Henry V Flashcards
O, for a muse of fire that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention!
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act,
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the port of Mars, and at his heels,
Leashed in like hounds, should famine, sword, and
fire
Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all,
The flat unraisèd spirits that hath dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object. Can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? Or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?
O pardon, since a crookèd figure may
Attest in little place a million,
And let us, ciphers to this great account,
On your imaginary forces work.
Suppose within the girdle of these walls
Are now confined two mighty monarchies,
Whose high uprearèd and abutting fronts
The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder.
Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts.
Into a thousand parts divide one man,
And make imaginary puissance.
Think, when we talk of horses, that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i’ th’ receiving earth,
For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our
kings,
Carry them here and there, jumping o’er times,
Turning th’ accomplishment of many years
Into an hourglass; for the which supply,
Admit me chorus to this history,
Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray
Gently to hear, kindly to judge our play.
Chorus as Prologue
My lord, I’ll tell you that self bill is urged
Bishop of Canterbury
We lose the better half of our possession,
Bishop of Canterbury
And a true lover of the holy Church.
Bishop of Ely
The courses of his youth promised it not.
The breath no sooner left his father’s body
But that his wildness, mortified in him,
Seemed to die too. Yea, at that very moment
Consideration like an angel came
And whipped th’ offending Adam out of him,
Leaving his body as a paradise
T’ envelop and contain celestial spirits.
Never was such a sudden scholar made,
Never came reformation in a flood
With such a heady currance scouring faults,
Nor never Hydra-headed willfulness
So soon did lose his seat, and all at once,
As in this king.
Bishop of Canterbury
We are blessèd in the change.
Bishop of Ely
Hear him but reason in divinity
And, all-admiring, with an inward wish
You would desire the King were made a prelate;
Hear him debate of commonwealth affairs,
You would say it hath been all in all his study;
List his discourse of war, and you shall hear
A fearful battle rendered you in music;
Turn him to any cause of policy,
The Gordian knot of it he will unloose
Familiar as his garter; that, when he speaks,
The air, a chartered libertine, is still,
And the mute wonder lurketh in men’s ears
To steal his sweet and honeyed sentences;
So that the art and practic part of life
Must be the mistress to this theoric;
Which is a wonder how his Grace should glean it,
Since his addiction was to courses vain,
His companies unlettered, rude, and shallow,
His hours filled up with riots, banquets, sports,
And never noted in him any study,
Any retirement, any sequestration
From open haunts and popularity.
Bishop of Canterbury
The strawberry grows underneath the nettle,
And wholesome berries thrive and ripen best
Neighbored by fruit of baser quality;
And so the Prince obscured his contemplation
Under the veil of wildness, which, no doubt,
Grew like the summer grass, fastest by night,
Unseen yet crescive in his faculty.
Bishop of Ely
Of what your reverence shall incite us to.
Therefore take heed how you impawn our person,
How you awake our sleeping sword of war.
We charge you in the name of God, take heed,
For never two such kingdoms did contend
Without much fall of blood, whose guiltless drops
Are every one a woe, a sore complaint
’Gainst him whose wrongs gives edge unto the
swords
That makes such waste in brief mortality.
King Henry
Then hear me, gracious sovereign, and you peers
That owe yourselves, your lives, and services
To this imperial throne. There is no bar
To make against your Highness’ claim to France
But this, which they produce from Pharamond:
“In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant”
(No woman shall succeed in Salic land),
Which Salic land the French unjustly gloze
To be the realm of France, and Pharamond
The founder of this law and female bar.
Yet their own authors faithfully affirm
That the land Salic is in Germany,
Between the floods of Sala and of Elbe,
Where Charles the Great, having subdued the
Saxons,
There left behind and settled certain French,
Who, holding in disdain the German women
For some dishonest manners of their life,
Established then this law: to wit, no female
Should be inheritrix in Salic land,
Which “Salic,” as I said, ’twixt Elbe and Sala
Is at this day in Germany called Meissen.
Then doth it well appear the Salic law
Was not devisèd for the realm of France,
Nor did the French possess the Salic land
Until four hundred one and twenty years
After defunction of King Pharamond,
Idly supposed the founder of this law,
Who died within the year of our redemption
Four hundred twenty-six; and Charles the Great
Subdued the Saxons and did seat the French
Beyond the river Sala in the year
Eight hundred five. Besides, their writers say,
King Pepin, which deposèd Childeric,
Did, as heir general, being descended
Of Blithild, which was daughter to King Clothair,
Make claim and title to the crown of France.
Hugh Capet also, who usurped the crown
Of Charles the Duke of Lorraine, sole heir male
Of the true line and stock of Charles the Great,
To find his title with some shows of truth,
Though in pure truth it was corrupt and naught,
Conveyed himself as th’ heir to th’ Lady Lingare,
Daughter to Charlemagne, who was the son
To Lewis the Emperor, and Lewis the son
Of Charles the Great. Also King Lewis the Tenth,
Who was sole heir to the usurper Capet,
Could not keep quiet in his conscience,
Wearing the crown of France, till satisfied
That fair Queen Isabel, his grandmother,
Was lineal of the Lady Ermengare,
Daughter to Charles the foresaid Duke of Lorraine:
By the which marriage the line of Charles the Great
Was reunited to the crown of France.
