Will yearly on the Vigil feaft his Neighbours,
And fay to morrow is Saint Crifpian:

Then will he ftrip his Sleeve, and fhew his Scars:
Old Men forget; yet all fhall not be forgot,

Bat he'll remember, with advantages,

What feats he did that Day. Then fhall our Names,
Familiar in his Mouth as houfhold Words,
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'fter,
Be in their flowing Cups freshly remembred.
This Story fhall the good Man teach his Son:
And Crifpine Crifpian fhall ne'er go by,
From this Day to the ending of the World,
But we in it fall be remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of Brothers:
For he to Day that fheds his Blood with me,
Shall be my Brother; be he ne'er fo vile,
This Day fhall gentle his Condition.

And Gentlemen in England now a-bed

Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here;
And hold their Manhoods cheap, whiles any fpeaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crifpian's day.

Enter Salisbury.

Sal. My Sovereign Lord, beftow your felf with speed: The French are bravely in their Battels fet,

And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. Henry. All things are ready, if our Minds be fo. Weft. Perish the Man whofe Mind is backward now. K. Henry. Thou doft not wish more help from England, Coz?

Weft. God's will, my Liege, would you and I alone,
Without more help, could fight this Royal Battel.
K.Henry. Why now thou hast unwish'd five thousand Men:
Which likes me better than to wish us one.

You know your Places: God be with you all.
A Tucket founds. Enter Mountjoy.

Mount. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry',
If for thy Ranfom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most affured Overthrow:

For certainly thou art so near the Gulf,

G 5

Thou

Thou needs must be englutted. Beides, in mercy,
The Conftable defires thee thou wilt mind
Thy Followers of Repentance; that their Souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire

From off thele Fields; where, Wretches, their poor Bodies
Muft lye and fefter.

K. Henry. Who hath fent thee now?
Mount. The Conftable of France..

K. Henry. I pray thee bear my former Answer back, Bid them atchieve me, and then fell my Bones,

Good God! why fhould they mock poor Fellows thus?
The Man that once did fell the Lion's Skin
While the Beaft liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.
And many of our Bodies fhall, no doubt,
Find native Graves; upon the which, I truft,
Shall witness live in Brafs of this Day's work.
And thofe that leave their valiant Bones in France,
Dying like Men, tho' buried in your Dunghils,
They fhall be fam'd; for there the Sun fhall greet them,
And draw their Honours reeking up to Heaven,
Leaving their earthly Parts to choak your Clime,
The fmell whereof fhall breed a Plague in France.
Mark then abounding Valour in our English:
That being dead, like to the Bullets grating,
Break out into a fecond courfe of Mifchief,
Killing in relapfe of Mortality.

Let me fpeak proudly; tell the Conftable,
We are but Warriors for the working Day;
Our Gaynefs and our Gilt are all be-fmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful Field.
There's not a piece of Feather in our Host;,
Good Argument, I hope, we will not flye:
And time ha h worn us into flovenry.

But, by the Mafs, our Hearts are in the trimi
And my poor Soldiers tell me, yet ere Night
They'll be in frother Robes, or they will pluck
The gay new Coats o'er the French Soldiers Heads,
And turn them out of Service. If they do this,
And if God pleafe they fhall, my Ranfom then
Will foon be levied.

Herald,

Herald, fave thou thy labour:

Come thou no more for Ranfom, gentle Herald,
They fhall have none, I swear, but these my Joints:
Which if they have, as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

Mon. I fhall, King Harry: And so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear Herald any more.

[Exit. K. Henry. I fear thou wilt once more come again for a Ranfom.

Enter York.

York. My Lord, moft humbly on my Knee I beg The leading of the Vaward.

K. Henry. Take it, brave York.

Now Soldiers, march away;

And how thou pleafeft, God, difpofe the Day.

[Exeunt.

Alarm. Excurfions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier, and Boy. Pift. Yield, Cur.

lité.

Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous effes le Gentil-home de bone qua

Pift. Quality calmy cufture me, Art thou a Gentleman? What is thy Name? discuss.

