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Two chauntries, where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;
Tho all that I can do, is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after call,
Glou. My Liege.
K. Henry. My brother Glofter's voice?
I know thiy errand, I will go with thee :
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
Changes to the French Camp. Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and Beaumont. 011. HE Sun doth gild our armour; up, my T
lords. Dau. Montez Cheval: my horse, valet, lacquay: ha! Orl. O brave spirit! Dau. Via! les eaux bla terte.Orl. Rien puis! le air & feu. Dau. Ciel! Cousin Orleans.-
Enter Constable. lord Constable ! Con. Hark, how our Steeds for present service neigh.
Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And daunt them with fuperfluous courage : ha! Ram. What, will you have them weep our Horses'
blood? How shall we then behold their natural tears ?
Enter a Messenger. Mes. The English, are embattel’d, you French Peers.
Con. to horse! you gallant Princes, strait to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair shew shall suck away their souls ; Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands, Scarce blood enough in all their fickly veins To give each naked curtle-ax a stain; That our French gallants shall to day draw out, And sheath for lack of sport. Let's but blow on them, The
vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exception, lords,
Thai our superfluous lacqueys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle, were enow
this field of such a hilding foe;
Tho' we, upon this mountain's basis by,
Took stand for idle speculation :
But that our honours must not.
What's to say ?
A very little, little, let us do;
And all is done. Then let the trumpets found
The tucket-fonuance, and the note to mount:
For our approach fhall so much dare the field,
That England Thall couch down in fear, and yield.
Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of
Yon Island carrions, desp'rate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field :
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And faintly through a rusty bever peeps.
The horsemen fit like fixed candlefticks,
With torch-ftaves in their hand; and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hips:
The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes ;
And in their pale dull mouths * the jymold bitt
Lies foul with chaw'd grass, still and motionless :
And their executors, the knavish Crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot fuit itfelf in words,
To demonstrate the life of such a battle,
In life fo liveless as it shews itself.
Con. They've said their prayers, and they stay for
Dau. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,
And give their fasting Horses provender,
And, after, fight with them?
Con. I stay but for my guard: on, to the field; I will the banner from a trumpet take, And use it for my hafte. Come, come, away! The sun is high, and we out-wear the day. (Exeunt.
Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with
all the Host ; Salisbury and Westmorland. Glou. THERE is the King ? W
Bed. The King himself is rode to view
their battle. Weft. Of fighting men they have full threescore
thousand. Exe. There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh.
Sal. God's arm strike with us, 'tis a fearful odds ! God be wi' you, Princes all; I'll to my charge. If we no more meer till we meet in heav'n, Then joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford, My dear lord Gloster, and my good lord Exeter, And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!
* the jymold bitt] Jymold, or rather Gimmald, which fignifies a Ring of two Rounds. Gemellas, Skinner.
Bed. Farewel, good Salisbury, and good luck go
with thee! Exe. [to Sal.] Farewel, kind lord; fight valiantly to
day : And
yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour.
(Exit Sal. Bed. He is as full of valour, as of kindness ; Princely in both.
Enter King Henry.
Weft. O, that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to day!
K. Henry. What's he, that wishes so ?
My cousin Westmorland ? no, my fair cousin,
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss ; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold;
Nor care I, who doth feed upon my coft ;
It yerns me not, if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires :
But if it be a fin to covet honour,
I am the most offending foul alive.
No, faith, my lord, wish not a man from England:
God's peace, I would not lose so great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would share from nie,
For the best hopes I have. Don't wish one more :
Rather proclaim it (Westmorland) through my hoft,
That he, which hath no ftomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his pass-port shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian :
He that out-lives this day and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian:
* He that out-lives this day, and sees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say, to-morrow is Saint Crispian:
Then will he strip his sleeve, and shew his scars:
Old men forget; yet shall not all forget,
But they'll remember, with advantages,
What feats they did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as houshold words,
Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, ...?
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his son:
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers :
For he, to day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er fo vile,
This day shall gentle his condition.
And gentleinen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crifprian's day.
Sal. My sov'reign lord, bestow yourself with specd:
The French are bravely in their battles fet,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
K. Henry. All things are ready, if our minds be fo. Wejt. Perish the man, whose mind is backward now? K. Henry. Thou doft not wish more help from
England, coufin? Weft. God's will, my Liege, would you and I alone Without more help could fight this royal battle ? * He that shall live this day, -] The Quarto of 1608 reads better,
He that out-lives this day.