So that, as clear as is the summer’s sun,
King Pepin’s title and Hugh Capet’s claim,
King Lewis his satisfaction, all appear
To hold in right and title of the female.
So do the kings of France unto this day,
Howbeit they would hold up this Salic law
To bar your Highness claiming from the female,
And rather choose to hide them in a net
Than amply to imbar their crooked titles
Usurped from you and your progenitors.
Bishop of Canterbury
May I with right and conscience make this claim?
King Henry
The sin upon my head, dread sovereign,
Bishop of Canterbury
For you shall read that my great-grandfather
Never went with his forces into France
But that the Scot on his unfurnished kingdom
Came pouring like the tide into a breach
King Henry
Now are we well resolved, and by God’s help
And yours, the noble sinews of our power,
France being ours, we’ll bend it to our awe
Or break it all to pieces.
King Henry
Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure
Of our fair cousin Dauphin, for we hear
Your greeting is from him, not from the King.
King Henry
We are no tyrant, but a Christian king,
Unto whose grace our passion is as subject
As is our wretches fettered in our prisons.
Therefore with frank and with uncurbèd plainness
Tell us the Dauphin’s mind.
King Henry
Says that you savor too much of your youth
And bids you be advised there’s naught in France
That can be with a nimble galliard won;
You cannot revel into dukedoms there.
He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit,
This tun of treasure and, in lieu of this,
Desires you let the dukedoms that you claim
Ambassador (From France)
When we have matched our rackets to these balls,
We will in France, by God’s grace, play a set
Shall strike his father’s crown into the hazard.
King Henry
What treasure, uncle?
King Henry
Tennis balls,
my liege.
Exeter
We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us.
His present and your pains we thank you for.
When we have matched our rackets to these balls,
We will in France, by God’s grace, play a set
Shall strike his father’s crown into the hazard.
Tell him he hath made a match with such a
wrangler
That all the courts of France will be disturbed
With chases. And we understand him well,
How he comes o’er us with our wilder days,
Not measuring what use we made of them.
We never valued this poor seat of England,
And therefore, living hence, did give ourself
To barbarous license, as ’tis ever common
That men are merriest when they are from home.
But tell the Dauphin I will keep my state,
Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness
When I do rouse me in my throne of France,
For that I have laid by my majesty
And plodded like a man for working days;
But I will rise there with so full a glory
That I will dazzle all the eyes of France,
Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us.
And tell the pleasant prince this mock of his
Hath turned his balls to gun-stones, and his soul
Shall stand sore chargèd for the wasteful vengeance
That shall fly with them; for many a thousand
widows
Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands,
Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down;
And some are yet ungotten and unborn
That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin’s scorn.
But this lies all within the will of God,
To whom I do appeal, and in whose name
Tell you the Dauphin I am coming on,
To venge me as I may and to put forth
My rightful hand in a well-hallowed cause.
So get you hence in peace. And tell the Dauphin
His jest will savor but of shallow wit
When thousands weep more than did laugh at it.—
Convey them with safe conduct.—Fare you well.
Ambassadors exit, with Attendants.
King Henry
This was a merry message.
Exeter
We hope to make the sender blush at it.
Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour
That may give furth’rance to our expedition;
For we have now no thought in us but France,
Save those to God, that run before our business.
Therefore let our proportions for these wars
Be soon collected, and all things thought upon
That may with reasonable swiftness add
More feathers to our wings. For, God before,
We’ll chide this Dauphin at his father’s door.
Therefore let every man now task his thought,
That this fair action may on foot be brought.
King Henry
Now all the youth of England are on fire,
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies;
Now thrive the armorers, and honor’s thought
Reigns solely in the breast of every man.
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse,
Following the mirror of all Christian kings
With wingèd heels, as English Mercurys.
For now sits Expectation in the air
And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point,
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets
Promised to Harry and his followers.
The French, advised by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation,
Shake in their fear, and with pale policy
Seek to divert the English purposes.
O England, model to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart,
What might’st thou do, that honor would thee do,
Were all thy children kind and natural!
But see, thy fault France hath in thee found out,
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills
With treacherous crowns, and three corrupted men—
One, Richard, Earl of Cambridge, and the second,
Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third,
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland—
Have, for the gilt of France (O guilt indeed!),
Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France,
And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
If hell and treason hold their promises,
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton.
Linger your patience on, and we’ll digest
Th’ abuse of distance, force a play.
The sum is paid, the traitors are agreed,
The King is set from London, and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton.
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit,
And thence to France shall we convey you safe
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may,
We’ll not offend one stomach with our play.
But, till the King come forth, and not till then,
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene.
Chorus
Well met, Corporal Nym.
Bardolph
Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.
Nym
From our brother of England?
King of France
From him, and thus he greets your Majesty:
He wills you, in the name of God almighty,
That you divest yourself and lay apart
The borrowed glories that, by gift of heaven,
By law of nature and of nations, ’longs
To him and to his heirs—namely, the crown
And all wide-stretchèd honors that pertain
By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France. That you may know
’Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim
Picked from the wormholes of long-vanished days
Nor from the dust of old oblivion raked,
He sends you this most memorable line,
He offers a paper.
