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petter for

enough in his pelly; hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to serve God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels and diffenfions, and, I warrant you, it is the

you. Will. I will none of your money.

Flu. It is with a good will. I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your shoes ; come, wherefore thould you be so pashful' your shoes is not so good; 'tis a good filling, I warrant you, or I will change it.

S CE N E XVII. Enter Herald. X. Henry. Now, herald, are the dead number'd ? Her. Here is the number of the flaughter'd French. K. Henry. What prisoners of good fort are taken,

uncle ? Exe. * Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew, to the King; John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouchiqualt; Of other lords, and barons, knights, and squires, Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.

K. Henry. This note doth tell me of ten thousand Slain in the field; of princes in this number, [French And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead. One hundred twenty-fix; added to these, Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen, Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which, Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights: So that in these ten thousand they þave lost, There are but fixteen hundred mercenaries. The relt are princes, barons, lords, knights, 'squires, And gentlemen of blood and quality. The names of those their nobles that lie dead, Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; Jaques of Chatilion, Admiral of France; The Master of the Cross-bows, Lord Rambures; Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dau

phin; John Duke of Alanson; Anthony Duke of Brabant ; The brother to the Duke of Burgundy ; And Edward Duke of Bar: of lusty Earls, Grandpree and Rouflie, Faulconbridge and Foyes. Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale. Here was a royal fellowship of death ! * This list is copied from Hall. Ms. Pope.

Where

Where is the number of our English dead?

Exe. Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk.
Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam Esquire;
None else of name ; and of all other men,
But fire and twenty.

K. Henry. O God, thy arm was here !
And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
Afcribe we all. When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock and ev'n play of battle,
Was ever known fo great, and little lofs,
On one part, and on th' other? Take it, God,
For it is only thine.

Exe. 'Tis wonderful !

K. Henry. Come, go we in procession to the village: And be it death proclaim'd through our hoft, To boast of this, or take that praise from God, Which is his only.

Flu. Is it not lawful, an' please your Majesty, to tell how many is killd?

K. Henry. Yes, Captain, but with this acknowledgeThat God fought for us.

[ment, Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.

K. Henry. Do we all holy rites* ; Let there be fung Non nobis, and Te Deum ; The dead with charity inclos’d in clay ; And then to Calais, and to England then; Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.

[Exeunt.

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V

Ouchsafe to those that have not read the story,

That I may prompt them; and to such as have, I humbly pray them to admit th’excuse Of time, of numbers, and due course of things; Which cannot in their huge and proper life Be here presented. Now we bear the King

* The King (say the chroniclers) caused the psalm, In exitu Israel de Ægypo (in which, according to the vulgate is included the piala, Non nubis, Domine, Sc.), to be sung after the victory, Mr. Pope.

2

Tow'rd

1

Cow'rd Calais: grant him there; and there being seen,'
leave him away upon your winged thoughts
thwart the sea : behold, the English beach
ales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,
Vhofe fhouts and claps outvoice the deep-mouth'd fea;
Thich, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the King,
eems to prepare his way; so let him land,
ind folemnly see him set on to London.
o swift a pace hath thought, that even now
ou may imagine him upon Black-heath :
Vhere that his lords delire him to have borne
is bruised helmet, and his bended sword,
before him through the city; he forbids it ;
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;
Giving full trophy, fignal, and oltent,
Quite from himself to God. But now behold,
In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens.
The Mayor and all his brethren in belt fort,
Like to the senators of antique Rome,
With the Plebeians swarming at their heels,
Go forth, and fetch their conqu’ring Cæfar in.
As by a low, but loving likelihood *,
Were now the General of our gracious Empress to
(As in good time he may) from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword;
How many would the peaceful city quit,
To welcome him ? much more (and much more cause)
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him ;
(As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the King of England's stay at home ;
The Emperor's coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them); and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chance'd,
Till Harry's back return again to France :
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
The int'rim, by rememb'ring you 'tis paft.
Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, straight back again to France.

* Likelihood, for similitude.
+ The Earl of Eflex in the reign of Q. Elisabeth. Mr. Pope.
VOL. IV.

Sf

SCENE

SCENE II. The English camp in France.

Enter Fluellen and Gower. Gow. Nay, that's right : but why wear you your leek to-day? St. David's day is paft.

Flu. There is occasions and causes why and where, fore in all things, I will tell you as a friend, Captain Gower; the rascally, scauld, peggarly, lowly, prag, ging knave, Pistol, which you, and yourself, and all the orld, know to be no petter than a fellow (look you now) of no merits; he is come to me, and prings me pread and falt yesterday, look vou, and pids me eàt my leek. It was in a place where I could preed no contentions with himn;. but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap, till I see him once again ; and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.

Enter Pistol. Gow. Why, here he comes swelling like a turky:

cock. Flu. 'Tis no matter for his swelling, nor his turky. cocks. God pleffe you, Aunchient Pistol: you fcurvy lowly knave, God plefle you.

Pift. ja! art thou bedlam? dost thou thirst, base To have me told up farca's fatal web : [Trojan, Hence, I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy lowly knave, at my defires, and my requefts, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek: becaule, look you, you do not love it; and your affectijns, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it. I would defire you to eat it.

Pift. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.
Flu. There is one goat

for

you. [Strikes him. Will

you be so good, scauld knave, as eat it? Pift. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

Flu. You say very true, scauld knave, when God's will is. I desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals; come, there is fauce for it [Strikes him.] You call’d me yesterday Mountain-Squire, but I will make you to-day a Squire of low degree. I pray you, Fall too; if you can mock a leek you can eat a leek.

Gow.

Gow. Enough, Captain ; you have astonish'd him.

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate, four days and four nights. Pite, I pray you ; it is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.

Pift. Muit I bite ?

Flu. Yes out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities.

Pift. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge ; I eat and swear

Flu. Eat, I pray you; will you have some more sauce to your leek ? there is not leek enough to swear by.

Pift. Quiet thy cudgel ; thou dost see I eat.

Flu. Much good do you, scauld knave, heartily, Nay, pray you throw none away, the skin is good for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at 'em, that's all.

Pift. Good

Flu. Ay, leeks is good; hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.

Pift. Me a groat !

Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.

Pift. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.

Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cud. gels; you shall be a woodmonger, and puy nothing of me but cudgels. God pe wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

[Exit. Pill. All hell shall stir for this.

Gow Go, go, you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceas'd valour, and dare not avouch in your teeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native garb, he cou'd not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find 'tis otherwise ; and henceforth let a Welch correction teach you a good Englith condition. Fare you well.[Exit.

Pift. Doth fortune play the huiewife with me now? News have I that my Dol is dead of malady of France; And there my rendezvous is quite cut off. S [ 2

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