directions in the true difciplines of the wars, look you, of the Reman difciplines, than is a Puppy-dog.

Enter Macmorris, and Capt. Jamy.

Gower, Here he comes, and the Scots Captain, Captain Jamy with him.

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous valorous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and knowledge in the antient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions; by Chefbu, he will maiŋtain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the difciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.

Jamy. I fay, gudday, Captain Fluellen.

Flu. Godden to your worship, good captain James. Gower. How now, captain Macmorris, have you quitted the mines? have the pioneers given o'er?

Mac, By Chrifh law, tifh ill done; the work ish give over, the trumpet found the retreat. By my hand, I fwear, and by my father's foul, the work ifh ill done; it ifh give over; I would have blowed up the town, fo Chrifh fave me law, in an hour. O tifh ill done, tifh ill done; by my hand, tifh ill done.

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you vouchiafe me, look you, a few difputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the difciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to fatisfy my opinion; and partly for the fatisfaction, look you, of my mind; as touching the direction of the military difcipline, that is the point.

Jamy. It fall be very gud, gud feith, gud captains bath; and I fall quit you" with gud leve, as I may pick occafion; that fall I, marry.

61fbell quit you] That is, 1 fha'l, with your permiffion, as I fhall find opportunity. quite you, that is, answer you,

or interpofe with my arguments,

Mac.

Mac. It is no time to difcourfe, fo Chrifh fave me : the day is hot, and the weather and the wars, and the King and the Duke; it is not time to discourse, the town is befeech'd, and the trumpet calls us to the breach, and we talk, and by Chrish do nothing, 'tis fhame for us all; fo God fa'me, 'tis fhame to stand ftill; it is fhame, by my hand; and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done, and there is nothing done, fo Chrifh fa' me law.

Jamy. By the mefs, ere theife eyes of mine take themselves to flomber, aile do gud fervice, or aile ligge i'th' ground for it; ay, or go to death; and aile pay it as valorously as I may, that fal I furely do, the breff and the long; marry, I wad full fain heard fome queftion 'tween you tway.

you,

under

Flu. Captain Macmorris, I think, look your correction, there is not many of your nationMac. Of my nation? what ifh my nation? ifh a villain, and a baftard, and a knave, and a rafcal? what ith my nation? who talks of my nation?

Flu. Look you, if you take the matter otherwise than is meant, captain Macmorris, peradventure, I fhall think you do not ufe me with that affability as in difcretion you ought to ufe me, look you; being as good a man as yourfelf, both in the difciplines of wars, and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities.

Mac. I do not know you fo good a man as myself; fo Chrish fave me, I will cut off your head.

Gower. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.
Jamy. Au! that's a foul fault. [4 Parley founded.
[A
Gower. The town founds a parley.

Flu. Captain Macmorris, when there is more better
opportunity to be requir'd, look you, I'll be fo bold
as to tell you, I know the difciplines of war; and
there's an end.*
[Exeunt.

* It were to be wished that logue had not been purchased the poor merriment of this dia- with fo much profaneness.

SCENE

SCENE IV.

Before the Gates of Harfleur.

Enter King Henry and bis Train.

K. Henry. HOW yet refolves the Governor of

the town?

This is the latest parle we will admit ;
Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves,
Or, like to men proud of deftruction,
Defy us to our worst. As I'm a foldier,
A name, that, in my thoughts, becomes me beft,
If I begin the batt'ry once again,

I will not leave the half-atchieved Harfleur
'Till in her afhes fhe lie buried.

The gates of mercy fhall be all fhut up;
And the flesh'd foldier, rough and hard of heart,
In liberty of bloody hand fhall range

With confcience wide as hell, mowing like grafs
Your fresh fair virgins, and your flow'ring infants.
What is it then to me, if impious war,

Array'd in flames like to the Prince of fiends,
Do with his fmircht complexion all fell feats
Enlinkt to waste and defolation?

What is't to me, when you yourselves are caufe,
If your pure maidens fall into the hand

Of hot and forcing violation?

What rein can hold licentious wickedness,

When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
We may, as bootlefs, fpend our vain command
Upon th' enraged foldiers in their spoil,

As fend our precepts to th' Leviathan

To come a fhoar. Therefore, you men of Harfleur, Take pity of your town and of your people,

7

- fell feats,

All the favage practices naturally Enlinkt to wafe and defolation ?] concomitant to the fack of cities.

1

While yet my foldiers are in my command;
*While yet the cool and temp'rate wind of grace
O'er-blows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of heady murder, fpoil and villainy.

If not; why, in a moment, look to fee
The blind and bloody foldier with foul hand
Defile the locks of your fhrill-fhrieking daughters;
Your fathers taken by the filver beards,

And their most reverend heads dasht to the walls
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,

While the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
Do break the clouds; as did the wives of Jewry,
At Herod's bloody-hunting flaughter-men.
What fay you? will you yield, and this avoid?
Or, guilty in defence, be thus deftroy'd?

Enter Governor upon the Walls.

;

Gov. Our expectation hath this day an end; The Dauphin, whom of fuccours we entreated, Returns us, that his pow'rs are not yet ready To raise so great a fiege. Therefore, great King, We yield our town and lives to thy foft mercy, Enter our gates, difpofe of us and ours,

For we no longer are defenfible.

K. Henry. Open your gates. Come, uncle Exeter, Go you and enter Harfleur, there remain, And fortify it strongly 'gainst the French. Use mercy to them all. For us, dear Uncle, The winter coming on, and fickness growing Upon our foldiers, we'll retire to Calais. To-night in Harfleur we will be your guest, To-morrow for the march we are addreft.

While yet the cool and temp'rate wind of grace O'er-blows the filthy and contagious clouds, &c.] This is a

[Flourish, and enter the town.

very harsh metaphor. To overblow is to drive away, or to keep off.

SCENE

* SCENE V.

The French Camp.

Enter Catharine, and an old Gentlewoman.

LICE, tu as efté en Angleterre, & tu

A parles bien le language.

Alice. Un peu, Madame.

Cath. Je te prie de m'enseigner; il faut, que j' apprenne à parler. Comment appellez vous la main en Anglois?

Alice. La main? ell' eft appellée, de band.
Cath. De band. Et le doyt?