In every branch truly demonstrative,
Willing you overlook this pedigree,
And when you find him evenly derived
From his most famed of famous ancestors,
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
From him, the native and true challenger.
Exeter
Or else what follows?
King of France
Bloody constraint, for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it.
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder and in earthquake like a Jove,
That, if requiring fail, he will compel,
And bids you, in the bowels of the Lord,
Deliver up the crown and to take mercy
On the poor souls for whom this hungry war
Opens his vasty jaws, and on your head
Turning the widows’ tears, the orphans’ cries,
The dead men’s blood, the privèd maidens’
groans,
For husbands, fathers, and betrothèd lovers
That shall be swallowed in this controversy.
This is his claim, his threat’ning, and my message—
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,
To whom expressly I bring greeting too.
Exeter
For us, we will consider of this further.
Tomorrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother of England.
King of France
For the Dauphin,
I stand here for him. What to him from England?
Dauphin
Scorn and defiance, slight regard, contempt,
And anything that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
Thus says my king: an if your father’s Highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty,
He’ll call you to so hot an answer of it
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trespass and return your mock
In second accent of his ordinance.
Exeter
Say, if my father render fair return,
It is against my will, for I desire
Nothing but odds with England. To that end,
As matching to his youth and vanity,
I did present him with the Paris balls.
Dauphin
He’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it,
Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe.
And be assured you’ll find a difference,
As we his subjects have in wonder found,
Between the promise of his greener days
And these he masters now. Now he weighs time
Even to the utmost grain. That you shall read
In your own losses, if he stay in France.
Exeter
Tomorrow shall you know our mind at full.
King of France
Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king
Come here himself to question our delay,
For he is footed in this land already.
Exeter
You shall be soon dispatched with fair conditions.
A night is but small breath and little pause
To answer matters of this consequence.
King of France
Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
The well-appointed king at Dover pier
Embark his royalty, and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phoebus
fanning.
Play with your fancies and in them behold,
Upon the hempen tackle, shipboys climbing.
Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give
To sounds confused. Behold the threaden sails,
Borne with th’ invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea,
Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think
You stand upon the rivage and behold
A city on th’ inconstant billows dancing,
For so appears this fleet majestical,
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow!
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,
And leave your England, as dead midnight still,
Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women,
Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance,
For who is he whose chin is but enriched
With one appearing hair that will not follow
These culled and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege;
Behold the ordnance on their carriages,
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
Suppose th’ Ambassador from the French comes
back,
Tells Harry that the King doth offer him
Katherine his daughter and with her, to dowry,
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not, and the nimble gunner
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,
Alarum, and chambers go off.
And down goes all before them. Still be kind,
And eke out our performance with your mind.
Chorus
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once
more,
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there’s nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility,
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger:
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage,
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect,
Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon, let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a gallèd rock
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base
Swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof,
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonor not your mothers. Now attest
That those whom you called fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood
And teach them how to war. And you, good
yeomen,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture. Let us swear
That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt
not,
For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble luster in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot.
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry “God for Harry, England, and Saint George!”
King Henry
For indeed three such antics do not
amount to a man: for Bardolph, he is white-livered
and red-faced, by the means whereof he faces it out
but fights not; for Pistol, he hath a killing tongue
and a quiet sword, by the means whereof he breaks
words and keeps whole weapons; for Nym, he hath
heard that men of few words are the best men, and
therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest he should
be thought a coward, but his few bad words are
matched with as few good deeds, for he never broke
any man’s head but his own, and that was against a
post when he was drunk. They will steal anything
and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute case, bore
it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence.
Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching,
and in Calais they stole a fire shovel. I knew by that
piece of service the men would carry coals. They
would have me as familiar with men’s pockets as
their gloves or their handkerchers, which makes
much against my manhood, if I should take from
another’s pocket to put into mine, for it is plain
pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them and seek
some better service. Their villainy goes against my
weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up.
Boy
By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world. I
will verify as much in his beard. He has no more
directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look
you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy dog.
Fluellen
To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
Take pity of your town and of your people
Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command,
Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
O’erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy.
If not, why, in a moment look to see
The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
Desire the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters,
Your fathers taken by the silver beards
And their most reverend heads dashed to the walls,
Your naked infants spitted upon pikes
Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused
Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
At Herod’s bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
What say you? Will you yield and this avoid
Or, guilty in defense, be thus destroyed?
King Henry
Our expectation hath this day an end.
The Dauphin, whom of succors we entreated,
Returns us that his powers are yet not ready
To raise so great a siege. Therefore, great king,
We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.
Enter our gates, dispose of us and ours,
For we no longer are defensible.
Governor
Open your gates.
Come, uncle Exeter,
Go you and enter Harfleur. There remain,
And fortify it strongly ’gainst the French.
Use mercy to them all for us, dear uncle.
King Henry
Bardolph, a soldier firm and sound of heart and
of buxom valor, hath, by cruel Fate and giddy
Fortune’s furious fickle wheel, that goddess blind,
that stands upon the rolling restless stone—
Pistol
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.
