Dau. O perdurable fhame! let's ftab our felves: Be these the wretches, that we play'd at dice for? Orl. Is this the King we fent to for his ransom?

Bour. Shame, and eternal fhame, nothing but fhame!

Let us dye, inftant:-Once more back again; (37)
The man, that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand
Like a base pander hold the chamber-door,
Whilft by a flave, no gentler than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.

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

Orl. We are enow, yet living in the field, To fmother up the English in our throngs; If any order might be thought upon.

Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng; Let life be fhort, elfe fhame will be too long.

[Exeunt.

Alarum. Enter the King and his train, with prisoners. K. Henry. Well have we done, thrice valiant country

men;

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

Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your Majefty.

K. Henry. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this I faw him down; thrice up again, and fighting: [hour From helmet to the fpur all bleeding o'er.

Exe. In which array, brave foldier, doth he lye,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody fide
(Yoak-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble Earl of Suffolk alfo lyes.
Suffolk first dy'd, and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him where in gore he lay infteep'd,

(37) Let us dye, instant: Once more back again ;] This Verfe, which is quite left out in Mr. Pope's Editions, ftands imperfect in the first Folio. By the Addition of a Syllable, I think, I have retriev'd the Poet's Senfe. It is thus in the Old Copy;

Let us dye in once more back again.

And

And takes him by the beard; kiffes the gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,

And cries aloud, " tarry, my coufin Suffolk,

66

My foul shall thine keep company to heav'n :
"Tarry, fweet foul, for mine, then fly a-breaft:
"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 fmil'd me in the face, gave me his hand,
And with a feeble gripe, fays, " dear my lord,
" Commend my fervice to my Soveraign;
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kist his lips;
And fo efpous'd to death, with blood he feal'd
A teftament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and fweet manner of it forc'd

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

But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.

K. Henry. I blame you not;

For, hearing this, I muft perforce compound (38)
With mistful eyes, or they will iffue too.

But, hark, what new alarum is this fame?
The French have re-inforc'd their scatter'd men :
Then every foldier kill his prifoners.
Give the word through.

[Alarum.

[Exeunt.

Alarms continued; after which, Enter Fluellen and Gower. Flu. Kill the poyes and the luggage! 'tis exprefly against the law of arms; (39) 'tis as arraunt a piece of Knavery, mark you now, as can be defir'd in your confcience now, is it not?

VOL. IV.

F

Gow.

(38) For, bearing this, I must perforce compound With mixtfull Eyes,] What Monster of a Word is this mixtfull? The Poet certainly wrote, miftfull: i. e. just ready to over-run with Tears. The Word he took from his Obfervation of Nature: for juft before Tears burst out, it appears as if there was a Mist before our Eyes.

Mr. Warburton. (39) Kill the Poyes and the luggage! 'tis expressly against the Law of Arms] In the Old Folio's, the 4th Act is made to begin here. But as

the

Gow. 'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rafcals, that ran away from the battle, ha' done this flaughter: befides, they have burn'd or carried away all that was in the King's tent; wherefore the King most. worthily hath caus'd ev'ry foldier to cut his prifoner's throat. O'tis a gallant King!

Flu. I, 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, fave the phrafe is a little

variations.

the Matter of the Chorus, which is to come betwixt the 4th and 5th Acts, will by no means fort with the Scenary that here follows; I have chofe to fall in with the other Regulation. Mr. Pope gives a Reafon, why this Scene fhould be connective to the preceding Scene; but his Reafon, according to Cuftom, is a mistaken one. The Words of Fluellen, (he fays,) immediately follow thofe of the King just before, The King's laft Words, at his going off, were;

Then ev'ry Soldier kill his Prifoners:

Give the Word through..

Now Mr. Pope muft very accurately fuppofe, that Fluellen overhears this: and that by replying, Kill the Poyes and the Luggage! 'tis expressly against the Law of Arms ;--he is condemning the King's Order, as against martial Difcipline. But this is a moft abfurd Suppofition. Fluellen neither overhears, nor replys to, what the King had faid: nor has kill the Poyes and the Luggage any reference to the Soldiers killing their Prifoners. Nay, on the contrary (as there is no Interval of an Act here,) there must be fome little Paufe betwixt the King's going off, and Fluellen's Entring (and therefore I have faid, Alarms continued ;) for we find by Gower's firit Speech, that the Soldiers had already cut their Prisoners Throats, which requir'd fome Time to do. The Matter is this. The Baggage, during the Battle, (as K. Henry had no Men to fpare,) was guarded only by Boys and Lacqueys; which fome French Run-aways getting Notice of, they came down upon the English Camp-boys, whom they kill'd, and plunder'd and burn'd the Baggage: in Refentment of which Villany it was, that the King, contrary to his wonted Lenity, order'd all Prifoners Throats to be cut. And to this Villany of the French Runaways Fluellen is alluding, when he says, Kill the Poyes and the Luggage. The Fact is fet out, (as Mr. Pope might have obferved) both by Hall and Hollingshead.

Gow.

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 orld: I warrant, that you fall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the fituafions, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon, there is alfo moreover a river at Monmouth: it is call'd Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains, what is the name of the other river; but it is all one, 'tis as like as my fingers 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 best friend Clytus.

Gow. Our King is not like him in that, he never kill'd 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 finish'd. I speak but in figures, and comparisons of it; as Alexander kill'd his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his cups; fo alfo Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good judgments, turn'd away the fat Knight with the great belly-doublet; he was full of jefts and gypes, and knaveries, and mocks: I have forgot his name. Gow. Sir John Falstaff.

Flu. That is he: I tell you, there is good men porn at Monmouth.

Gow. Here comes his Majesty.

Alarum. Enter King Henry, with Bourbon and other prifoners; Lords and Attendants. Flourish.

K. Henry. I was not angry fince I came to France,
Until this inftant. Take a trumpet, herald,
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:

If they will fight with us, bid them come down,

Or void the field; they do offend our fight.
If they'll do neither, we will come to them;
And make them sker away, as fwift as Stones
Enforced from the old Affyrian flings:

Befides, we'll cut the throats of those we have;
And not a man of them, that we shall take,
Shall taste our mercy. Go, and tell them fo.

Enter Mountjoy.

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my Liege.
Glou. His eyes are humbler than they us❜d to be.

K. Henry. How now, what means their herald? know'ft
thou not,

That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ranfom?

Mount. No, great King:

I come to thee for charitable licence

That we may wander o'er this bloody field,
To book our dead, and then to bury them:
To fort our nobles from our common men ;
For many of our Princes (woe, the while!)
Lye drown'd, and foak'd in mercenary blood:
So do our vulgar drench their peafant limbs
In blood of Princes, while their wounded steeds
Fret fet-lock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King,
To view the field in fafety, and dispose

Of their dead bodies.

K. Henry. I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not, if the day be ours or no;

For yet a many of your horsemen
And gallop o'er the field.

Mount. The day is yours.

peer,

K. Henry. Praised be God, and not our ftrength, for it! What is this caftle call'd, that ftands hard by?

Mount. They call it Agincourt.

K. Henry. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, Fought on the day of Crispin Crifpianus.

Flu.