up, |
| And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart, |
| In liberty of bloody hand shall range |
| With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass |
| Your fresh-fair virgins and your flowering infants. |
| What is it then to me, if impious war, |
| Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends, |
| Do, with his smirch'd complexion, all fell feats |
| Enlink'd to waste and desolation? |
| What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause, |
| If your pure maidens fall into the hand |
| Of hot and forcing violation? |
| What rein can hold licentious wickedness |
| When down the hill he holds his fierce career? |
| We may as bootless spend our vain command |
| Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil |
| As send precepts to the leviathan |
| To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, |
| Take pity of your town and of your people, |
| Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command; |
| Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace |
| O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds |
| Of heady murder, spoil, and villany. |
| If not, why, in a moment, look to see |
| The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand |
| Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters; |
| Your fathers taken by the silver beards, |
| And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls; |
| Your naked infants spitted 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 slaughtermen. |
| What say you? will you yield, and this avoid? |
| Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? |
| Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end. |
| The Dauphin, whom of succour we entreated, |
| Returns us that his powers are yet not ready |
| To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king, |
| We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy. |
| Enter our gates; dispose of us and ours; |
| For we no longer are defensible. |
| K. Hen. 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 soldiers, we will retire to Calais. |
| To-night in Harfleur will we be your guest; |
| To-morrow for the march are we addrest. [Flourish. KING HENRY and his Train enter the town. |
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