Fluellen
Fortune is Bardolph’s foe and frowns on him,
for he hath stolen a pax and hangèd must he be. A
damnèd death! Let gallows gape for dog, let man go
free, and let not hemp his windpipe suffocate. But
Exeter hath given the doom of death for pax of little
price. Therefore go speak; the Duke will hear thy
voice, and let not Bardolph’s vital thread be cut
with edge of penny cord and vile reproach. Speak,
captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.
Pistol
Marry, for my part, I
think the Duke hath lost never a man but one that is
like to be executed for robbing a church, one
Bardolph, if your Majesty know the man. His face is
all bubukles and whelks and knobs and flames o’
fire; and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like a
coal of fire, sometimes plue and sometimes red, but
his nose is executed, and his fire’s out.
Fluellen
We would have all such offenders so cut
off; and we give express charge that in our marches
through the country there be nothing compelled
from the villages, nothing taken but paid for,
none of the French upbraided or abused in disdainful
language; for when lenity and cruelty play
for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest
winner.
King Henry
Thus says my king: “Say thou to Harry of
England, though we seemed dead, we did but sleep.
Advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him
we could have rebuked him at Harfleur, but that we
thought not good to bruise an injury till it were full
ripe. Now we speak upon our cue, and our voice is
imperial.
Montjoy
Tut, I have the best armor of the world.
Would it were day!
Constable
You have an excellent armor, but let my
horse have his due.
Orleans
It is the best horse of Europe.
Constable
Will it never be morning?
Orleans
My Lord of Orléans and my Lord High Constable,
you talk of horse and armor?
Dauphin
You are as well provided of both as any
prince in the world.
Orleans
What a long night is this! I will not change
my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns.
Çà, ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his
entrails were hairs, le cheval volant, the Pegasus, qui
a 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.
Dauphin
He’s of the color of the nutmeg.
Orleans
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.
Dauphin
Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and
excellent horse.
Constable
It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like
the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance
enforces homage.
Dauphin
No more, cousin.
Orleans
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—”
Dauphin
I have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s
mistress.
Orleans
Then did they imitate that which I composed
to my courser, for my horse is my mistress.
Dauphin
Your mistress bears well.
Orleans
Me well—which is the prescript praise and
perfection of a good and particular mistress.
Dauphin
Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress
shrewdly shook your back.
Constable
So perhaps did yours.
Dauphin
Mine was not bridled.
Constable
O, then belike she was old and gentle, and
you rode like a kern of Ireland, your French hose
off, and in your strait strossers.
Dauphin
You have good judgment in horsemanship.
Constable
Be warned by me, then: they that ride so, and
ride not warily, fall into foul bogs. I had rather have
my horse to my mistress.
Dauphin
I had as lief have my mistress a jade.
Constable
I tell thee, constable, my mistress wears his
own hair.
Dauphin
I could make as true a boast as that if I had
a sow to my mistress.
Constable
“Le chien est retourné à son propre vomissement,
et la truie lavée au bourbier.” Thou mak’st use
of anything.
Dauphin
Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress,
or any such proverb so little kin to the purpose.
Constable
My Lord Constable, the armor that I saw in
your tent tonight, are those stars or suns upon it?
Rambures
Stars, my lord.
Constable
Some of them will fall tomorrow, I hope.
Dauphin
And yet my sky shall not want.
Constable
That may be, for you bear a many superfluously,
and ’twere more honor some were away.
Dauphin
Ev’n as your horse bears your praises—
who would trot as well were some of your brags
dismounted.
Constable
Would I were able to load him with his
desert! Will it never be day? I will trot tomorrow a
mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces.
Dauphin
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.
Constable
Who will go to hazard with me for twenty
prisoners?
Rambures
You must first go yourself to hazard ere you
have them.
Constable
’Tis midnight. I’ll go arm myself.
Dauphin
The Dauphin longs for morning.
Orleans
He longs to eat the English.
Rambures
I think he will eat all he kills.
Constable
By the white hand of my lady, he’s a gallant
prince.
Orleans
Swear by her foot, that she may tread out
the oath.
Constable
He is simply the most active gentleman of
France.
Orleans
Doing is activity, and he will still be doing.
Constable
He never did harm, that I heard of.
Orleans
Nor will do none tomorrow. He will keep
that good name still.
Constable
It is now two o’clock. But, let me see, by ten
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.
Orleans
The confident and overlusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice
Chorus
No, my good knight.
Go with my brothers to my lords of England.
I and my bosom must debate awhile,
And then I would no other company.
King Henry
Discuss unto me: art thou officer or art thou
base, common, and popular?
Pistol
I am a gentleman of a company.
King Henry
Trail’st thou the puissant pike?
Pistol
Even so. What are you?
King Henry
As good a gentleman as the Emperor.
Pistol
Then you are a better than the King.
King Henry
The King’s a bawcock and a heart of gold, a lad
of life, an imp of fame, of parents good, of fist most
valiant. I kiss his dirty shoe, and from heartstring I
love the lovely bully. What is thy name?
