K. Henry. Why, now thou haft unwifh'd five thou

fend men :

Which likes me better than to wifh us one.
You know your places: God be with you all!

Mount.

ONCE

NCE more I come to know of thee, King
Harry,

If for thy ranfom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy moft affured over-throw:

For, certainly, thou art fo near the gulf,

Thou needs must be englutted. Thus, in mercy,
The Conftable defires thee, thou wilt mind

Thy followers of repentance; that their fouls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire

[bodies From off thefe fields: where, wretches, their poor Muft lie and fefter.

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

my

bones.

K. Henry. I pray thee, bear my former anfwer back.
Bid them atchieve me, and then fell
Good God! why fhould they mock poor fellows thus?
The man that once did fell the lion's fkin

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 brass of this day's work.
And thofe that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, tho' buried in your dunghills,
They fhall be fam'd; for there the fun fhall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heav'n;
Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime,
The smell whereof fhall breed a plague in France.
Mark then a bounding valour in our English:
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Breaks out into a second courfe of mifchief,

Killing in relapse of mortality.

Let me fpeak proudly; tell the Constable,
We are but warriors for the working day:
Our gayness, and our gilt, are all be-fmirch'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 fly :)
And time hath worn us into flovenry.

But, by the mafs, our hearts are in the trim:
And my poor foldiers tell me, yet ere night
They'll be in frefher robes; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French foldiers' heads;
And turn them out of service. If they do,
(As, if God please, they fhall) my ranfom then.
Will foon be levy'd. Herald, fave thy labour.
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald:
They fhall have none, I fwear, but thefe my joints :
Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Conftable.

Mount. I fhall, King Harry: and fo fare thee well.

Thou never fhalt hear herald any more.

[Exit. K. Henry. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for Ranfom.

Enter York.

York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward.

K. Henry. Take it, brave York; now, foldiers, march

away.

And how thou pleafeft, God, difpofe the day!

SCENE X.

The Field of Battle.

[Exeunt.

Alarm, Excurfions. Enter Piftol, French foldier, and boy.

IELD, cur.

Fr. Sol. Je penfe, que vous étes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

Pift. * Quality, cality--confture me, art thou a gentleman? what is thy name? discuss.

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu!

Pift. O, Signieur Dewe should be a gentleman: Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark ; O Signieur Dewe, thou dieft on point of fox, Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me Egregious ranfom.

Fr. Sol. 0, prennez mifericorde, ayez pitie de moy.

Pift. Moy fhall not ferve, I will have forty moys; tor I will fetch thy ransom out at thy throat, in drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Eft-il impoffible d' efchapper la force de ton

bras?

Pift. Brafs, cur?

Thou damned and luxurious mountain Goat, offer'ft me brafs ?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pift. Say't thou me fo? is that a ton of moys? Come hither, Boy; ask me this flave in French, What is his name?

Boy. Efcoutez, comment étes 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 difpofé tout à cette heure de couper de votre gorge.

Quality, calmy, cufture me, art thou a Gentleman?] We should lead this nonsense thus,

Quality, Cality----Confture me, art thou a Gentleman?] i. e. tell me, let me understand whether thou be'll a Gentleman.

+ For I will fetch thy rym] We fhould read, Or I will fetch thy Ranfom out of thy throat.

Pift. Owy, cuppelle gorge, parmafoy, pefant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns: or mangled fhalt thou be by this my fword.

Fr. Sol. 0, je vous fupplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner; je fuis gentilhomme de bonne maison, gardez má 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 ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.

Pift. Tell him, my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take.

Fr. Sol. Petit Monfieur, que dit-il?

Boy. Encore qu'il eft contre fon jurement, de pardonner aucun prifonnier: neantmoins pour les efcus que vous l'avez promettes, il eft content de vous donner la liberté, le franchifement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciemens, je me estime heureux qui je fuis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier, je penfe, le plus brave, valiant, & tres eftimé Signeur d'Angleterre.

Pift. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you upon his knees a thoufaud thanks, and efteems himself happy that he hath fall'n into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy Signieur of England.

Pift. As I fuck blood, I will fome mercy fhew. Follow me, cur.

Boy. Suivez le grand capitain. [Ex. Pift. and Fr. Sol. I did never know fo full a voice iffue from fo empty a heart; but the faying is true, The empty veffel makes the greatest found. Bardolph and Nim had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' th' old play; every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger: yet they are both hang'd; and fo would this be, if he durft fteal any thing advent'rously. I muft ftay with the lacqueys, with the luggage of our camp; the

French

French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it but boys.

[Exit.

Another part of the Field of Battle.

Enter Conftable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, and

Con.

Diable!

Rambures.

Orl. O Signeur le jour eft perdu, tout eft perdu

Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame.

Sits mocking in our plumes.

0 mefchante fortune!

[A short alarm.

do not run away. Con. Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable fhame! let's ftab ourselves: 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 fhame,nothing but shame! Let us die, inftant: -Once more back again; The man, 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 flave, no gentler than a 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 fhort, elfe fhame will be too long [Exeunt.

SCENE