Henry V, William Shakespeare [romantic novels in english .txt] 📗

stopp’d;
But I had not so much of man in me,
And all my mother came into mine eyes
And gave me up to tears. King Henry

I blame you not;
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too. Alarm.
But hark! what new alarum is this same?
The French have reinforced their scatter’d men:
Then every soldier kill his prisoners;
Give the word through. Exeunt.

Scene VII

Another part of the field.

Enter Fluellen and Gower. Fluellen 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 offer’t; in your conscience, now, is it not? Gower ’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! Fluellen Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you the town’s name where Alexander the Pig was born! Gower Alexander the Great. Fluellen Why, I pray you, is not pig great? the pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations. Gower I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon: his father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it. Fluellen I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell you, captain, if you look in the maps of the ’orld, I warrant you sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth: it is called Wye at Monmouth; but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but ’tis all one, ’tis alike as my fingers is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark Alexander’s life well, Harry of Monmouth’s life is come after it indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander, God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains, did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend, Cleitus. Gower Our king is not like him in that: he never killed any of his friends. Fluellen It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the figures and comparisons of it: as Alexander killed his friend Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good judgements, turned away the fat knight with the great belly doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name. Gower Sir John Falstaff. Fluellen That is he: I’ll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth. Gower Here comes his majesty. Alarum. Enter King Henry and forces; Warwick, Gloucester, Exeter, and others. King Henry

I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald;
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill:
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field; they do offend our sight:
If they’ll do neither, we will come to them,
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings:
Besides, we’ll cut the throats of those we have,
And not a man of them that we shall take
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.

Enter Montjoy. Exeter Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. Gloucester His eyes are humbler than they used to be. King Henry

How now! what means this, herald? know’st thou not
That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom?
Comest thou again for ransom?

Montjoy

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 drown’d and soak’d in mercenary blood;
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed 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!

King Henry

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.

Montjoy The day is yours. King Henry

Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
What is this castle call’d that stands hard by?

Montjoy They call it Agincourt. King Henry

Then call we this the field of Agincourt.
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

Fluellen Your grandfather of famous memory, an’t please your majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France. King Henry They did, Fluellen. Fluellen Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is remembered of it, the Welshmen did good service in garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which, your majesty know, to this hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do believe your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy’s day. King Henry

I wear it for a memorable honour;
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.

Fluellen All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty’s Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that: Got pless it and preserve it, as long as it pleases his grace, and his majesty too! King Henry Thanks, good my countryman. Fluellen By