Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur en vérité, vous prononcez les mots aussi droict que les natifs d'Angleterre.

Kath. Je ne doute point d'apprendre par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps.

Alice. N'avez vous déjà oublié ce que je vous ay enseigné?

Kath. Non, je reciteray à vous promptement. De hand, de fingre, de mails,—

Alice. De nails, madame.

Kath. De nails, de arme, de ilbow.
Alice. Sauf vostre honneur, d'elbow.

Kath. Ainsi dis je; d' elbow, de nick, et de sin.
Comment appellez vous le pied et la robe?
Alice. Le foot, madame; et le coun.

Kath. Le foot, et le coun? O Seigneur Dieu! ils sont les mots de son mauvais corruptible, gros, et impudique, et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user. Je ne voudrois prononcer ces mots devant les seigneurs de France pour tout le monde. Foh! le foot et le coun. Néant-moins je reciteray une autre fois ma leçon ensemble: d'hand, de fingre, de nails, d'arm, d'elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, le coun. Alice. Excellent, madame!

Kath. C'est assez pour une fois: allons nous à diner. [Exeunt.

SCENE V. The Same. Another Room in the

Same.

Enter the French King, the DAUPHIN, the Duke of BOURBON, the Constable of France, and others.

Fr. King. 'Tis certain he hath pass'd the river

Somme.

Con. And if he be not fought withal, my lord, Let us not live in France; let us quit all, And give our vineyards to a barbarous people. Dau. O Dieu vivant! shall a few sprays of us, The emptying of our fathers' luxury, Our scions, put in wild and savage stock, Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds And overlook their grafters ?

Bour. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!

Mort de ma vie ! if they march along

Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm

In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

Con. Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle?

Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull,
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
Seem frosty? O for honour of our land,
Let us not hang like roping icicles

Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people
Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields;
Poor we may call them in their native lords.
Dau. By faith and honour,

Our madams mock at us, and plainly say
Our mettle is bred out and they will give
Their bodies to the lust of English youth
To new-store France with bastard warriors.

Bour. They bid us to the English dancingschools,

And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos;
Saying our grace is only in our heels,

And that we are most lofty runaways.

Fr. King. Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence:

Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged
More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
Charles Delabreth, high constable of France;
You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri,
Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,
Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconberg,
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and
knights,

;

For your great seats now quit you of great shames, Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land

With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow
Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat

The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon :
Go down upon him, you have power enough,
And in a captive chariot into Rouen

Bring him our prisoner.

Con.

;

This becomes the great.

Sorry am I his numbers are so few,

His soldiers sick and famish'd in their march,
For I am sure when he shall see our army

He'll drop his heart into the sink of fear,

And for achievement offer us his ransom.

Fr. King. Therefore, lord constable, haste on
Montjoy,

And let him say to England that we send
To know what willing ransom he will give.
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.
Dau. Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

Fr. King. Be patient, for you shall remain with

us.

Now forth, lord constable and princes all,
And quickly bring us word of England's fall.

[Exeunt.

SCENE VI. The English Camp in Picardy.

Enter GOWER and FLUELLEN.

Gow. How now, Captain Fluellen! come you from the bridge?

Flu. I assure you there is very excellent services committed at the bridge.

Gow. Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon; and a man that I love and honour with my soul, and my heart, and my duty, and my life, and my living, and my uttermost power: he is not, God be praised and blessed! any hurt in the world, but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an aunchient lieutenant there at the pridge; I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony; and he is a man of no estimation in the world; but I did see him do as gallant service.

Gow. What do you call him?

Flu. He is called Aunchient Pistol.

Gow. I know him not.

Enter PISTOL.

Flu. Here is the man.

Pist. Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours: The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Flu. Ay, I praise God; and I have merited some love at his hands.

Pist. Bardolph, a soldier firm and sound of heart, And of buxom valour, hath, by cruel fate And giddy fortune's furious fickle wheel, That goddess blind,

That stands upon the rolling restless stone,

Flu. By your patience, Aunchient Pistol. Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind: and she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you, which is the moral of it, that she is turning, and inconstant, and mutability, and variation: and her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls, and rolls, and rolls: in good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an excellent moral.

Pist. Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him;

For he hath stolen a pax, and hanged must a' be.
A damned death!

Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free
And let not hemp his wind-pipe suffocate.
But Exeter hath given the doom of death
For pax of little price.

Therefore, go speak; the duke will hear thy voice;