Henry V

Will. Your Maiestie came not like your selfe: you appear'd to me but as a common man; witnesse the Night, your Garments, your Lowlinesse: and what your Highnesse suffer'd vnder that shape, I beseech you take it for your owne fault, and not mine: for had you beene as I tooke you for, I made no offence; therefore I beseech your Highnesse pardon me King. Here Vnckle Exeter, fill this Gloue with Crownes, And giue it to this fellow. Keepe it fellow, And weare it for an Honor in thy Cappe, Till I doe challenge it. Giue him the Crownes: And Captaine, you must needs be friends with him Flu. By this Day and this Light, the fellow ha's mettell enough in his belly: Hold, there is twelue-pence for you, and I pray you to serue God, and keepe you out of prawles and prabbles, and quarrels and dissentions, and I warrant you it is the better for you Will. I will none of your Money Flu. It is with a good will: I can tell you it will serue you to mend your shooes: come, wherefore should you be so pashfull, your shooes is not so good: 'tis a good silling I warrant you, or I will change it. Enter Herauld. King. Now Herauld, are the dead numbred? Herald. Heere is the number of the slaught'red French King. What Prisoners of good sort are taken, Vnckle? Exe. Charles Duke of Orleance, Nephew to the King, Iohn Duke of Burbon, and Lord Bouchiquald: Of other Lords and Barons, Knights and Squires, Full fifteene hundred, besides common men King. This Note doth tell me of ten thousand French That in the field lye slaine: of Princes in this number, And Nobles bearing Banners, there lye dead One hundred twentie six: added to these, Of Knights, Esquires, and gallant Gentlemen, Eight thousand and foure hundred: of the which, Fiue hundred were but yesterday dubb'd Knights. So that in these ten thousand they haue lost, There are but sixteene hundred Mercenaries: The rest are Princes, Barons, Lords, Knights, Squires, And Gentlemen of bloud and qualitie. The Names of those their Nobles that lye dead: Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France, Iaques of Chatilion, Admirall of France, The Master of the Crosse-bowes, Lord Rambures, Great Master of France, the braue Sir Guichard Dolphin, Iohn Duke of Alanson, Anthonie Duke of Brabant, The Brother to the Duke of Burgundie, And Edward Duke of Barr: of lustie Earles, Grandpree and Roussie, Fauconbridge and Foyes, Beaumont and Marle, Vandemont and Lestrale. Here was a Royall fellowship of death. Where is the number of our English dead? Edward the Duke of Yorke, the Earle of Suffolke, Sir Richard Ketly, Dauy Gam Esquire; None else of name: and of all other men, But fiue and twentie. O God, thy Arme was heere: And not to vs, but to thy Arme alone, Ascribe we all: when, without stratagem, But in plaine shock, and euen play of Battaile, Was euer knowne so great and little losse? On one part and on th' other, take it God, For it is none but thine Exet. 'Tis wonderfull King. Come, goe we in procession to the Village: And be it death proclaymed through our Hoast, To boast of this, or take that prayse from God, Which is his onely Flu. Is it not lawfull and please your Maiestie, to tell how many is kill'd? King. Yes Captaine: but with this acknowledgement, That God fought for vs Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did vs great good King. Doe we all holy Rights: Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum, The dead with charitie enclos'd in Clay: And then to Callice, and to England then, Where ne're from France arriu'd more happy men. Exeunt. Actus Quintus. Enter Chorus. Vouchsafe to those that haue not read the Story, That I may prompt them: and of such as haue, I humbly pray them to admit th' excuse Of time, of numbers, and due course of things, Which cannot in their huge and proper life, Be here presented. Now we beare the King Toward Callice: Graunt him there; there seene, Heaue him away vpon your winged thoughts, Athwart the Sea: Behold the English beach Pales in the flood; with Men, Wiues, and Boyes, Whose shouts & claps out-voyce the deep-mouth'd Sea, Which like a mightie Whiffler 'fore the King, Seemes to prepare his way: So let him land, And solemnly