Pift. Captain, I thee befeech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Flu. I, I praife God, and I have merited fome love at his hands.

Pift. Bardolph, a Soldier firm and found of Heart, and of buxom Volour, hath by cruel Fate, and giddy Fortune's fu rious fickle Wheel, that Goddess blind, that ftands upon the rolling restless Stone

Flu. By your Patience, ancient Piftol: Fortune is painted blind, with a Muffler before her Eyes, to fignifie to you, that Fortune is blind; and fhe is painted alfo with a Wheel, to fignifie to you, which is the Moral of it, that she is turn ing and inconftant, and mutability, and variation; and her Foot, look you, is fixed upon a Spherical Stone, which rowles, and rowles, and rowles; in good truth, the Poet makes a moft excellent defcription of it: Fortune is an excellent Moral.

Pift. Fortune is Bardolph's Foe, and frowns on him; for he hath ftolna Pax, and Hanged must a be; Damned Death; let Gallows gape for Dog, let man go free, and let not Hemp his Wind-pipe fuffocate; but Exeter hath giyen the Doom of Death for Pax of little Price. Therefore go fpeak, the Duke will hear thy voice; and let not Bardolph's vital Thread be cut with edge of Penny-Cord, and vile reproach. Speak Captain for his Life, and I will thee requite. Fin. Ancient Piftol, I do partly understand your meaning.

Pif. Why then rejoyce therefore.

Flu. Certainly Ancient, it is not a thing to rejoice at; for if, look you, he were my Brother, I would defire the Duke to use his good Pleasure, and put him to Execution; for Difcipline ought to be used.

Pift. Die, and be damn'd, and Figo for they Friendship! Flu. It is well.

Pift. The Fig of Spain.

Flu. Very good.

[Exit Pift,

Gom.

Gow. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit Rafcal, I rea member him now; a Bawd, a Cut-purse,

Flu. I'll affure you, a utt'red as prave words at the Pridge as you fhall fee in a Summers Day; but it is very well; what he has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is ferve.

Gow. Why 'tis a Gull, a Fool, a Rogue, that now and then goes to the Wars, to grace himself at his return into London, under the form of a Soldier; and fuch Fellows are perfect in the Great Commanders Names, and they will learn you by rote where Services were done; at such and fuch a Sconce, at fuch a Breach, at fuch a Convoy; who came off bravely, who was hot, who difgrac'd, what terms the Enemy ftood on ; and this they con perfectly in the Phrase of War, which they trick up with new-tuned Oaths; and what a Beard of the Generals Cut, and a horrid Sute of the Camp, will do among foaming Bottles, and Ale-wafh'd wits, is wonderful to be thought on; but you must learn to know fuch flanders of the Age, or elfe you may be marvellously miftook..

Flu. I tell you what, Captain Gower; I do perceive he is not the Man that he would gladly make fhew to the World he is, if I find a hole in his Coat, I will tell him my mind; hear you, the King is coming, and I must speak with him from the Pridge.

Drum and Colours. Enter the King and his poor Soldiers.
Flu. God plefs your Majesty.

K. Henry. How now Fluellen, cam'ft thou from the Bridge? Flu. I, fo pleafe your Majefty: The Duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintain'd the Pridge; the French is gone off, look you, and there is gallant and moft prave Paffages; marry, th' athverfary was have poffeffion of the Pridge, but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of Exeter is Mafter of the Pridge: I can tell your Majefty, the Duke is a prave Man.

K. Henry. What Men have you loft, Fluellen?

Flu. The perdition of th' athverfary hath been very great, reasonable great; marry for my part, I think the Duke hath loft never a Man, but one that is like to be executed for Robbing a Church, one Bardolph, if your Majesty know

the

the Man: His Face is all Bubukles, and Whelks, and Knobs, and flames a Fire, and his Lips blows at his Nofe, and it is like a Coal of Fire, fometimes plue, and fometimes red, but his Nofe is executed, and his Fire's out.

K. Henry, We would have all fuch Offenders fo cut off, and we give exprefs charge, that in our Marches through the Country, there be nothing compell'd from the Villages; nothing taken but paid for; none of the French upBraided or abufed in difdainful Language; for when Leni ty and Cruelty play for a Kingdom, the gentler Gamefter is the fooneft Winner.

Tucket founds. Enter Mountjoy.

Mount. You know me by my Habit.

K. Henry. Well then, I know thee; what fhall I know of thee?

Mount. My Mafter's Mind.

