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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 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, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Enter SALISBURY. Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. West. Perish the man, whose mind is backward now ! K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England,

cousin ? West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone, Without more help, might fight this battle out ! K. Hen. Why, now thou has unwish'd five thousand

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

Tucket. Enter MONTJOY.
Mont. Once more 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,
Thou 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 lie and fester.

K. Hen. Who hath sent thee now?
Mont. The Constable of France.

K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back;
Bid them achieve me, and then selł 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.
A 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 France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
They shall be fam’d; for there the sun shall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven;
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then abounding valour in our English;
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
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 besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host,
(Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly,)
And time hath worn us into slovenry:

But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim :
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,
(As, if God please, they shall,) my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou 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 to them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well : Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

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

ransom.

Enter the Duke of YORK. York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward. K. Hen. Take it, brave York.-Now, soldiers, march

away : And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.The Field of Battle.

Alarums: Ercursions. Enter French Soldier, Pistol,

and Boy. Pist. Yield, cur.

Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

Pist. Quality, call you me?-Construe me, art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss.

Fr. Sol. O seigneur Dieu !

Pist. O, signieur Dew should be a gentleman :Perpend my words, O signieur Dew, and mark ;O signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox, Except, O signieur, thou do give to me Egregious ransom.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez misericorde! ayez pitié de moy!

Pist. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys;
For I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat,
In drops of crimson blood.

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

Pist. Brass, cur!
Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,
Offer’st me brass ?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy!

Pist. Say'st thou me so ? is that a ton of moys ?-
Come hither, boy; Ask me this slave in French,
What is his name.

Boy. Escoutez; Comment estes vous appellé ?
Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.
Boy. He says, his name is—master Fer.

Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk him, and ferret him :-discuss the same in French unto him.

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

Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur ?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous faites vous prest ; car ce soldat icy est disposé tout à cette heure de couper vostre gorge.

Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant,
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol. 0, je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cents escus.

Pist. What are his words?

Boy. He 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.

Pist. Tell him,-ny fury shall abate, and I The crowns will take.

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

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre son jurement, de pardonner aucun prisonnier; neantmoins, pour les escus que vous l'avez promis, il est content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux, je vous donne mille remerciemens : et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, et tres distingué seigneur d'Angleterre.

Pist. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks: and he esteems himself happy, that he hath fallen into the hands of (as he thinks) the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England.

Pist. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show.–Follow me, cur.

[Exit Pistol. Boy. Suivez vous le grand capitaine.

[Exit French Soldier. I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true,—The empty vessel makes

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