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[HERALD presents another paper.

Here was a royal fellowship of death!-
Where is the number of our English dead?

Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam, esquire:
None else of name; and, of all other men,
But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here,

And not to us, but to thy arm alone,

Ascribe we all. - When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock, and even play of battle,
Was ever known so great and little loss,
On one part and or the other?-Take it, God,

For it is only thine!

Exe. 'Tis wonderful!

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village:

And be it death proclaimed through our host,

To boast of this, or take the praise from God,

Which is his only.

Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty, to tell how many is killed?

K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment,

That God fought for us.

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot.

K. Hen. Do we all holy rites;

Let there be sung Non nobis, and Te Deum.

The dead with charity enclosed in clay,

We'll then to Calais; and to England then;

Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men. [Exeunt.

ACT V.

Enter CHORUS.

Chor. Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story,

That I may prompt them and of such as have,
I humbly pray them to admit the excuse
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the king
Toward Calais: grant him there; there seen,
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts,
Athwart the sea: Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives, and boys,
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth'd sea,
Which, like a mighty whiffler* 'fore the king,
Seems to prepare his way: so let him land;
And, solemnly, see him set on to London.
So swift a pace hath thought, that even now
You may imagine him upon Blackheath:

* Fifer.

Where that his lords desire him, to have borne
His bruised 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. But now behold,
In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens!
The mayor, and all his brethren, in best sort,-
Like to the senators of the antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels,-
Go forth, and fetch their conquering Cæsar in:
As, by a lower but by loving likelihood,*
Were now the general of our gracious empress †
(As, in good time, he may), from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,
How many would the peaceful city quit,

To welcome him? much more, and much more cause,
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him
(As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the king of England's stay at home:
The emperor's coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them); and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanced,
Till Harry's back-return again to France;
There must we bring him; and myself have play'd
The interim, by remembering you-'tis past.
Then brook abridgment; and your eyes advance
After your thought, straight back again to France.

SCENE I-France. An English Court of Guard.
Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER.

[Exit.

Gow. Nay, that's right; but why wear you your leek to day? Saint Davy's day is past.

Flts. There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things: I will tell you, as my friend, captain Gower; The rascally, scald, beggarly, lowsy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and yourself, and all the 'orld, know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is come to me, and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me eat my leek: it was in a place where I could not breed no contentions with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap till I see him once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.

Enter PISTOL.

Gow. Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock. Flu. "Tis no matter for his swellings, nor his turkey-cocks.Got pless you, ancient Pistol, you scurvy, lowsy knave, Got pless you!

Pist. Ha! art thou Bedlam? dost thou thirst, base Trojan,

[blocks in formation]

To have me fold up Parca's fatal web?*

Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.

Flu. I peseech you heartily, scurvy, lowsy knave, at my desires, and my requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek; because, look you, you do not love it, nor your affections, and your appetites, and your digestions, does not agree with it. I would desire you to eat it.

Pist. Not for Cadwallader, and all his goats.

Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him.] Will you be so goot, scald knave, as eat it?

Pist. Base Trojan, thou shalt die.

Flu. You say very true, scald knave, when Got's will is: I will desire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals; come, there is sauce for it. [Striking him again. You called me yesterday, mountain-squire; but I will make you to-day a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.

Gow. Enough, captain; you have astonished him.

Flu. I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his pate four days:-Pite, I pray you; it is goot for your green wound, and your ploody coxcomb.

Pist. Must I bite?

Flu. Yes, certainly; and out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities.

Pist. By this leek, I will most horribly revenge; I eat, and eke I swear

Flu. Eat, I pray you: Will you have some more sauce to your leek; there is not enough leek to swear by.

Pist. Quit thy cudgel; thou dost see, I eat.

Flu. Much goot do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, 'pray you, throw none away; the skin is goot for your proken coxcomb. When you take occasions to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at them; that is all.

Pist. Good.

Flu. Ay, leeks is goot:--Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.

Pist. Me a groat!

Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you shall take it; or I have

another leek in my pocket, which you shall eat.

Pist. I take thy groat, in earnest of revenge.

Flu. If I owe you anything, I will pay you in cudgels; you shall be a woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

Pist. All hell shall stir for this.

[Exit.

Gow. Go, go; you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition-begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceased valour, -and dare not avouch in your deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling ling at this gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak English in the native

* Dost thou desire to have me put thee to death? + Stunned. * Scoffing, sneering.

T

1

garb, he could not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find it otherwise; and, henceforth, let a Welsh correction teach you a good English condition.* Fare ye well.

Pist. Doth fortune play the huswife † with me now?

News have I, that my Nell is dead i' the spital

Of malady of France;

And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgell'd. Well, bawd will I turn,
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I'll steal:
And patches will I get unto these scars,
And swear, I got them in the Gallia wars.

[Exit.

[Exit.

SCENE II.-Troyes in Champagne. An Apartment in the

French King's Palace.

Enter, at one door, KING HENRY, BEDFORD, GLOSTER, EXETER,
WARWICK, WESTMORELAND, and other Lords; at another,
the French KING, QUEEN ISABEL, the PRINCESS KATHA-
RINE, Lords, Ladies, &c.; the Duke of BURGUNDY, and his
Train.

K. Hen. Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!
Unto our brother France, and to our sister,
Health and fair time of day :-joy and good wishes
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;
And (as a branch and member of this royalty,
By whom this great assembly is contrived),
We do salute you, duke of Burgundy ;-
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!

Fr. King. Right joyous are we to behold your face,
Most worthy brother England; fairly met :-
So are you, princes English, every one.

Q. Isa. So happy be the issue, brother England,
Of this good day, and of this gracious meeting,
As we are now glad to behold your eyes;
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them
Against the French, that met them in their bent,
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks:
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,
Have lost their quality; and that this day
Shall change all griefs, and quarrels, into love.
K. Hen. To cry amen to that, thus we appear.
Q. Isa. You English princes all, I do salute you.
Bur. My duty to you both, on equal love,

Great kings of France and England! That I have labour'd

With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,
To bring your most imperial majesties

Unto this bar‡ and royal interview,

Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.

• Temper.

↑ Jilt.

+ Place of meeting.

Since then my office hath so far prevail'd,
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,
Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleached, -
Like prisoners wildly over-grown with hair,
Put forth disorder'd 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, all uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness; and nothing teems,
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
Losing both beauty and utility.

And as 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 favour, I
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.

K. Hen. If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,
Whose want gives growth to the 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, enschedul'd briefly, in your hands.

Bur. The king hath heard them; to the which, as yet,

There is no answer made.

K. Hen. Well then, the peace,

Which you before so urged, lies in his answer.

* Uproot.

+ Appearance.

+ Extravagant.

Hinderance.

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