Who when they were in health, I tell thee, herald,

I thought upon one pair of English legs
Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, God,

That I do brag thus! This your air of France
Hath blown that vice in me; I must repent.

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Go therefore, tell thy master here I am;
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,
My army but a weak and sickly guard ;
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on,

Though France himself and such another neighbour
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy.
Go, bid thy master well advise himself :

If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd,

We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolour and so, Montjoy, fare you well.

:

The sum of all our answer is but this :
We would not seek a battle, as we are;
Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it:
So tell your master.

MONT. I shall deliver so.

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Thanks to your highness.

[Exit.

GLOU. I hope they will not come upon us now. K. HEN. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs. March to the bridge; it now draws toward night : Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves, And on to-morrow bid them march away.

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[Exeunt.

SCENE VII.-The French camp, near Agincourt. Enter the CONSTABLE of France, the LORD RAMBURES, ORLEANS, DAUPHIN, with others.

CON. Tut! I have the best armour of the world. Would it were day!

ORL. You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.

CON. It is the best horse of Europe.

ORL. Will it never be morning?

DAU. My Lord of Orleans, and my lord high constable, you talk of horse and armour?

ORL. You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.

ΙΟ

DAU. What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns. Ca, ha!

he bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs; le cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les narines de feu ! When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes. ORL. He's of the colour of the nutmeg.

Daʊ. And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him he is indeed a horse; and all other jades you may call beasts.

CON. Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.

DAU. It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch and his countenance enforces homage.

ORL. No more, cousin.

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DAU. Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey: it is a theme as fluent as the sea turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all: 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the world, familiar to us and unknown to lay apart their particular functions and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise and began thus: 'Wonder of nature,'

ORL. I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress. DAU. Then did they imitate that which I composed to my courser, for my horse is my mistress.

RAM. My lord constable, the armour that I saw in your tent to-night, are those stars or suns upon it?

CON. Stars, my lord.

DAU. Some of them will fall to-morrow, I hope.
CON. And yet my sky shall not want.

DAU. That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and 'twere more honour some were away.

39

CON. Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.

DAU. Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I will trot to-morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces.

CON. I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out

of my way but I would it were morning; for I would fain be about the ears of the English.

RAM. Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?

CON. You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them.

DAU. 'Tis midnight; I'll go arm myself.
ORL. The Dauphin longs for morning.
RAM. He longs to eat the English.

CON. I think he will eat all he kills.

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[Exit.

ORL. By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant prince.

CON. Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath.

ORL. He is simply the most active gentleman of France. CON. Doing is activity; and he will still be doing. 61 ORL. He never did harm, that I heard of.

CON. Nor will do none to-morrow: he will keep that good name still.

ORL. I know him to be valiant.

CON. I was told that by one that knows him better than you.

ORL. What's he?

CON. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said he cared not who knew it.

70

ORL. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him. CON. By my faith, sir, but it is; never any body, saw it but his lackey: 'tis a hooded valour; and when it appears, it will bate.

ORL. Ill will never said well.

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.'

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.

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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.

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. 91

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.

100

CON. Just, just; and the men do sympathize with 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.

ACT IV.

PROLOGUE.

Enter Chorus.

CHOR. Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

[Exeunt.

From camp to camp through the foul womb of night
The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fixed sentinels almost receive

The secret whispers of each other's watch :

Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face;
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents

ΙΟ

The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation :

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

Sit patiently and inly ruminate

The morning's danger, and their gestures sad
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn 'coats
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon.

So many horrid ghosts. Ŏ now, who will behold
The royal captain of this ruin'd band

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'
For forth he goes and visits all his host.
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile
And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note
How dread an army hath enrounded him ;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night,
But freshly looks and over-bears attaint
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty ;
That every wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:
A largess universal like the sun

His liberal eye doth give to every one,
Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all,
Behold, as may unworthiness define,
A little touch of Harry in the night.
And so our scene must to the battle fly;
Where--O for pity!-
!—we shall much disgrace
With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous,
The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
Minding true things by what their mockeries be.

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3309

40

50

[Exit.