5

Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do: Though all that I can do, is nothing worth; Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon.

Glo. My liege!

K. Hen.

Enter GLOSTER.

My brother Gloster's voice?-Ay;

I know thy errand, I will go with thee:

The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The French Camp.

Enter Dauphin, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and Others. Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords. Dau. Montez a cheval:-My horse! valet! lacquay! ha!

Orl. O brave spirit!

Dau. Via!-les eaux et la terre

Orl. Rien puis? l'air et le feu-
Dau. Ciel! cousin Orleans.

Enter Constable.

Now, my lord Constable!

5 Two chantries,] One of these monasteries was for Carthusian monks, and was called Bethlehem; the other was for religious men and women of the order of Saint Bridget, and was named Sion. They were on opposite sides of the Thames, and adjoined the royal manor of Sheen, now called Richmond.

Via!-les eaux et la terre-] Via is an old hortatory excla mation, as allons !

Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service

neigh.

Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides:

That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And doubt them" with superfluous courage: Ha!
Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses'
blood?

How shall we then behold their natural tears?

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. The English are embattled, you French

peers.

Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!

Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins,
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain,

That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on

them,

The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
"Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,—
Who, in unnecessary action, swarm

About our squares of battle,—were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe;
Though we, upon this mountain's basis by
Took stand for idle speculation:

But that our honours must not. What's to say?

7 And doubt them-] Doubt, is a word still used in Warwickshire, and signifies to do out, or extinguish.

8

— a hilding foe ;] Hilding, or hinderling, is a low wretch.

A very little little let us do,

And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket-sonuance, and the note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.

Enter GRANdpré.

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of
France?

Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,'
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
With torch-staves in their hand: and their poor
jades

Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips;
The gum down- roping from their pale-dead eyes;
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit3
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows,

9 The tucket-sonuance, &c.] The tucket-sonuance was, perhaps, the name of an introductory flourish on the trumpet, as toccata in Italian is the prelude of a sonata on the harpsichord, and toccar la tromba is to blow the trumpet.

1 Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,] By their ragged curtains, are meant their colours. The idea seems to have been taken from what every man must have observed, i. e. ragged curtains put in motion by the air, when the windows of mean houses are left open.

2 Their horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,

With torch-staves in their hand:] Grandpré alludes to the form of ancient candlesticks, which frequently represented human figures holding the sockets for the lights in their extended hands. gimmal bit] Gimmal is, in the western counties, a ring; a gimmal bit is therefore a bit of which the parts played one within another.

Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words,
To démonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay
for death.

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh
suits,

And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?

Con. I stay but for my guard; On, to the field: I will the banner from a trumpet take,

And use it for my haste. Come, come away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

The English Camp.

Enter the English Host; GLOSTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, SALISBURY, and WESTMORELAND.

Glo. Where is the king?

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their

battle.

West. Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.

Eve. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.

Sal. God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds. God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge: If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven, Then, joyfully,—my noble lord of Bedford,

4 I stay but for my guard:] It seems, by what follows, that guard in this place means rather something of ornament or of distinction, than a body of attendants. JOHNSON.

My dear lord Gloster, and my good lord Exeter,And my kind kinsman,-warriors all, adieu!

Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck

with thee!

go

Eve, Farewell, kind lord, fight valiantly to-day; And yet I do thee wrong, to mind thee of it, For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. [Exit SALISBURY. Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness; Princely in both.

West.

O that we now had here

Enter King HENRY.

But one ten thousand of those men in England,
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:

5 It yearns me not,] To yearn is to grieve or vex,