*

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 ranfom 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'st me brafs?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pift. Say'ft thou me fo? is that a ton of moys? Come hither, Boy; afk 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: 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, 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 fhould read this nonsense thus,

Quality, Cality--Confture me, art thou a Gentleman?] i. ine, let me understand whether thou be'it a Gentleman. For I will fetch thy rym] We fhould read,

Or I will fetch thy Ranfom out of thy throat.

e.

tell

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

Fr. Sol. O, je vous fupplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner; je fuis gentühomme de bonne maison, gardez ma vie, & je vous donneray deux cents efcus.

Pift. 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.

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 franchisement.

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.

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

Boy. Suivez le grand capitain. [Ex. Pist. and Fr. Sol. I did never know fo full a voice issue from so 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.

Enter Conftable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, and Rambures.

Con.

Diable!

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

Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlafting fhame.

-Sits mocking in our plumes.
O mefchante fortune! ·

[A fhort alarm.

do not run away. Con. Why, all our ranks are broke. Dau. O perdurable fhame! let's ftab ourselves: Be thefe the wretches, that we play'd at dice for? Orl. Is this the King we fent 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 flave, no gentler than a dog, His fairest 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

SCENE XII.

Alarum. Enter the King and his train, with prisoners.

ELL have we done, thrice valiant

K. Henry. WE

country-men;

But all's not done; the French yet keep the field.
Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your

Majefty.

K. Henry. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this

hour

I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting:
From helmet to the spur all bleeding o'er.

Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody fide
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble Earl of Suffolk alfo lies.

Suffolk firft dy'd, and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him where in gore he lay infteep'd,
And takes him by the beard; kiffes the gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,

And cries aloud, "tarry, my coufin Suffolk,

66

66

My foul fhall thine keep company to heav'n:
Tarry, fweet foul, for mine, then fly a-breaft:
"As in this glorious and well-foughten field
"We kept together in our chivalry."
Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up;
He fmil'd me in the face, gave me his hand,
And, with a feeble gripe, fays, dear my lord,
Commend my fervice to my Sovereign;
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kift his lips;
And fo efpous'd to death, with blood he feal'd
A teftament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and fweet manner of it forc'd

Thofe waters from me, which I would have flop'd; But I had not fo much of man in me,

But

But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.

K. Henry. I blame you not;

[Alarum.

For, hearing this, I muft perforce compound
With mitful eyes, or they will iffue too.
But, hark, what new alarum is this fame ?
The French have re-enforc'd their scatter'd men:
Then every foldier kill his prisoners.
Give the word through.

Flu.

K

*SCENE

[Exeunt.

XIII.

Alarms continued; after which, Enter Fluellen and Gower. ILL the poyes and the luggage! 'tis exprefly against the law of arms; rant a piece of Knavery, mark you now, as can be defir'd in your confcience now, is it not?

'tis as ar

Gower. "Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rafcals, that ran away from the battle, ha' done this flaughter: befides, they have burn'd or carried away all that was in the King's tent; wherefore the King moft worthily has caus'd ev'ry foldier to cut his prifoner's throat. O'tis a gallant King! Flu. I, he was porn at Monmouth, captain Gower; what call you the town's name, where Alexander the pig, was born?

Gower. Alexander the great.

Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? the pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, fave the phrafe is a little variations.

Gower. I think, Alexander the great was born in Macedon; his father was called Philip of Macedon, as I

take it.

SCENE XIII.] Here, in the other Editions, they begin the fourth A&t, very abfurdly, fince both the Place and Time evidently continue, and the words of Fluellen immediately follow thofe of the King just before. Mr. Pope.

Flu.