Pistol
Harry le Roy.
King Henry
Le Roy? A Cornish name. Art thou of Cornish
crew?
Pistol
No, I am a Welshman.
King Henry
Know’st thou Fluellen?
Pistol
Yes.
King Henry
Tell him I’ll knock his leek about his pate upon
Saint Davy’s day.
Pistol
We see yonder the beginning of the day, but
I think we shall never see the end of it.—Who goes
there?
Williams
A friend.
King Henry
Under what captain serve you?
Williams
Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.
King Henry
A good old commander and a most kind
gentleman. I pray you, what thinks he of our
estate?
Williams
Even as men wracked upon a sand, that
look to be washed off the next tide.
King Henry
He hath not told his thought to the King?
Bates
No. Nor it is not meet he should, for,
though I speak it to you, I think the King is but a
man as I am. The violet smells to him as it doth to
me. The element shows to him as it doth to me. All
his senses have but human conditions. His ceremonies
laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man,
and though his affections are higher mounted than
ours, yet when they stoop, they stoop with the like
wing. Therefore, when he sees reason of fears as we
do, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as
ours are. Yet, in reason, no man should possess him
with any appearance of fear, lest he, by showing it,
should dishearten his army
King Henry
He may show what outward courage he will,
but I believe, as cold a night as ’tis, he could wish
himself in Thames up to the neck; and so I would
he were, and I by him, at all adventures, so we were
quit here.
Bates
Then I would he were here alone; so should he
be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men’s
lives saved.
Bates
By my troth, I will speak my conscience
of the King. I think he would not wish himself
anywhere but where he is.
King Henry
I dare say you love him not so ill to wish
him here alone, howsoever you speak this to feel
other men’s minds. Methinks I could not die anywhere
so contented as in the King’s company, his
cause being just and his quarrel honorable
King Henry
That’s more than we know.
Williams
Ay, or more than we should seek after, for we
know enough if we know we are the King’s subjects.
If his cause be wrong, our obedience to the
King wipes the crime of it out of us.
Bates
But if the cause be not good, the King
himself hath a heavy reckoning to make, when all
those legs and arms and heads, chopped off in a
battle, shall join together at the latter day, and cry
all “We died at such a place,” some swearing, some
crying for a surgeon, some upon their wives left
poor behind them, some upon the debts they owe,
some upon their children rawly left.
Williams
Upon the King! Let us our lives, our souls, our
debts, our careful wives, our children, and our sins,
lay on the King!
We must bear all. O hard condition,
Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath
Of every fool whose sense no more can feel
But his own wringing. What infinite heart’s ease
Must kings neglect that private men enjoy?
And what have kings that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
King Henry
I am a king that find thee, and I know
’Tis not the balm, the scepter, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farcèd title running ’fore the King,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world;
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,
Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave
Who, with a body filled and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labor to his grave.
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,
Had the forehand and vantage of a king.
The slave, a member of the country’s peace,
Enjoys it, but in gross brain little wots
What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace,
Whose hours the peasant best advantages.
King Henry
O God of battles, steel my soldiers’ hearts.
Possess them not with fear. Take from them now
The sense of reck’ning or th’ opposèd numbers
Pluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord,
O, not today, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown.
I Richard’s body have interrèd new
And on it have bestowed more contrite tears
Than from it issued forcèd drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay
Who twice a day their withered hands hold up
Toward heaven to pardon blood. And I have built
Two chantries where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do—
Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.
King Henry
My liege.
Gloucester
My brother Gloucester’s voice.—Ay,
I know thy errand. I will go with thee.
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
King Henry
Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.
Westmoreland
There’s five to one. Besides, they all are fresh.
Exeter
O, that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work today.
Westmoreland
What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin.
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God’s will, I pray thee wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honor,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, ’faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.
God’s peace, I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart. His passport shall 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 called the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day and comes safe home
Will stand o’ tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day, and live old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors
And say “Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.”
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember with advantages
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son,
And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberèd—
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now abed
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.
King Henry
My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.
The French are bravely in their battles set,
And will with all expedience charge on us.
Salisbury
All things are ready if our minds be so.
King Henry
Perish the man whose mind is backward now!
Westmoreland
Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?
King Henry
God’s will, my liege, would you and I alone,
Without more help, could fight this royal battle!
Westmoreland
Why, now thou hast unwished five thousand men,
Which likes me better than to wish us one.—
You know your places. God be with you all.
King Henry
Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assurèd overthrow.
For certainly thou art so near the gulf
Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
The Constable desires thee thou wilt mind
Thy followers of repentance, that their souls
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire
From off these fields where, wretches, their poor
bodies
Must lie and fester.
Montjoy
Who hath sent thee now?
King Henry
The Constable of France.
Montjoy
I pray thee bear my former answer back.
Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones.
Good God, why should they mock poor fellows
thus?
The man that once did sell the lion’s skin
While the beast lived was killed with hunting him.
A many of our bodies shall no doubt
Find native graves, upon the which, I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day’s work.
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,
They shall be famed; for there the sun shall greet
them
And draw their honors reeking up to heaven,
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark, then, abounding valor in our English,
That being dead, like to the bullet’s crazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.
