Con. I will cap that proverb with--there is flattery in friendship. Orl. And I will take up that with-give the devil his due. Con. Well placed: there stands your friend for the devil: have at the very eye of that proverb, with-a pox of the devil. Orl. You are the better at proverbs, by how mucha fool's bolt is soon shot. Con. You have shot over. Orl. "Tis not the first time you were overshot. Enter a Messenger. Mess. My lord high constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tents. Con. Who hath measured the ground? Mess. The lord Grandpré. Con. A valiant and most expert gentleman.-Would it were day!—Alas, poor Harry of England!—he longs not for the dawning, as we do. 6 Orl. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this king of England, to mope with his fat-brained followers so far out of his knowledge. Con. If the English had any apprehension, they would run away. Orl. That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces. Ram. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage. Orl. Foolish curs! that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crushed like rotten apples. You may as well say, that's a valiant flea, that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion. Con. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with 6 - PEEVISH fellow-] i. e. silly, foolish fellow. See Vol. ii. p. 150. 162 ; and Vol. iii. p. 348; and this Vol. p. 286. the mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives: and, then, give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils. Orl. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef. Con. Then shall we find to-morrow they have only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm: come, shall we about it? Orl. It is now two o'clock: but, let me see, by ten, We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exeunt. ACT IV. Enter CHORUS. Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time, When creeping murmur, and the poring dark, Fills the wide vessel of the universe. From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night, The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch: Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, of drowsy morning NAME.] The folio reads nam'd. The error was corrected by Tyrwhitt. The confident and over-lusty French Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning's danger; and their gesture sad, So many horrid ghosts. O! now, who will behold Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, How dread an army hath enrounded him, His liberal eye doth give to every one, SCENE I. The English Camp at Agincourt. Enter King HENRY, BEDFORD, and GLOSTER. K. Hen. Gloster, 'tis true that we are in great danger; The greater, therefore, should our courage be.— For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Enter ERPINGHAM. Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham : Erp. Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better, Since I may say, now lie I like a king. K. Hen. 'Tis good for men to love their present pains, Upon example; so the spirit is eased: And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt, 12 Do my good morrow to them; and, anon, Glo. We shall, my liege. [Exeunt GLOSTER and BEDFORD. No, my good knight; Erp. Shall I attend your grace? K. Hen. Go with my brothers to my lords of England: I and my bosom must debate a while, And, then, I would no other company. Erp. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry ! [Exit ERPINGHAM. K. Hen. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak'st cheerfully. Enter PISTOL. Pist. Qui va là? K. Hen. A friend. Pist. Discuss unto me; art thou officer? Pist. As good a gentleman as the emperor. A lad of life, an imp of fame; Of parents good, of fist most valiant : I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heart-string I love the lovely bully. What's thy name? K. Hen. Harry le Roy. Pist. Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew? K. Hen. No, I am a Welshman. Pist. Know'st thou Fluellen? K. Hen. Yes. Pist. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate, Upon Saint David's day. |