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.

Fr. Sol.

Est il impossible d'eschapper la force de ton bras! Pist. Brass, cur?

Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,

Offer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy!

Pist. Say'st thou me so? is that a ton of moys?
Come hither, boy: ask me this slave in French,
What is his name.

Boy. Escoutez: comment estes vous appellé?
Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.

Boy. He says his name is master Fer.

Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him. Discuss the same in French unto him.

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk. Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.

Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur?

Boy. Il me commande à vous dire que vous faites vous prest ; car ce soldat icy est disposé tout à cette heure de couper vostre gorge.

Pist. Ouy, couper le gorge, par ma foy, peasant,

Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;

Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol. O! je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner. Je suis le gentilhomme de bonne maison: gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cents escus.

Pist. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to save his life: he is a gentleman of a good house; and, for his ransom, he will give you two hundred

crowns.

Pist. Tell him, The crowns will take.

my fury shall abate, and I

Fr. Sol. Petit monsieur, que dit-il?

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement, de pardonner aucun prisonnier; neantmoins, pour les escus que vous l'avez

promis, il est content à vous donner la liberté, le franchise

ment.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remerciemens; et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, et tres distingué seigneur d'Angleterre.

Pist. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one (as he thinks) the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy seigneur of England.

Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me! [Exit PISTOL.

Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine. [Exit French Soldier.] I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true, the empty vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph, and Nym, had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger, and they are both hanged; and so would this be, if he durst steal any thing adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our camp: the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it, for there is none to guard it, but boys. [Exit.

SCENE V.

Another Part of the Field of Battle.

Alarums. Enter DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, BOURBON, CONSTABLE,

O diable!

RAMBURES, and Others.

le jour est perdu! tout est perdu !

Con.
Orl. O seigneur !
Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sit mocking in our plumes. -
Do not run away.

Con.

O meschante fortune!

[A short Alarum.

Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable shame! - let's stab ourselves. Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?

Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?

Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us die :-in! - Once more back again;
And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand,
Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door,
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminate.

Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!
Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives.

Orl. We are enough, yet living in the field,

To smother up the English in our throngs,

If any order might be thought upon.

Bour. The devil take order now.

I'll to the throng:

[Exeunt.

Let life be short, else shame will be too long.

SCENE VI.

Another Part of the Field.

Alarums. Enter King HENRY and Forces; EXETER, and Others.

K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen:

But all 's not done; yet keep the French the field.

Exe. The duke of York commends him to your majesty.
K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour

I saw him down, thrice up again, and fighting;

From helmet to the spur all blood he was.

Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie, Larding the plain; and by his bloody side, (Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)

The noble earl of Suffolk also lies.

Suffolk first died; and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the beard, kisses the gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his face;

He cries aloud, "Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven:
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine; then fly a-breast,

As in this glorious and well-foughten field,
We kept together in our chivalry!"

Upon these words, I came and cheer'd him up:
He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand,
And, with a feeble gripe, says, "Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign."

So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck

He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips;
And so, espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd

A testament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd

Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd;
But I had not so much of man in me,

But all my mother came into mine eyes,

And gave me up to tears.

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.
But, hark! what new alarum is this same?
The French have reinforc'd their scatter'd men: -
Then, every soldier kill his prisoners!

Give the word through.

SCENE VII.

[Alarum.

[Exeunt.

Another Part of the Field.

Alarums. Enter ELUELLEN and Gower.

Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage! 't is expressly against the law of arms: 't is as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offered. In your conscience now, is it not?

Gow. 'T is certain, there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rascals, that ran from the battle, have done this slaughter: besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the king's tent; wherefore the king most worthily hath caused every soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O! 't is a gallant king. Flu. Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower.

What call you the town's name, where Alexander the pig was born?

Gow. Alexander the great.

Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? The pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations.

Gow. I think, Alexander the great was born in Macedon: his father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.

Flu. I think, it is in Macedon, where Alexander is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look in the maps of the world, I warrant, you shall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon, and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth it is called Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains, what is the name of the other river; but 't is all one, 't is alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his pest friend, Clytus.

Gow. Our king is not like him in that: he never killed any of his friends.

Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons of it: as Alexander killed his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his cups, so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good judgments, turned away the fat knight with the great pelly-doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name. Gow. Sir John Falstaff.

Flu. That is he. I'll tell you, there is goot men porn at Monmouth.

Gow. Here comes his majesty.