K. Henry. Unfold it.

Mount. Thus fays my King: Say thou to Harry of Eng. land, though we feemed dead, we did but fleep: Advantage is a better Soldier than Rafhness. Tell him, we could have rebuk'd him at Harfleur, but that we thought not good to bruife an Injury, 'till it were full ripe. Now we Ipeak upon our Cue, and our Voice is imperial: England fhall repent his Folly, fee his Weakness, and admire our Sufferance. Bid him therefore confider of his Ranfom, which must proportion the Loffes we have born, the Subjects we have loft, the Difgrace we have digefted; which in weight to re-answer, his Pettiness would bow under. For our Loffes, his Exchequer is too poor; for th' effufion of our Blood, the Mufter of his Kingdom too faint a Number; and for our Difgrace, his own Perfon kneeling at our Feet, but a weak and worthlefs Satisfaction. To this add Defiance, and tell him for conclulion, he hath betray'd his Followers, whofe Condemnation is pronounc'd.. So far my King and Mafter; fo much my Office.

K. Henry. What is thy Name? I know thy Quality.
Mount. Mountjoy.

Turn thee back,

K. Henry. Thou do'ft thy Office fairly. And tell thy King. I do not feek him now, But could be willing to march on to Calais,

Without

Without Impeachment; for to say the footh,
Though 'tis no Wisdom to confefs fo much,
Unto an Enemy of Craft and Vantage,
My People are with Sickness much enfeebled,
My Numbers leffen'd; and those few I have,
Almoft no better than fo many French

Who when they were in health, I tell thee, Herald,
I thought, upon one pair of English Legs

Did march three Frenchmen. Yet forgive me, God,
That I do brag thus; this your Air of France
Hath blown that Vice in me; I must repent.
Go therefore tell thy Mafter, here I am;
My Ranfom is this frail and worthless Trunk;
My Army but a weak and fickly Guard:
Yet God before, tell him we will come on,
Though France himself, and fuch another Neighbour
Stand in our way. There's for thy Labour, Mountjoy.
Go bid thy Mafter well advise himself,

If we may pafs, we will; if we be hindred,
We fhall your tawny Ground with your red Blood
Difcolour; and fo Mountjoy fare you well..

The fum of all our Anfwer is but this ;
We would not feek a Battle, as we are,
Nor as we are, we fay, we will not fhun it:
So tell your Mafter.

Mount. I fhall deliver fo: Thanks to your Highnefs. [Exit,
Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now.

K. Henry. We are in God's hand, Brother, not in theirs: March to the Bridge, it now draws toward Night, Beyond the River we'll encamp our felves,

And on to morrow bid them march away.

[Exeunt.

Enter the Constable of France, the Lord Rambures, Orleans, Dauphin, with others.

Con. Tut, I have the beft Armour of the World, would it were day.

Orl. You have an excellent Armour; but let my

have his due.

Con. It is the beft Horfe of Europe.

Orl. Will it never be Morning?

Horfe

DAH

Dau. My Lord of Orleans, and my Lord High Confta ble, you talk of Horfe and Armour?

Orl. You are as well provided of both, as any Prince in the World.

Dau. What a long Night is this? I will not change my Horfe with any that treads but on four Pafterns; ch'ha; he bounds from the Earth, as if his Entrails were hairs; Le Cheval volant, the Pegafus, qu'il a les narines de feu. When I beftride him, I foar, I am a Hawk; he trots the Air; the Earth fings, when he touches it; the bafeft Horn of his Hoof is more Musical than the Pipe of Hermes.

Orl. He's of the colour of a Nutmeg.

Dan. And of the heat of the Ginger. It is a Beast for Perfeus; he is pure Air and Fire; and the dull Elements of Earth and Water never appear in him, but only in patient ftilnefs while his Rider amounts him; he is indeed a Horse, and all other Jades you may call Beafts.

Con. Indeed my Lord, it is a moft abfolute and excellent Horse,

Dau. It is the Prince of Palfreys, his Neigh is like the bidding of a Monarch, and his Countenance enforces Homage.

Orl. No more, Coufin.

Dau. Nay, the Man hath no wit, that cannot from the rifing of the Lark to the lodging of the Lamb, vary deferved praise on my Palfrey; it is a Theme as fluent as the Sea: Turn the Sands into eloquent Tongues, and my Horfe is argument for them all; 'tis a fubject for a Soveraign to reafon on, and for a Soveraign's Soveraign to ride on; and for the World, familiar to us, and unknown, to lay apart their particular Functions, and wonder at him. I once writ à Sonnet in his praise and began thus, Wonder of Na

ture.

Orl. I have heard a Sonnet begin fo to ones Mistress. Dau. Then did they imitate that, which I compos'd to my Courfer, for my Horse is my Mistress.

Orl. Your Miftrefs bears well.

Dan. Me well, which is the prescript praise and perfe etion of a good and particular Mistress.

Con