The English Camp. |
|
Enter the English host; GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, SALISBURY, and WESTMORELAND |
Glo. Where is the king? |
Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle. |
West. Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand. |
Exe. There's five to one; besides, 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 heaven, |
Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, |
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, |
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu! |
Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee! |
Exe. Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly today: |
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, |
For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. [Exit SALISBURY. |
Bed. He is as full of valour as of kindness; |
Princely in both. |
|
Enter KING HENRY. |
West. O! that we now had here |
But one ten thousand of those men in England |
That do no work to-day. |
K. Hen. What's he that wishes so? |
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin: |
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow |
To do our country loss; and if to live, |
The fewer men, the greater share of honour. |
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. |
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, |
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; |
It yearns me not if men my garments wear; |
Such outward things dwell not in my desires: |
But if it be a sin to covet honour, |
I am the most offending soul alive. |
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: |
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour |
As one man more, methinks, would share from me, |
For the best hope I have. O! do not wish one more: |
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, |
That he which 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: |
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 neighbours, |
And say, 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:' |
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, |
And say, 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' |
Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, |
But he'll remember with advantages |
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, |
Familiar in his mouth as household words, |
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, |
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, |
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 of the world, |
But we in it shall be remembered; |
We few, we happy few, we band of brother; |
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: |
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed |
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, |
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks |
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. |
|
Re-enter SALISBURY. |
Sal. My sov'reign lord, bestow yourself with speed: |
The French are bravely in their battles set, |
And will with all expedience charge on us. |
K. Hen. 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, coz? |
West. God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, |
Without more help, could fight this royal battle! |
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men; |
Which likes me better than to wish us one. |
You know your places: God be with you all! |
|
Tucket. Enter MONTJOY. |
Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry, |
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, |
Before thy most assured overthrow: |
For certainly thou art so near the gulf |
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, |
The constable desires thee thou wilt mind |
Thy followers of repentance; that their souls |
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire |
From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies |
Must lie and fester. |
K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now? |
Mont. The Constable of France. |
K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back: |
Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones. |
Good God! 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. |
A many of our bodies shall 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, though buried in your dung-hills, |
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them, |
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven, |
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, |
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. |
Mark then abounding valour in our English, |
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, |
Break out into a second course of mischief, |
Killing in relapse of mortality. |
Let me speak proudly: tell the constable, |
We are but warriors for the working-day; |
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd |
With rainy marching in the painful field; |
There's not a piece of feather in our host— |
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly— |
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. If they do this,— |
As, if God please, they shall,—my ransom then |
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; |
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 them, |
Shall yield them little, tell the constable. |
Mont. I shall, King Harry. And so, fare thee well: |
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. |
K. Hen. I fear thou'lt once more come again for ransom. |
|
Enter YORK. |
York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg |
The leading of the vaward. |
K. Hen. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away: |
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [Exeunt. |
Design © 1995-2007 ZeFLIP.com All rights reserved.