Let me speak proudly: tell the Constable
We are but warriors for the working day;
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirched
With rainy marching in the painful field.
There’s not a piece of feather in our host—
Good argument, I hope, we will not fly—
And time hath worn us into slovenry.
But, by the Mass, our hearts are in the trim,
And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night
They’ll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck
The gay new coats o’er the French soldiers’ heads
And turn them out of service. If they do this,
As, if God please, they shall, my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labor.
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald.
They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints,
Which, if they have, as I will leave ’em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.
King Henry
I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald anymore.
Montjoy
I fear thou wilt once more come again
for a ransom.
King Henry
My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vaward.
York
Take it, brave York.
Now, soldiers, march away,
And how Thou pleasest, God, dispose the day.
King Henry
I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty
a heart. But the saying is true: “The empty vessel
makes the greatest sound.”
Boy
Kill the poys and the luggage! ’Tis expressly
against the law of arms. ’Tis as arrant a piece of
knavery, mark you now, as can be offert, in your
conscience now, is it not?
Fluellen
’Tis certain there’s not a boy left alive, and
the cowardly rascals that ran from the battle ha’
done this slaughter. Besides, they have burned
and carried away all that was in the King’s tent,
wherefore the King, most worthily, hath caused
every soldier to cut his prisoner’s throat. O, ’tis a
gallant king!
Gower
I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald.
King Henry
Com’st thou again for ransom?
King Henry
No, great king.
I come to thee for charitable license,
That we may wander o’er this bloody field
To book our dead and then to bury them,
To sort our nobles from our common men,
For many of our princes—woe the while!—
Lie drowned and soaked in mercenary blood.
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes, and the wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armèd heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king,
To view the field in safety and dispose
Of their dead bodies.
Montjoy
I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no,
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o’er the field.
King Henry
The day is yours.
Montjoy
Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
What is this castle called that stands hard by?
King Henry
They call it Agincourt.
Montjoy
Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
King Henry
Here is the number of the slaughtered French.
Herald
This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
That in the field lie slain.
King Henry
Where is the number of our English dead?
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire;
None else of name, and of all other men
But five and twenty
King Henry
Come, go we in procession to the village,
And be it death proclaimèd through our host
To boast of this or take that praise from God
Which is His only.
King Henry
Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to
tell how many is killed?
Fluellen
Yes, captain, but with this acknowledgment:
That God fought for us.
King Henry
Where that his lords desire him to have borne
His bruisèd helmet and his bended sword
Before him through the city. He forbids it,
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride,
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent
Quite from himself, to God.
Chorus
To England
will I steal, and there I’ll steal.
Pistol
My duty to you both, on equal love,
Great kings of France and England. That I have
labored
With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavors
To bring your most imperial Majesties
Unto this bar and royal interview,
Your Mightiness on both parts best can witness.
Since, then, my office hath so far prevailed
That face to face and royal eye to eye
You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me
If I demand before this royal view
What rub or what impediment there is
Why that the naked, poor, and mangled peace,
Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births,
Should not in this best garden of the world,
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
Alas, she hath from France too long been chased,
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
Corrupting in its own fertility.
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unprunèd, dies. Her hedges, even-pleached,
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,
Put forth disordered twigs. Her fallow leas
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory
Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts
That should deracinate such savagery.
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, withal uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burrs,
Losing both beauty and utility.
And all our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness.
Even so our houses and ourselves and children
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,
The sciences that should become our country,
But grow like savages, as soldiers will
That nothing do but meditate on blood,
To swearing and stern looks, diffused attire,
And everything that seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favor
You are assembled, and my speech entreats
That I may know the let why gentle peace
Should not expel these inconveniences
And bless us with her former qualities.
Burgundy
If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,
Whose want gives growth to th’ imperfections
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace
With full accord to all our just demands,
Whose tenors and particular effects
You have, enscheduled briefly, in your hands.
King Henry
The King hath heard them, to the which as yet
There is no answer made.
Burgundy
Well then, the peace which you before so urged
Lies in his answer.
King Henry
I have but with a cursitory eye
O’erglanced the articles. Pleaseth your Grace
To appoint some of your council presently
To sit with us once more with better heed
To resurvey them, we will suddenly
Pass our accept and peremptory answer.
King of France
Brother, we shall.—Go, uncle Exeter,
And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,
Warwick, and Huntington, go with the King,
And take with you free power to ratify,
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
Shall see advantageable for our dignity,
Anything in or out of our demands,
And we’ll consign thereto.—Will you, fair sister,
Go with the princes or stay here with us?
King Henry
Our gracious brother, I will go with them.
Haply a woman’s voice may do some good
When articles too nicely urged be stood on.
Queen of France
Yet leave our cousin Katherine here with us.
She is our capital demand, comprised
Within the forerank of our articles.
King Henry
She hath good leave.
Queen of France
Fair Katherine, and most fair,
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
Such as will enter at a lady’s ear
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
King Henry
Your Majesty shall mock at me. I cannot
speak your England.
Katherine
O fair Katherine, if you will love me
soundly with your French heart, I will be glad to
hear you confess it brokenly with your English
tongue. Do you like me, Kate?