see him set on to London. So swift a pace hath Thought, that euen now You may imagine him vpon Black-Heath: Where, that his Lords desire him, to haue borne His bruised Helmet, and his bended Sword Before him, through the Citie: he forbids it, Being free from vainnesse, and selfe-glorious pride; Giuing full Trophee, Signall, and Ostent, Quite from himselfe, to God. But now behold, In the quick Forge and working-house of Thought, How London doth powre out her Citizens, The Maior and all his Brethren in best sort, Like to the Senatours of th' antique Rome, With the Plebeians swarming at their heeles, Goe forth and fetch their Conqu'ring Cćsar in: As by a lower, but by louing likelyhood, Were now the Generall of our gracious Empresse, As in good time he may, from Ireland comming, Bringing Rebellion broached on his Sword; How many would the peacefull Citie quit, To welcome him? much more, and much more cause, Did they this Harry. Now in London place him. As yet the lamentation of the French Inuites the King of Englands stay at home: The Emperour's comming in behalfe of France, To order peace betweene them: and omit All the occurrences, what euer chanc't, Till Harryes backe returne againe to France: There must we bring him; and my selfe haue play'd The interim, by remembring you 'tis past. Then brooke abridgement, and your eyes aduance, After your thoughts, straight backe againe to France. Enter. Enter Fluellen and Gower. Gower. Nay, that's right: but why weare you your Leeke to day? S[aint]. Dauies day is past Flu. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you asse my friend, Captaine Gower; the rascally, scauld, beggerly, lowsie, pragging Knaue Pistoll, which you and your selfe, and all the World, know to be no petter then a fellow, looke you now, of no merits: hee is come to me, and prings me pread and sault yesterday, looke you, and bid me eate my Leeke: it was in a place where I could not breed no contention with him; but I will be so bold as to weare it in my Cap till I see him once againe, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires. Enter Pistoll. Gower. Why heere hee comes, swelling like a Turkycock Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his Turkycocks. God plesse you aunchient Pistoll: you scuruie lowsie Knaue, God plesse you Pist. Ha, art thou bedlam? doest thou thirst, base Troian, to haue me fold vp Parcas fatall Web? Hence; I am qualmish at the smell of Leeke Flu. I peseech you heartily, scuruie lowsie Knaue, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eate, looke you, this Leeke; because, looke you, you doe not loue it, nor your affections, and your appetites and your disgestions doo's not agree with it, I would desire you to eate it Pist. Not for Cadwallader and all his Goats Flu. There is one Goat for you. Strikes him. Will you be so good, scauld Knaue, as eate it? Pist. Base Troian, thou shalt dye Flu. You say very true, scauld Knaue, when Gods will is: I will desire you to liue in the meane time, and eate your Victuals: come, there is sawce for it. You call'd me yesterday Mountaine-Squier, but I will make you to day a squire of low degree. I pray you fall too, if you can mocke a Leeke, you can eate a Leeke Gour. Enough Captaine, you haue astonisht him Flu. I say, I will make him eate some part of my leeke, or I will peate his pate foure dayes: bite I pray you, it is good for your greene wound, and your ploodie Coxecombe Pist. Must I bite Flu. Yes certainly, and out of doubt and out of question too, and ambiguities Pist. By this Leeke, I will most horribly reuenge I eate and eate I sweare Flu. Eate I pray you, will you haue some more sauce to your Leeke: there is not enough Leeke to sweare by Pist. Quiet thy Cudgell, thou dost see I eate Flu. Much good do you scald knaue, heartily. Nay, pray you throw none away, the skinne is good for your broken Coxcombe; when you take occasions to see Leekes heereafter, I pray you mocke at 'em, that is all Pist. Good Flu. I, Leekes is good: hold you, there is a groat to heale your pate Pist. Me a groat? Flu. Yes verily, and in truth you shall take it, or I haue another Leeke in my pocket, which you shall eate