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu!

Pift. O Signièur Dewe fhould be a Gentleman: Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark: O Signieur Dewe, thou dieft on point of Fox, except, O Signeur, thou do give to me egregious Ranfom.

Fr. Sol. O prennez mifericorde, ayez pitie de moy..

Pift. Moy thall not ferve, I will have forty Moys; for I will fetch thy rym out at thy Throat, in drops of Crimfon Blood.

Fr. Sol. Eft-il impoffible d'efchapper la force de ton bras? Pift. Brafs, Cur ? thou damned and luxurious MountainGoat, offer'ft me Brafs?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pift. Say't thou me for is that a Ton of Moys?

Come hither, Boy, ask me this Slave in French, what is his
Name.

Boy. Efcoute, comment eftes vous appellé ?
Fr. Sol. Monfieur le Fer. ・・

Boy. He fays his Name is Mr. Fer.

Pift. Mr. Fer! I'll fer him, and ferk him, and ferret him : Difcufs the fame in French unto him.

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and

ferk.

Pift. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his Throat.
Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, Monfieur?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous vous teniez preft, car ce foldat icy eft difpofée tout a cette heure de couper voftre gorge.

Pift. Owy, cuppele gorge parmafoy pefant, unless thou give me Crowns, brave Crowns, or mangled fhalt thou be by this my Sword.

Fr. Sol. O je vous fupplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner, je fuis Gentilhome de bonne maison, garde ma vie, & Je vous donneray deux cents efcus.

Pift. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to fave his Life, he is a Gentleman of a good House, and for his Ranfom he will give you two hundred Crowns.

Pift. Tell him my fury fhall abate, and I the Crowns will take.

Fr. Sol. Petit Monfieur que dit-il?

Boy. Encore qu'il eft contre fon Furement, de pardonner aucun prifonnier: neant moins pour les efcus que vout l'ay promettez, il eft content de vous donner la liberté de franchife.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je voux dorme milles remerciemens, &je me eftime heureux que je fuis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier, je penfe, le plus brave, valiant, tres eftimée Signeur d'Angleterre.

Pift. Expound unto me, Boy.

Boy. He gives you upon his knees a thousand thanks, and efteems himself happy, that he hath fal'n into the hands of one, as he thinks, the moft brave, valorous, and thriceworthy Signeur of England.

me.

Pift. As I fuck Blood, I will fome mercy fhew. Follow

Boy. Suivez le grand Capitain.

I did never know fo, woful a Voice iffue from fo empty a Heart; but the Song is true, The empty Veffel makes the greatest found, Bardolf and Nim had ten times more Va

lour

lour than this roaring Devil i'th' old Play, that every one may pair his Nails with a wooden Dagger, and they are both Hang'd, and fo would this be, if he durft steal any thing adventurously. I muft ftay with the Lackies, with the luggage of our Camp, the French might have a good Prey of us, if he knew of it, for there is none to Guard it but Boys. [Exit. Enter Conftable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures. Con. O Diable!

Orla. O Signeur! le jour eft perdu, toute eft perdu. Dau. Mort de ma vie, all is confounded, all, Reproach, and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our Plumes.

O mefchante Fortune, do not run away.
Con. Why, all our Ranks are broke.

[A Short Alarm

Dau. O perdurable shame, 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 Ranfom? Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Let us fly in once more back again,

And he that will not follow Bourbon now,

Let him go hence, and with his Cap in hand,
Like a bafe Pander, hold the Chamber-door,
Whilft by a base Slave, no gentler than my Dog,
His faireft 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 any Order might be thought upon.

If

Bour. The Devil take Order now, I'll to the throng; Let Life be short, elfe Shame will be too long. [Exeunt Alarum. Enter the King and his Train, with Prisoners. K. Henry. Well have we done, thrice valiant Countrymen,' But all's not done, yet keep the French the Field.

Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your Majefty.
K. Henry. Lives he, good Uncle; thrice within this
hour

I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting:
From Helmet to the Spur all Blood he was.

Exe