King Henry
Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell wat is “like
me.”
Katherine
An angel is like you, Kate, and you are
like an angel.
King Henry
Que dit-il? Que je suis semblable à
les anges?
Katherine
Oui, vraiment, sauf votre Grâce, ainsi dit-il.
Alice
I said so, dear Katherine, and I must not
blush to affirm it.
King Henry
Ô bon Dieu, les langues des hommes sont
pleines de tromperies.
Katherine
What says she, fair one? That the
tongues of men are full of deceits?
King Henry
Oui, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of
deceits; dat is de Princess.
Alice
The Princess is the better Englishwoman.—
I’ faith, Kate, my wooing is fit for thy
understanding. I am glad thou canst speak no
better English, for if thou couldst, thou wouldst
find me such a plain king that thou wouldst think I
had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no ways
to mince it in love, but directly to say “I love you.”
Then if you urge me farther than to say “Do you, in
faith?” I wear out my suit. Give me your answer, i’
faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How say
you, lady?
King Henry
Sauf votre honneur, me understand well.
Katherine
Marry, if you would put me to verses or
to dance for your sake, Kate, why you undid me.
For the one, I have neither words nor measure; and
for the other, I have no strength in measure, yet a
reasonable measure in strength. If I could win a
lady at leapfrog or by vaulting into my saddle with
my armor on my back, under the correction of
bragging be it spoken, I should quickly leap into a
wife. Or if I might buffet for my love, or bound my
horse for her favors, I could lay on like a butcher
and sit like a jackanapes, never off. But, before God,
Kate, I cannot look greenly nor gasp out my eloquence,
nor I have no cunning in protestation, only
downright oaths, which I never use till urged, nor
never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of
this temper, Kate, whose face is not worth sun-burning,
that never looks in his glass for love of
anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I
speak to thee plain soldier. If thou canst love me for
this, take me. If not, to say to thee that I shall die is
true, but for thy love, by the Lord, no. Yet I love thee
too. And while thou liv’st, dear Kate, take a fellow of
plain and uncoined constancy, for he perforce must
do thee right because he hath not the gift to woo in
other places. For these fellows of infinite tongue,
that can rhyme themselves into ladies’ favors, they
do always reason themselves out again. What? A
speaker is but a prater, a rhyme is but a ballad, a
good leg will fall, a straight back will stoop, a black
beard will turn white, a curled pate will grow bald,
a fair face will wither, a full eye will wax hollow, but
a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon, or
rather the sun and not the moon, for it shines bright
and never changes but keeps his course truly. If
thou would have such a one, take me. And take me,
take a soldier. Take a soldier, take a king. And what
say’st thou then to my love? Speak, my fair, and
fairly, I pray thee.
King Henry
Is it possible dat I sould love de enemy of
France?
Katherine
No, it is not possible you should love the
enemy of France, Kate. But, in loving me, you
should love the friend of France, for I love France
so well that I will not part with a village of it. I will
have it all mine. And, Kate, when France is mine
and I am yours, then yours is France and you are
mine.
King Henry
I cannot tell wat is dat.
Katherine
No, Kate? I will tell thee in French,
which I am sure will hang upon my tongue like a
new-married wife about her husband’s neck, hardly
to be shook off. Je quand sur le possession de
France, et quand vous avez le possession de moi—let
me see, what then? Saint Denis be my speed!—donc
vôtre est France, et vous êtes mienne. It is as easy for
me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so
much more French. I shall never move thee in
French, unless it be to laugh at me.
King Henry
Sauf votre honneur, le français que vous
parlez, il est meilleur que l’anglais lequel je parle
Katherine
No, faith, is ’t not, Kate, but thy speaking
of my tongue, and I thine, most truly-falsely must
needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate, dost
thou understand thus much English? Canst thou
love me?
King Henry
I cannot tell.
Katherine
Can any of your neighbors tell, Kate? I’ll
ask them. Come, I know thou lovest me; and at
night, when you come into your closet, you’ll question
this gentlewoman about me, and, I know, Kate,
you will, to her, dispraise those parts in me that you
love with your heart. But, good Kate, mock me
mercifully, the rather, gentle princess, because I
love thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I
have a saving faith within me tells me thou shalt, I
get thee with scambling, and thou must therefore
needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou
and I, between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound
a boy, half French, half English, that shall go
to Constantinople and take the Turk by the beard?
Shall we not? What say’st thou, my fair flower de
luce?
King Henry
I do not know dat.
Katherine
No, ’tis hereafter to know, but now to
promise. Do but now promise, Kate, you will
endeavor for your French part of such a boy; and
for my English moiety, take the word of a king and
a bachelor. How answer you, la plus belle Katherine
du monde, mon très cher et divin déesse?
King Henry
Your Majesté ’ave fausse French enough to
deceive de most sage demoiselle dat is en France.
Katherine
Now fie upon my false French. By mine
honor, in true English, I love thee, Kate. By which
honor I dare not swear thou lovest me, yet my blood
begins to flatter me that thou dost, notwithstanding
the poor and untempering effect of my visage. Now
beshrew my father’s ambition! He was thinking of
civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created
with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that
when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in
faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear.
