The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, William Shakespeare [book recommendations based on other books txt] 📗

keep that good name still.

ORLEANS. I know him to be valiant.

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

ORLEANS. What’s he?

CONSTABLE. Marry, he told me so himself; and he said he car’d not who knew it.

ORLEANS. He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.

CONSTABLE. By my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it but his lackey.

‘Tis a hooded valour, and when it appears it will bate.

ORLEANS. Ill-wind never said well.

CONSTABLE. I will cap that proverb with ‘There is flattery in friendship.’

ORLEANS. And I will take up that with ‘Give the devil his due.’

CONSTABLE. Well plac’d! There stands your friend for the devil; have at the very eye of that proverb with ‘A pox of the devil!’

ORLEANS. You are the better at proverbs by how much ‘A fool’s bolt is soon shot.’

CONSTABLE. You have shot over.

ORLEANS. ‘Tis not the first time you were overshot.

 

Enter a MESSENGER

 

MESSENGER. My Lord High Constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of your tents.

CONSTABLE. Who hath measur’d the ground?

MESSENGER. The Lord Grandpre.

CONSTABLE. A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were day!

Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for the dawning as we do.

ORLEANS. What a wretched and peevish fellow is this King of England, to mope with his fat-brain’d followers so far out of his knowledge!

CONSTABLE. If the English had any apprehension, they would run away.

ORLEANS. That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces.

RAMBURES. That island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.

ORLEANS. Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear, and have their heads crush’d like rotten apples! You may as well say that’s a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.

CONSTABLE. Just, just! and the men do sympathise 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.

ORLEANS. Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.

CONSTABLE. Then shall we find tomorrow they have only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we about it?

ORLEANS. It is now two o’clock; but let me see-by ten We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. Exeunt

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ACT IV. PROLOGUE.

 

Enter CHORUS

 

CHORUS. 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.

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 The armourers accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up,

Give dreadful note of preparation.

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do ton, 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 gesture sad Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats Presenteth them unto the gazing moon

So many horrid ghosts. O, 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 overbears 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-dispos’d in brawl ridiculous, The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see, Minding true things by what their mock’ries be. Exit

SCENE I.

France. The English camp at Agincourt

 

Enter the KING, BEDFORD, and GLOUCESTER

 

KING HENRY. Gloucester, ‘tis true that we are in great danger; The greater therefore should our courage be.

Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!

There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out;

For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful and good husbandry.

Besides, they are our outward consciences And preachers to us all, admonishing

That we should dress us fairly for our end.

Thus may we gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself.

 

Enter ERPINGHAM

 

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham: A good soft pillow for that good white head Were better than a churlish turf of France.

ERPINGHAM. Not so, my liege; this lodging likes me better, Since I may say ‘Now lie I like a king.’

KING HENRY. ‘Tis good for men to love their present pains Upon example; so the spirit is eased; And when the mind is quick’ned, out of doubt The organs, though defunct and dead before, Break up their drowsy grave and newly move With casted slough and fresh legerity.

Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas. Brothers both, Commend me to the princes in our camp; Do my good morrow to them, and anon

Desire them all to my pavilion.

GLOUCESTER. We shall, my liege.

ERPINGHAM. Shall I attend your Grace?

KING HENRY. 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.

ERPINGHAM. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!

Exeunt all but the KING

KING HENRY. God-a-mercy, old heart! thou speak’st cheerfully.

 

Enter PISTOL

 

PISTOL. Qui va la?

KING HENRY. A friend.

PISTOL. Discuss unto me: art thou officer, Or art thou base, common, and popular?

KING HENRY. I am a gentleman of a company.

PISTOL. Trail’st thou the puissant pike?

KING HENRY. Even so. What are you?

PISTOL. As good a gentleman as the Emperor.

KING HENRY. Then you are a better than the King.

PISTOL. 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?

KING HENRY. Harry le Roy.

PISTOL. Le Roy! a Cornish name; art thou of Cornish crew?

KING HENRY. No, I am a Welshman.

PISTOL. Know’st thou Fluellen?

KING HENRY. Yes.

PISTOL. Tell him I’ll knock his leek about his pate Upon Saint Davy’s day.

KING HENRY. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that about yours.

PISTOL. Art thou his friend?

KING HENRY. And his kinsman too.

PISTOL. The figo for thee, then!

KING HENRY. I thank you; God be with you!

PISTOL. My name is Pistol call’d. Exit KING HENRY. It sorts well with your fierceness.

 

Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER

 

GOWER. Captain Fluellen!

FLUELLEN. So! in the name of Jesu Christ, speak fewer. It is the greatest admiration in the universal world, when the true and aunchient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great, you shall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle-taddle nor pibble-pabble in Pompey’s camp; I warrant you, you shall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the sobriety of it, and the modesty of it, to be otherwise.

GOWER. Why, the enemy is loud; you hear him all night.

FLUELLEN. If the enemy is an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an ass, and a fool, and a prating coxcomb? In your own conscience, now?

GOWER. I will speak lower.

FLUELLEN. I pray you and beseech you that you will.

Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN

KING HENRY. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour in this Welshman.

 

Enter three soldiers: JOHN BATES, ALEXANDER COURT, and MICHAEL WILLIAMS

 

COURT. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?

BATES. I think it be; but we have no great cause to desire the approach of day.

WILLIAMS. We see yonder the beginning of the day, but I think we shall never see the end of it. Who goes there?

KING HENRY. A friend.

WILLIAMS. Under what captain serve you?

KING HENRY. Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.

WILLIAMS. A good old commander and a most kind gentleman. I pray you, what thinks he of our estate?

KING HENRY. Even as men wreck’d upon a sand, that look to be wash’d off the next tide.

BATES. He hath not told his thought to the King?

KING HENRY. 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.

BATES. 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.

KING HENRY. By my troth, I will speak my conscience of the King: I think he would not wish himself anywhere but where he is.

BATES. Then I would he were here alone; so should he be sure to be ransomed, and a many poor men’s lives saved.

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 honourable.

WILLIAMS. That’s more