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Will yearly on the Vigil feast his Neighbours,
And say to morrow is Saint Crispian:
Then will he strip his Sleeve, and New his Scars:
Old Men forget; yet all shall not be forgot,
Bat he'll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that Day. Then shall our Names,
Familiar in his Mouth as houshold Words,
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glo'fter,
Be in their flowing Cups freshly remembred.
This Story shall the good Man teach his Son:
And Crispine Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this Day to the ending of the World,
But we in it thall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of Brothers:
For he to Day that sheds his Blood with me,
Shall be


Brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This Day shall 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 speaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day.

Enter Salisbury.
Sal. My Sovereign Lord, bestow your self 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 whose Mind is backward now

K. Henry. Thou doft not with 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 unwilh'd five thousand Men:: Which likes me better than to wish us one. You know your Places: God be with


all." A Tucket fonds. Enter Mountjoy. Mount. Once niore I come to know of thee, King Harry, If for thy Ransom thou wilt now compound, Before thy most assured Overthrow : For certainly thou art so near the Gulf, -



needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind
Thy Followers of Repentance; that their Souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these Fields; where, Wretches, their poor Bodies
Must lye and fefter:

K. Henry. Who hath sent thee now?
Mount. The Constable of France.

K. Henry. I pray thee bear my former Answer back.
Bid them atchieve me, and then sell my Bones,
Good God! why should they mock poor Fellows thus?
The Man that once did sell the Lion's Skin
While the Beast liv’d, was kill'd with hunting him.
And many of our Bodies shall, no doubt,
Find native Graves; upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in Brass of this Day's work.
And those that leave their valiact Bones in France,
Dying like Men, tho'buried in your Dunghils,
They shall te fam'd; for there the Sun shall greet them,
And draw their Honours reeking up to Heaven,
Leaving their earthly Parts to choak your Clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a Plague in Frange.
Mark then abounding Valour in our English:
That being dead, like to the Rullets grating,
Break out into a second course of Mischief,
Killing in relapse of Mortality.
Let me speak proudly; tell the Constable,
We are but Warriors for the working Day;
Our Gayness and our Gilt are all be-Smirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful Field.
There's not a piece of Feather in our Hoft;,
Good Argument, I hope, we will not flye:
And time ha: h worn us into flovenry.
But, by the Mass, our Hearts are in the triņi
And my poor Soldiers tell me, yet ere Night
They'll be in fresher 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 please they shall, my Ranlom then
Will soon be levied.



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

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

[Exit. Ķ. Henry. I fear thou wilt once more come again for a Ransom.

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 pleasest, God, dispose the Day. [Exeunr.
Alarm. Excursions. Enter Piftol, French Soldier, and Boy.
Pift. Yield, Cur.

Fr. Sol. Je pense que vous estes le Gentil-home de bone quas Zité.

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

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu!

Pii. o Signiềur Dewe should be a Gentleman: Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark:0-Siġnieur Dewe, thou dieft on point of

Fox, except; O Signeur, thou do give to me egregious Ransom.: 13

Fr. Sol. O frensez 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 Crimson Blood.

Fr. Sol. Et-il impossible d'efebapper la force de ton bras?

Pift. Brass, Cur? thou damned and luxurious MountainaGoat, offer'lt me Brass?,.

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy..

Pift. Say't thou me fo? is that a Ton of Noys?
Come hither, Boy, ask me this Slave in French, what is his

Boy. Escoute, comment eftes vous appellé ?
Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.
Boy. He fays his Name is Mr, Fer.




Pift. Mr. Fer! I'll fer him, and ferk him, and ferret him; Discuss 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, Monsieur ?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous vous teniez prest, car ce foldat icy est dispofée tout a cette heure de couper vostre gorge.

Pift. Owy, cuppele gorge parmafoy pesant, unless thou give me Crowns, brave Crowns, or mangled shalt thou be by this

Sword. Fr. Sol. o je vous fupplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner, je suis Gentilhome de bonne maison, garde ma vie, con Je vous donneray deux cents escus.

Pift. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to save his Life, he is a Gentleman of a gaod House, and for his Ransom he will give you two hundred Crowns.

Pif. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I the Crowns will take.

Fr. Sol. Petit Monsieur que dit-il ?

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre fon furement, de pardonner aucun prisonnier: neant moins pour les escus que vout l'ay pro. mettez, il eft content de vous donner la liberté de franchise.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je voux dome millesremerciemens,

je me eftime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, es tres effimée Signiwr d'Angleterre.

Pift. Expound unto me, Boy.

Boy. He gives you upon his knees a thoufand thanks, and esteems himself happy, that he hath faln into the hands of one, as he thinks, the moft brave, valorous, and thriceworthy Signeur of England.

Pift. As I suck Blood, I will fome mercy Thew. Follow me.

Boy. Suivez le grand Capitain. I did r.ever know so, wofui a Voice issue from fo empty a Heart; but the song is true, The empty Vessel makes the greatest found, Bardalf and Nim bad ten times more Va


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 so would this be, if he durst steal

any thing adventurously. I must stay 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 Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures.

Con. O Diable !
Orla. O Signeur ! le jour est perdu, toute eft perdu.

Dau. Mort de ma vie, all is confounded, all,
Reproach, and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our Plumes.

[A foort Alarm O meschante Fortue, do not run away.

Con. Why, all our Raoks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable shame, let's stab our selves :
Be these the Wretches that we play'd at Dice for?

Orl. Is this the King we sent to for his Ransom ?

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 base 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 smother 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 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 bim to your Majesty.
K. Henry. Lives he, good Uncle; thrice within this

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


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