William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition (283 page)
Read William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition Online
Authors: William Shakespeare
Tags: #Drama, #Literary Criticism, #Shakespeare
BOOK: William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition
12.96Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
GLOUCESTER
My liege.
KING HARRY 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.
4.2The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.
Exeunt
Enter the Dukes of
⌈
Bourbon
⌉
and Orléans, and Lord
Rambures
ORLÉANS The sun doth gild our armour. Up, my lords!
⌈BOURBON⌉
Monte cheval!
My horse!
Varlet, lacquais!
Ha!
Monte cheval!
My horse!
Varlet, lacquais!
Ha!
ORLÉANS O brave spirit!
⌈BOURBON⌉ Via les eaux et
terre!
terre!
ORLÉANS
Rien plus? L’air et feu!
Rien plus? L’air et feu!
⌈BOURBON⌉ Cieux, cousin Orléans!
Now, my Lord Constable!
Enter the Constable
CONSTABLE Hark how our steeds for present service neigh.
⌈BOURBON⌉
Mount them and make incision in their hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes
And dout them with superfluous courage. Ha!
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes
And dout them with superfluous courage. Ha!
RAMBURES
What, will you have them weep our horses’ blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears?
Enter a Messenger
How shall we then behold their natural tears?
Enter a Messenger
MESSENGER
The English are embattled, you French peers.
CONSTABLE
To horse, you gallant princes, straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shells and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtal-axe a stain
That our French gallants shall today draw out
And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on
them,
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shells and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtal-axe a stain
That our French gallants shall today draw out
And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on
them,
The vapour of our valour will o‘erturn them.
’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle, were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe,
Though we upon this mountain’s basis by
Took stand for idle speculation,
But that our honours must not. What’s to say?
A very little little let us do
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonance and the note to mount,
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall couch down in fear and yield.
’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle, were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe,
Though we upon this mountain’s basis by
Took stand for idle speculation,
But that our honours must not. What’s to say?
A very little little let us do
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonance and the note to mount,
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall couch down in fear and yield.
Enter Lord Grandpré
GRANDPRÉ
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favouredly become the morning field.
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks
With torchstaves in their hands, and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips,
The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes,
And in their palled dull mouths the gimmaled bit
Lies foul with chewed grass, still and motionless.
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o’er them all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favouredly become the morning field.
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks
With torchstaves in their hands, and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips,
The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes,
And in their palled dull mouths the gimmaled bit
Lies foul with chewed grass, still and motionless.
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o’er them all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.
CONSTABLE
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.
⌈BOURBON⌉
Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?
CONSTABLE
I stay but for my guidon. To the field!
I will the banner from a trumpet take
And use it for my haste. Come, come away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. Exeunt
4.3I will the banner from a trumpet take
And use it for my haste. Come, come away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. Exeunt
Enter the Dukes of Gloucester
, ⌈
Clarence
⌉,
and Exeter
,
the Earls of Salisbury and
⌈
Warwick
⌉
, and Sir Thomas Erpingham, with all
⌈
the
⌉
host
GLOUCESTER Where is the King?
⌈CLARENCE⌉
The King himself is rode to view their battle.
[WARWICK]
Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.
EXETER
There’s five to one. Besides, they all are fresh.
SALISBURY
God’s arm strike with us! ‘Tis a fearful odds.
God b’wi’ you, princes all. I’ll to my charge.
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
Then joyfully, my noble Lord of Clarence,
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
And (to Warwick) my kind kinsman, warriors all,
adieu.
God b’wi’ you, princes all. I’ll to my charge.
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
Then joyfully, my noble Lord of Clarence,
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
And (to Warwick) my kind kinsman, warriors all,
adieu.
⌈CLARENCE⌉
Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee.
EXETER
Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly today—
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.
Exit Salisbury
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.
Exit Salisbury
⌈CLARENCE⌉
He is as full of valour as of kindness,
Princely in both.
Enter King Harry, behind
Princely in both.
Enter King Harry, behind
⌈WARWICK⌉
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work today.
That do no work today.
KING HARRY What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Warwick? 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 honour.
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 ernes me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour
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 honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O do not wish one more.
Rather proclaim it presently 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 a-tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t‘old age
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours
And say, ’Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
And say, ’These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
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 remembered,
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.
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 honour.
