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And then to Calais and to England then,

Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men. [Exeunt,
Enter Chorus.

Cho. Vouchfafe to those that have not read the ftory,
That I may prompt them; and to fuch as have,
I humbly pray them to admit th' excufe

Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life

Be here prefented. Now we bear the King
Tow'rd Calais: grant him there; and there being feen,
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts
Athwart the fea: behold the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,
Whofe fhouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd fea,
Which like a mighty whiffler 'fore the King
Seems to prepare his way; fo let him land,
And folemnly fee him fet on to London.
So fwift a pace hath thought, that even now
You may imagine him upon Black-beath:
Where that his Lords defire him to have born
His bruifed helmet and his bended fword
Before him through the city; he forbids it;
Being free from vainness and felf-glorious pride:
Giving full trophy, fignal, and oftent,

Quite from himself to God. But now behold,
In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens.
The Mayor and all his brethren in best sort,
Like to the fenators of antique Rome,
With the Plebeians fwarming at their heels,
Go forth and fetch their conqu'ring Cæfar in.
As by a low, but loving likelihood,

*Were now the General of our gracious Emprefs
(As in good time he may) from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached on his fword;

How many would the peaceful city quit,

To welcome him! much more (and much more cause)
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him.
Pafs o'er the lamentation of the French

* The Earl of Effex, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. ·

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In thought, the King of England's stay at home,
The Emperor's coming in behalf of France
To order peace between them; and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanc'd,
'Till Harry's back return again to France:
There must we bring him; and my self have play'd
The int'rim, by remembring you 'tis past.
Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, ftrait back again to France,

ACT V. SCENE I.
The English Camp in France.

Enter Fluellen and Gower.

[Exit,

Gow to-day? St. David's day is paft.

[AY, that's right; but why wear you your leek

Flu. There is occafions and caufes why and wherefore in all things; I will tell you as a friend, captain Gower; the rafcally, fcauld, peggarly, lowfie, pragging knave Piftol, which you and your felf and all the orld know to be no petter than a fellow (look you now) of no merits; he is come to me and prings me pread and falt yesterday, look you, and pid me eat my leek; it was in a place where I could preed no contentions with him; but I will be fo bold as to wear it in my cap 'till I fee him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my defires.

Enter Piftol.

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turky-cock. Flu. 'Tis no matter for his fwelling, nor his turky-cocks. Got pleffe you, Aunchient Piftol: you scurvy lowfie knave, Got pleffe you!

Pift. Ha! art thou bedlam ? doft thou thirst, base Trojan, To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?

Hence, I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Flu. I pefeech you heartily, fcurvy lowfie knave, at my defires and my requefts and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek, because, look you, you do not love it, and your affections and your appetites and your digeftions does not agree with it; I would defire you to eat it,

Pift. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.
Flu. There is one goat for you,

[Strikes him.

Will

1

Will you be fo goot, fcauld knave, as eat it?
Pift. Bafe Trojan, thou shalt die.

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Flu. You fay very true, fcauld knave, when Got's will is: I will defire you to live in the mean time and eat your victuals; come, there is fawce for it [Strikes bim.] You call'd me yesterday mountain-Squire, but I will make you to-day a Squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

Gow. Enough, captain, you have aftonish'd him.

Flu. I fay I will make him eat fome part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days and four nights. Pite, I pray you, it is goot for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.

Pift. Muft I bite?

Flu. Yes out of doubt and out of queftions too, and ambiguities.

Pift By this leek, I will moft horribly revenge; I eat and fwear

Flu. Eat, I pray you; will you have fome more fawce to your leek? there is not enough leek to fwear by.

Pift. Quiet thy cudgel, thou doft fee I eat.

Flu. Much goot do you, fcauld knave, heartily. Nay, pray you throw none away, the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb: when you take occafions to fee leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at 'em, that's all.

Pift. Good.

Flu. Ay, leeks is goot; hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.

Pift. Me a groat?

Flu. Yes verily and in truth you fhall take it, or I have another leek in my pocket which you shall eat.

Pift. I take thy groat in earneft of revenge.

Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels,. you fhall be a woodmonger, and puy nothing of me but cudgels; Got pe wi' you and keep you, and heal your [Exit.

Pate !

Pift. All hell fhall ftir for this.

Gow. Go, go, you are a counterfeit cowardly knave: will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an ho nourable refpect, and worn as a memorable trophy of pre

de

deceafed valour, and dare not avouch in your deeds any of
your words? I have feen you gleeking and galling at this
gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could
not fpeak English in the native garb, he could not there-
fore handle an English cudgel; you find it otherwise, and
henceforth let a Welsh correction teach you a good English
condition fare you well!
[Exit.
Pift. Doth fortune play the hufwife with me now?
News have I that my Dol is dead of malady of France,
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off:

Old I do wax, and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn,
And fomething lean to cut-purfe of quick hand:
To England will I fteal, and there I'll steal;
And patches will I get unto thefe fcars,
And fwear I got them in the Gallia-wars.

[Exit.

SCENE II. The French Court. Enter at one door King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Warwick, and other Lords; at another, the French King, Queen Ifabel, Princess Catharine, the Duke of Burgundy, and other French.

K. Henry. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met: Unto our brother France, and to our fifter,

Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes
To our moft fair and princely coufin Catharine;
And as a branch and member of this royalty,
By whom this great affembly is contriv'd,
We do falute you, Duke of Burgundy.

And Princes French and Peers, health to you all!
Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face ;
Moft worthy brother England, fairly met!

So are you, Princes English, every one.

Qa. So happy be the iffue, brother England,
Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting,
As we are now glad to behold your eyes:

Your eyes,
which hitherto have born in them
Against the French that met them in their bent,
The fatal balls of murthering bafilifks:
The venom of fuch looks we fairly hope
Have loft their quality, and that this day

Shall

Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.
K. Henry. To cry Amen to that, thus we appear.
Q. Ifa. You English Princes all, I do falute you.
Burg. My duty to you both on equal love,

Great Kings of France and England! That I've labour'd
With all my wits, my pains, and ftrong endeavours,
To bring your most imperial Majefties

Unto this bar and royal interview,

Your Mightineffes on both parts can witness.
Since then my office hath fo far prevail'd,
That face to face and royal eye to eye,
You have congreeted: let it not disgrace me,
If I demand before this royal view
What rub or what impediment there is,
Why that the naked, poor and mangled peace,
Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births,
Should not in this beft garden of the world
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
Alas! the hath from France too long been chas'd,
And all her husbandry doth lye on heaps,
Corrupting in its own fertility.

Her vine, the merry chearer of the heart,
Unpruned lyes; her hedges even-pleach'd,
Like prifoners wildly over-grown with hair,
Put forth diforder'd twigs: her fallow leas
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory
Do root upon; while that the culter rufts,
That should deracinate fuch favagery:

The even mead, that erft brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowflip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
- Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems
But hateful docks, rough thistles, keckfies, burs,
Lofing both beauty and utility;

And all our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges,
Defective in their nurtures, 'grow to wildness.
Even fo our houses, and our felves and children
Have loft, or do not learn for want of time,
The fciences that should become our country;
But grow like favages (as foldiers will,

That

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