Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a King:
The flave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in grofs brain little wots,
What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace;
Whofe hours the peafant beft advantages.

Enter Erpingham.

Erp. My lord, your Nobles, jealous of

Seek through your camp to find you.
K. Henry. Good old Knight,

Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.

Erp. I fhall do't, my lord.

[Exit

K. Henry. O God of battels! fteel my foldiers hearts; Poffefs them not with fear; take from them now (32) The fenfe of reck'ning; left th' oppofed numbers Pluck their hearts from them.Not to day, O Lord, O not to day, think not upon the fault My father made in compaffing the crown. I Richard's body have interred new, And on it have beftow'd more contrite tears, Than from it iffu'd forced drops of blood. Five hundred Poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a-day their wither'd hands hold up Tow'rd heaven to pardon blood; and I have built Two chauntries, where the fad and folemn priests Sing ftill for Richard's foul. More will I do; Tho all that I can do, is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after call, (33) Imploring pardon.

(32)

Enter

-take from them now The Senfe of reckning of th' oppofed Numbers: Pluck their hearts from them.] Thus the first folio reads and points this Paffage. The Poet might intend, "Take from them the Senfe of "reckoning those oppofed Numbers; which might pluck their Courage "from them." But the relative not being exprefs'd, the Senfe is very obfcure; and the following Verb seems a Petition, in the Imperative Mood. The flight Correction I have given, makes it clear and eafie.

(33) Since that my Penitence comes after all,

Imploring pardon.] We muft obferve, that Henry IV. had committed an Injustice, of which he and his Son reap'd the Fruits. But Juftice and

Glou. My Liege.

Enter Gloucester.

K. Henry. My brother Glofter's voice? I know thy errand, I will go with thee:

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

1

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to the French Camp.

Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and Beaumont. Orl.THE fun doth gild our armour; up, my lords. Dau. Montez Cheval: my horfe, valet, lac

Orl.TH

quay: ha!

Órl. O brave fpirit!

Dau. Via!- -les eaux & la terre:

Orl. Rien puis! le air & feu.

Dau. Ciel! Coufin Orleans.

Enter Conftable.

Now, my lord Constable!

Con. Hark, how our Steeds for prefent fervice neigh. Dau. Mount them, and make incifion in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And daunt them with fuperfluous courage: ha!

Ram. What, will you have them weep our Horses How fhall we then behold their natural tears?

Enter Meffenger.

[blood?

Meff. The English are embattel'd, you French Peers.

right Reafon tell us, that they, who share the Profits of Iniquity, fhall fhare likewise in the Punishment. Scripture again tells us, that, when Men have finn'd, the Grace of God gives frequent Invitations to Repentance; which, in Scripture language, are ftyled Calls. Thefe, if they have been carelessly dallied with, and neglected, are at length irrevocably withdrawn ; and then Repentance comes too late. This, I hope, will fufficiently vouch for my Emendation, and explain what the Poet would make the King fay. Mr. Warburton.

Con. To horfe! you gallant Princes, ftrait to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair fhew shall fuck away their fouls;
Leaving them but the fhales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their fickly veins.
To give each naked curtle-ax a ftain;
That our French gallants fhall to day draw out,
And sheath for lack of fport. Let's but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis pofitive 'gainst all exception, lords,
That our fuperfluous lacqueys and our peasants,
Who in unneceffary action fwarm

About our fquares of battel, were enow
To purge this field of fuch a hilding foe;
Tho we, upon this mountain's basis by,
Took ftand for idle fpeculation:

But that our honours muft not, What's to say?
A very little, little, let us do;

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

Enter Grandpree.

Grand. Why do you ftay fo long, my lords of France? Yon Island carrions, defp'rate of their bones, Ill-favour'dly become the morning field: Their ragged curtains poorly are let loofe, And our air fhakes them paffing fcornfully. Big Mars feems bankrupt in their beggar'd host, And faintly through a rusty bever peeps. The horsemen fit like fixed candlesticks, With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades Lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hips: The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes; And in their pale dull mouths the jymold bitt Lyes foul with chaw'd grafs, ftill and motionless; And their executors, the knavish Crows, Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour,

Defcription

Description cannot fuit it self in words,
To demonftrate the life of fuch a battle,
In life fo livelefs as it fhews it felf.

Con. They've faid their prayers, and they ftay for death.

Dau. Shall we go fend them dinners and fresh futes, And give their fafting Horfes provender,

And, after, fight with them?

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

And use it for my hafte. Come, come, away!
The fun is high, and we out-wear the day.

SCENE, the English Camp.

[Exeunt.

Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all the Hoft; Salisbury and Weftmorland.

HERE is the King?

Glou. Bed. The King himself is rode to view WH

their battle.

Weft. Of fighting men they have full threefcore

thousand.

Exe. There's five to one; befides, they all are fresh. Sal. God's arm ftrike 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 heav'n, Then joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford,

My dear lord Glofter, and my good lord Exeter, kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!

And my

Bed. Farewel, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee! (34)

(34) Bed. Farewel, good Salisbury, and good Luck go with thee. And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,

For thou art fram'd of the firm Truth of Valour.

Exe. Farewel, kind Lord: fight valiantly to day.]

What! does he do Salisbury Wrong, to wish him good Luck? Can any Thing be more ridiculous than to fay fo? The ingenious Dr. Thirlby prefcrib'd to me the Tranfpofition of the Verfes, which I have made in the Text; and the old 4to's plainly lead to such a Regulation.

Exe. to Sal. Farewel, kind lord; fight valiantly to And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.

Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness; Princely in both.

Enter King Henry.

Weft. O, that we now had here

But one ten thousand of thofe men in England,
That do no work to day!

[day:

[Exit Sal.

K. Henry. What's he, that wishes fo?
My coufin Westmorland? no, my fair coufin,
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country lofs; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater fhare of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, with not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold;
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my coft;
It yerns me not, if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my
But if it be a fin to covet honour,

I am the most offending foul alive.

defires :

No, faith, my lord, with not a man from England:
God's peace, I would not lofe fo great an honour,
As one man inore, methinks, would fhare from me,
For the best hopes I have. Don't with one more:
Rather proclaim it (Westmorland) through my hoft,
That he, which hath no ftomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his pafsport fhall 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 Crifpian:
He that out-lives this day, and comes fafe home,
Will ftand a tip-toe when this day, is nam'd,
And rouze him at the name of Crifpian:
He that fhall live this day, and fee old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And fay, to morrow is Saint Crifpian :

Then