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K. Henry. Why, now thou hast unwifh'd five tiou

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


A Tucket founds. Enter Mountjoy.

NCE more I come to know of thee, King

If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured over-throw:
For, certainly, thou art fo near the gulf,
Thou needs must be englutted. Thus, in mercy,
The Constable desires thee, thou wilt mind
Thy followers of repentance; that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire {bodies
From off these fields : where, wretches, their poor
Must lie and fester.

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

K. Henry. I pray thee, bear my former anfwer back. Bid them atchieve me, and then sell


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 hin. 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 valiant bones in Irance, Dying like men, tho' buried in your dunghills, They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them, And draw their honours reeking up to heav'n; Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime, The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. Mark then a bounding valourin our English: That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, Breaks out into a second course of mischief,

N 6


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 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 slovenry.
But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim:
And my poor foldiers 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 iurn them out of service. If they do,
(As, if God please, they fall) my ransom then
Will foon be levy'd. Herald, save thy labour.
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald :
They shall 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.

Mount. I shall, King Harry: and so fare thee well. Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit. K. Henry. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for Ransom.

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 pleasest, God, dispose the day!

[Exeunt. . S CE N E X.

The Fidd of Battle. Alarm, Excursions. Enter Pistol, French foldier, and boy. Pift. VIELD, cur. Y

r. Sol. je pense, que vous étes le gentilhomme de boli!le qualité.

Pift. * Quality, cality--consture 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 ransom.

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

Pift. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; For I will fetch thy ransom out at thy throat, in drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Est-il impossible d'eschapper la force de ton bras?

Pift. Brass, cur? Thou damned and luxurious mountain Goat, offer'st

ine brass ? Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pift. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of
Come hither, Boy; ask me this slave in French,
What is his name?

Boy. Escoutez, comment étes vous appellé ?
Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.
Boy. He says, his name is Mr. Fer.

Pift. Mr. Fer! I'll fer him, and ferk him, and ferret him: discuss the same 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 soldat icy est disposé tout à cette heure de couper de votre gorge.

* Quality, calmy, custure me, art thou a Gentleman?] We should read this nonsense thus,

Quality', Cality----Consture me, art thou a Gentleman?] i. e. tell me, let me understand whether thou be'lt a Gentleman. # For I will fetch thy rym] We should read, Or I will fetch thy Ransom out of thy throat.

moys ?

Boy. He

Pift. Owy, cuppelle gorge, parmafoy, pesant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns: or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol. o, je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner; je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison, gardez ma vie, & je vous donneray deux cents escus. Pist. What are his words?

prays you to save 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 Monsieur, que dit-il ?

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre fon jurement, de pardonner aucun prisonnier : neantmoins pour les efcus que vous l'avez gromettes, il est content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciemens, es je me estime heureux qui je suis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, to tres estimé Signcur d'Angleterre.

Pijt. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you upon his knees a thousaud 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 suck blood, I will fome mercy fhew. Follow me, cur.

Boy. Suivez le grand capitain. (Ex. Pift. and Fr. Sol. I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; but the saying is true, The empty vessel makes the greatest sound. 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 so would this be, if he durlt steal any thing advent'roully. I must stay with the lacqueys, 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.

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Another part of the Field of Battle.
Enter Constable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, and

Con. Diable!

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

Dail, Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame.
Sits mocking in our plumes.

A short alarm, 0 meschante fortune! --- do not run away.

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable shame! let's stab ourselves : 1. 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 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 slave, 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

Orl. We are enow, yet living in the field,
To finother up the English in our thronys;
If any order might be thought upon.

Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng; Let life be short, else shame will be too long Exeunt.

up our lives.


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