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 ernes me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honour
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 honour
As one man more methinks would share from me
For the best hope I have. O do not wish one more.
Rather proclaim it presently 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 a-tiptoe when this day is named
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live t‘old age
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours
And say, ’Tomorrow is Saint Crispian.’
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars
And say, ’These wounds I had on Crispin’s day.’
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 remembered,
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.
Enter the Earl of Salisbury
SALISBURY
My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.
The French are bravely in their battles set
And will with all expedience charge on us.
The French are bravely in their battles set
And will with all expedience charge on us.
KING HARRY
All things are ready if our minds be so.
⌈WARWICK⌉ Perish the man whose mind is backward now.
KING HARRY
Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz?
⌈WARWICK⌉
God’s will, my liege, would you and I alone,
Without more help, could fight this royal battle.
Without more help, could fight this royal battle.
KING HARRY
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.
Which likes me better than to wish us one.—
You know your places. God be with you all.
Tucket. Enter Montjoy
MONTJOY
Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound
Before thy most assured 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.
If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound
Before thy most assured 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.
KING HARRY Who hath sent thee now?
MONTJOY The Constable of France.
KING HARRY
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. 95
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 honours reeking up to heaven,
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then abounding valour in our English,
That, being dead, like to the bullets grazing
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, as they will pluck
The gay new coats o‘er your 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 labour.
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.
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. 95
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 honours reeking up to heaven,
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then abounding valour in our English,
That, being dead, like to the bullets grazing
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, as they will pluck
The gay new coats o‘er your 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 labour.
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.
MONTJOY
I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.
KING HARRY
I fear thou wilt once more come for a ransom.
Exit MontjoyEnter the Duke of York
YORK
My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg
The leading of the vanguard.
The leading of the vanguard.
KING HARRY
Take it, brave York.—Now soldiers, march away,
And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day. Exeunt
4.4And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day. Exeunt
Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, a French soldier, and the Boy
PISTOL Yield, cur.
FRENCH SOLDIER
je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bon qualité.
je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bon qualité.
PISTOL
Qualité? ‘Calin o custure me!’
Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss.
Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss.
FRENCH SOLDIER
O
Seigneur
Dieu!
O
Seigneur
Dieu!
PISTOL ⌈
aside
⌉
aside
⌉
O Seigneur Dew should be a gentleman.—
Perpend my words, O Seigneur Dew, and mark:
O Seigneur Dew, thou diest, on point of fox,
Except, O Seigneur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.
Perpend my words, O Seigneur Dew, and mark:
O Seigneur Dew, thou diest, on point of fox,
Except, O Seigneur, thou do give to me
Egregious ransom.
FRENCH SOLDIER
O prenez miséricorde! Ayez pitie de moi!
O prenez miséricorde! Ayez pitie de moi!
PISTOL
‘Moy’ shall not serve, I will have forty ‘moys’,
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
In drops of crimson blood.
Or I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat
In drops of crimson blood.
FRENCH SOLDIER
Est-il impossible d’échapper la force de ton bras?
Est-il impossible d’échapper la force de ton bras?
PISTOL
Brass, cur? Thou damned and luxurious mountain
goat,
Offer’st me brass?
goat,
Offer’st me brass?
FRENCH SOLDIER
O pardonne-moi!
O pardonne-moi!
PISTOL
Sayst thou me so? Is that a ton of moys?—
Come hither boy. Ask me this slave in French
What is his name.
Come hither boy. Ask me this slave in French
What is his name.
BOY
Écoutez: comment êtes-vous appelé?
Écoutez: comment êtes-vous appelé?
FRENCH SOLDIER Monsieur
le Fer.
le Fer.
Other books
Parallel Desire by Deidre Knight
Beyond Innocence by Barrie Turner
The Ballroom Class by Lucy Dillon
Greene's Riches (A Billionaire Romance - Vol. 2) by Vela, Ana
The Baskerville Tales (Short Stories) by Emma Jane Holloway
Upgraded by Peter Watts, Madeline Ashby, Greg Egan, Robert Reed, Elizabeth Bear, Ken Liu, E. Lily Yu
There's Something About Marty (A Working Stiffs Mystery Book 3) by Wendy Delaney
The Burglar In The Closet by Lawrence Block
Beguiled by Maureen Child
Hot & Bothered (A Hostile Operations Team Novel - Book 8) by Lynn Raye Harris