My comfort is that old age, that ill layer-up of
beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou
hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst, and thou shalt
wear me, if thou wear me, better and better. And
therefore tell me, most fair Katherine, will you have
me? Put off your maiden blushes, avouch the
thoughts of your heart with the looks of an empress,
take me by the hand, and say “Harry of England, I
am thine,” which word thou shalt no sooner bless
mine ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud “England
is thine, Ireland is thine, France is thine, and Henry
Plantagenet is thine,” who, though I speak it before
his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou
shalt find the best king of good fellows. Come, your
answer in broken music, for thy voice is music, and
thy English broken. Therefore, queen of all, Katherine,
break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt
thou have me?
King Henry
Dat is as it shall please de roi mon père.
Katherine
Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall
please him, Kate.
King Henry
Den it sall also content me.
Katherine
Upon that I kiss your hand, and I call you
my queen.
King Henry
Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma
foi, je ne veux point que vous abaissiez votre grandeur,
en baisant la main d’ une—Notre Seigneur!—
indigne serviteur. Excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon
très puissant seigneur.
Katherine
Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
King Henry
Les dames et demoiselles, pour être baisées
devant leurs noces, il n’est pas la coutume de France.
Katherine
Madam my interpreter, what says she?
King Henry
Dat it is not be de fashion pour les ladies of
France—I cannot tell wat is baiser en Anglish.
Alice
To kiss.
King Henry
Your Majesté entendre bettre que moi.
Alice
It is not a fashion for the maids in France
to kiss before they are married, would she say?
King Henry
Oui, vraiment.
Alice
O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great
kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot be confined
within the weak list of a country’s fashion. We are
the makers of manners, Kate, and the liberty that
follows our places stops the mouth of all find-faults,
as I will do yours for upholding the nice fashion of
your country in denying me a kiss. Therefore,
patiently and yielding. He kisses her. You have
witchcraft in your lips, Kate. There is more eloquence
in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues
of the French council, and they should sooner
persuade Harry of England than a general petition
of monarchs.
Here comes your father.
King Henry
Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
Issue to me, that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale
With envy of each other’s happiness,
May cease their hatred, and this dear conjunction
Plant neighborhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword ’twixt England and fair France.
King of France
Thus far with rough and all-unable pen
Our bending author hath pursued the story,
In little room confining mighty men,
Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
Small time, but in that small most greatly lived
This star of England. Fortune made his sword,
By which the world’s best garden he achieved
And of it left his son imperial lord.
Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crowned King
Of France and England, did this king succeed,
Whose state so many had the managing
That they lost France and made his England bleed,
Which oft our stage hath shown. And for their sake,
In your fair minds let this acceptance take.
Chorus
Alice, you were in England, and you speak the language well.
Katherine
A little, madam
Alice
I beg you, teach me. I must learn to speak. What do you call la main in English?
Katherine
La main? It is called “de hand.”
Alice
De hand. And les doigts?
Katherine
Les doigts? My faith, I forget les doigts; but I will remember. Les doigts? I think they are called “de fingres” ; yes, de fiingres.
Alice
Le main, de hand. Les doigts, le fingres. I think I am a good student. I have quickly mastered two words of English. What do you call les ongles?
Katherine
Les ongles? We call them “de nailes.”
Alice
De nailes. Listen. Tell me if I speak well: de hand, de fingres, and de nailes
Katherine
That’s well said, madam. It is very good English.
Alice
Tell me the English for le bras.
Katherine
“De arme,” madam.
Alice
And le coude?
Katherine
“D’elbow”
Alice
D’elbow. I will repat all the words that you have taught me so far.
Katherine
It is too difficult, madam, I think.
Alice
Excuse me, Alice. Listen: d’hand, de fingre, de nailes, d’arma, de bilbow
Katherine
D’elbow, madam
Alice
O Lord God! I forget it: d’elbow. What do you call le col?
Katherine
“De nick,” madam.
Alice
De nick. And le menton?
Katherine
“De chin.”
Alice
De sin. Le col, de, nick; le menton, de sin
Katherine
Yes. Saving your honor, in truth you pronounce the words as correctly as the natives of England
Alice
I have no doubt about learning it, by the grace of God, and in little time.
Katherine
Haven’t you already forgotten what I have taught you?
Alice
No. I will recite promptly to you: d’hand, de fingre, de mailes-
Katherine
De nailes, madam
Alice
De nailes, de arme, de ilbow-
Katherine
With all due respect, d’elbow
Alice
That’s what I say: d’elbow, de nick, and de sin. What do you call le pied and la robe?
Katherine
“Le foot” madam, and “le count”
Alice
Le foot and le count. O Lord God! They are ill-sounding words, corrupt, foul, and lewd, and not for ladies of honor to use. I would not pronounce these words in front of the lords of France for the whole world. Foh! Le foot and le count! Nevertheless, I will recite one more time the whole of my lesson: d’hand, de fingre, de nailes, d’arme, d’elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, le count.
Katherine
Excellent, madam
Alice
That is enough for one time. Let’s go to dinner.
Katherine
