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.
Defcription cannot fuit itfelf in words,
To demonftrate the life of fuch a battle,
In life fo livelefs as it fhews itself.

Con. They've faid their prayers, and they stay for
death.

Dau. Shall we go fend them dinners and fresh suits, And give their fafting Horfes provender, And, after, fight with them?

Con. I ftay 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 fun is high, and we out-wear the day. [Exeunt.

Enter Gloucefter, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all the Hoft; Salisbury and Weftmorland.

Glou.

THERE is the King?

WHE

Bed. The King himfelf is rode to view their battle.

Weft. Of fighting men they have full threefcore thoufand.

Exe. There's five to one; befides, they all are fresh. Sal. God's arm ftrike with us, 'tis a fearful odds! God be wi' you, Princes all; I'll to my charge. If we no more meet till we meet in heav'n, Then joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford, My dear lord Glofter, and my good lord Exeter, And my kind kinfman, warriors all, adieu!

the jymold bitt] fymold, or rather Gimmald, which fignifies a Ring of two Rounds. Gemellus, Skinner.

Mr. Pope.

Bed.

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 fo?
My cousin Weftmorland? no, my fair coufin,
If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country lofs; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater fhare 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 defires:
But if it be a fin to covet honour,

I am the most offending foul alive.

No, faith, my lord, with not a man from England:
God's peace,
I would not lofe fo great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would fhare from me,
For the best hopes I have. Don't wish one more :
Rather proclaim it (Westmorland) through my host,
That he, which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his pass-port fhall 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 feaft of Crifpian:
He that out-lives this day and comes fafe home,

N 5

Will

Will ftand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And roufe him at the name of Crifpian:
* He that out-lives this day, and fees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feaft his neighbours,
And fay, to-morrow is Saint Crifpian:

Then will he ftrip his fleeve, and fhew his fcars:
Old men forget; yet fhall not all forget,
But they'll remember, with advantages,

What feats they did that day. Then fhall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as houfhold words,
Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glofter,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This ftory fhall the good man teach his fon:
And Crifpin Crifpian fhall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it fhall be remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he, to day that fheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er fo vile,
This day fhall 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 St. Crifpian's day.

Enter Salisbury.

Sal. My fov'reign lord, bestow yourself with speed: 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. West. Perifh the man, whofe mind is back ward 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 fhall live this day,- -] The Quarto of 1608 reads better,
He that out-lives this day.

K. Henry.

K. Henry. Why, now thou haft unwish'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 fweet retire

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

K. Henry. Who hath fent thee now?

Mount. The Conftable of France.

K. Henry. I pray thee, bear my former anfwer back. Bid them atchieve me, and then fell my bones. 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 course of mischief,
N 6

Killing

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 fresher robes; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French foldiers' heads;
And turn them out of fervice. If they do,
(As, if God please, they fhall) my ransom 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 these 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 so 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, moft 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!

SCENE X.

The Field of Battle.

[Exeunt.

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

IELD, cur.

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