You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
Alanfon, Brabant, Bar and Burgundy,
Jaques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpree, Rouffie, and Faulconbridge,
Loys, Leftrale, Bouciqualt, and Charoloys,

High Dukes, great Princes, Barons, Lords and Knights;
For your great feats now quit you of great shames :
Bar Harry England, that fweeps through our land
With penons painted in the blood of Harfleur:
Rufh 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 pow'r enough,
And in a captive chariot into Roan
Bring him our prisoner.

Con. This becomes the Great.

Sorry am I his numbers are fo few,

His foldiers fick, and famifht in their march:
For I am fure when he fhall fee our army,
He'll drop his heart into the fink of fear,
And for atchievement offer us his ranfom.

Fr. King. Therefore, Lord Conftable, hafte on Mountjoy, And let him fay to England, that we fend

To know what willing ransom he will give.
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Roan.
Dau. Not fo, I do befeech your Majefty.

Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
Now forth, Lord Conftable, and Princes all;
And quickly bring us word of England's fall.

SCENE V. The English Camp.
Enter Gower and Fluellen,

[Exeunt,

Gow. How now, captain Fluellen, come you from the bridge?

Flu. I affure you there is very excellent fervices committed at the pridge?

Gor, Is the Duke of Exeter fafe?

Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon, and a man that I love and honour with my foul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermoft power. He is not, Got be praifed and

pleffed,

pleffed, any hurt in the orld; he is maintain the pridge moft valiantly with excellent difcipline. There is an Ancient lieutenant there, I think in my very confcience he is ás valiant a man as Mark Antony, and he is a man of no estimation in the orld, but I did fee him do gallant fervices.

Gow. What do you call him?

Flu. He is call'd Ancient Pistol.
Gow. I know him not.

Enter Piftol.

Flu. Here is the man.

Pift. Captain, I thee befeech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Flu. I, I praife Got, and I have merited fome love at his hands.

Pift. Bardolph, a foldier firm and found of heart And buxom valour, hath by cruel fate

And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel,

That Goddess blind that ftands upon the rolling reftlers ftone

Flu. By your patience, Ancient Piftol: Fortune is painted with a muffler pefore her eyes, to fignifie to you that fortune is plind; and the is painted alfo with a wheel, to fignifie to you, which is the moral of it, that he is turning and inconftant, and mutabilities and variations; and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical ftone, which rowles and rowles and rowles; in good truth, the Poet makes a moft excellent defcription of it: fortune is an excellent moral.

Pift. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath ftol'n a Pix, and hanged must a' be; dam ned death!

Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free,
And let not hemp his wind-pipe fuffocate;
But Exeter hath given the doom of death
For Pix of little price. Therefore go speak,
The Duke will hear thy voice;

This is conformable to hiftory, a fo'dier (Hall tells us Hen. V. year 3. fol. 14.) being hang'd at this time for fuch a fact.

And

And let not Bardolph's vital thread be cut

With edge of penny-cord, and vile reproach.
Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.
Flu. Ancient Piftol, I do partly understand your meaning.
Pift. Why then rejoice therefore.

Flu. Certainly, Ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice at ; for if, look you, he were my prother, I would defire the Duke to use his goot pleasure and put him to executions ; for difciplines ought to be used.

Pift. Die and be damn'd, and Figo for thy friendship

Flu. It is well.

Pift. The fig of Spain

Flu. Very goot.

[Exit Pistol.

Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit rascal, I remember him now; a bawd, a cut-purse.

Flu. I' affure you, he utter'd as prave ords at the pridge as you fhall fee in a fummer's day; but it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well I warrant you, when time is serve.

Gow. Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue that now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his return into London, under the form of a foldier. Such fellows are perfect in the great commanders names, and they will learn you by rote where services were done; at fuch and such a fconce, at fuch a breach, at fuch a convoy; who came off bravely, who was fhot, who disgrac'd, what terms the enemy stood on; and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-turned oaths: And what a beard of the General's cut, and a horrid fute of the camp, will do among foaming bottles and ale-wafh'd wits, is wonderful to be thought on. But you must learn to know fuch flanders of the age, or else you may be marvellously mistook.

Flu. I tell you what, captain Gower; I do perceive he is not the man that he would gladly make fhew to the orld he is; if I find a hole in his coat I will tell him my mind; hear you, the King is coming and I must speak with him from the pridge.

SCENE

Drum and Colours. Enter the King and bis poor Soldiers. Flu. Got plefs your Majefty!

K. Henry. How now, Fluellen, cam'ft thou from the bridge?

Flu. I, fo please your Majefty: the Duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintain'd the pridge; the French is gone off, look you, and there is gallant and most praye paffages; marry th' athverfary was have poffeffion of the pridge, but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of Exeter is mafter of the pridge: I can tell your Majefty, the Duke is a prave man.

K. Henry. What men have you loft, Fluellen ?

Flu. The perdition of th' athverfary hath been very great, very reafonable great; marry, for my part, I think the Duke hath loft never a man but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your Majefty, know the man: his face is all bu-buckles and whelks and knobs, and flames of fire, and his lips plows at his nofe, and it is like a coal of fire, fometimes plue, and fometimes red; but his nofe is executed and his fire's out, K. Henry. We would have fuch offenders fo cut off, And give exprefs charge that in all our march There fhall be nothing taken from the villages But fhall be paid for, and no French upbraided Or yet abused in difdainful language; When lenity and cruelty play for kingdoms, The gentler gamefter is the fooneft winner. Tucket founds. Enter Mountjoy.

Mount. You know me by my habit.

K. Henry. Well then, I know thee; what fhall I know of thee?

Mount. My mafter's mind.

K. Henry. Unfold it.

Mount. Thus fays my King: fay thou to Harry England,
Although we seemed dead, we did but fleep:
Advantage is a better foldier than rafhness.

Tell him,, we could at Harfleur have rebuk'd him,
But that we thought not good to bruise an injury
'Till it were ripe. Now fpeak we on our cue,

With

With voice impartial: England fhall repent
His folly, fee his weakness, and admire
Bid him therefore to confider

Our fuff'rance.

What muft the ransom be, which muft proportion
The loffes we have born, the fubjects we
Have loft, and the difgrace we have digefted;
To answer which, his pettiness would bow under.
Firft for our lofs, too poor is his Exchequer ;
For the effufion of our blood, his army
Too faint a number; and for our disgrace,
Ev'n his own perfon kneeling at our feet
A weak and worthless fatisfaction.
To this, defiance add; and for conclufion,
Tell him he hath betray'd his followers,
Whofe condemnation is pronounc'd. So far
My King and mafter; and fo much my office.

K. Henry. What is thy name? I know thy quality.
Mount. Mountjoy.

K. Henry. Thou doft thy office fairly. Turn thee back,
And tell thy King, I do not feek him now,
But could be willing to march on to Calais
Without impeachment; for to fay the footh,
(Though 'tis no wisdom to confefs so much
Unto an enemy of craft and vantage)
My people are with fickness much enfeebled,
My numbers leffen'd; and thofe few I have,
Almost no better than fo many French;

Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,
I thought upon one pair of English legs

Did march three Frenchmen. Yet forgive me, God,
That I do brag thus; this your air of France
Hath blown that vice in me I must repent.
Go therefore, tell thy mafter here I am;
My ranfom is this frail and worthless trunk;
My army but a weak and fickly guard :
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on,
Though France himfelf and fuch another neighbour
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Mountjoy.
Go bid thy mafter well advise himself:

If we may pafs, we will; if we be hinder'd,

We