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 enough

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 friends,
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 their mouths as household words,-
Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'ster,—
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 brothers;
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, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon saint Crispin's day.

Enter Salisbury.

Sal. My sovereign 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, cousin?

1

West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I

alone,

Without more help, might fight this battle out!

K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thou

sand 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,

KING HENRY V.

Dying like men, though buried in your dung
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall gree
them,

And draw their honours reeking up to heaven;
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your cline,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France,
Mark then a bounding 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 shall 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 levy'd. Herald, save thou thy la-
bour;

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 to 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 the Duke of 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.

SCENE IV.

THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

Alarums; Excursions; Enter French Soldier, Pistol, and Boy.

Pist. Yield, cur.

Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

Pist. Quality, call you me?-Construe me, art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss. Fr. Sol. O seigneur Dieu!

Pist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman:-
Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark;—
O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,
Except, O signieur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez misericorde! ayez pitié de moy!
Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys;

For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat,
In drops of crimson blood.