I ftand here for him: what to him from England?
Exe. Scorn and defiance, flight regard, contempt,
And any thing that may not mifbecome

The mighty fender, doth he prize you at.
Thus fays my King; and if your father's Highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
Sweeten the bitter mock you fent his Majefty;
He'll call you to fo hot an answer for it,
That caves and womby vaultages of France
Shall chide your trefpafs, and return your mock
In fecond accent to his ordinance.

Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply,
It is against my will; for I defire

Nothing but odds with England; to that end,
As matching to his youth and vanity,

I did prefent him with those Paris balls.

Exe. He'll make your Paris Louvre fhake for it,
Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe:
And, be affur'd, you'll find a difference
(As we his fubjects have in wonder found)
Between the promise of his greener days,
And thofe he masters now, now he weighs time
Even to the utmoft grain, which you shall read
In your own loffes, if he ftay in France.

[full. Fr. King. To-morrow you shall know our mind at [Flourish. Exe. Difpatch us with all speed, left that our King Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already.

Fr. King. You fhall be foon dispatch'd with fair conA night is but fmall breath, and little paufe, [ditions. To answer matters of this confequence. [Exeunt.

In motion of no lefs celerity

Than that of thought. Suppofe that you have seen The well-appointed King at Hampton pier

Imbark his royalty; and his brave fleet

With filken streamers the young Phoebus fanning.
Play with your fancies; and in them behold,
Upon the hempen tackle, fhip-boys climbing;
Hear the fhrill whiftle, which doth order give
To founds confus'd; behold the threaden fails,
Borne with th' invifible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea,
Breafting the lofty furge. O, do but think,
You ftand upon the rivage, and behold
A city on th' inconftant billows dancing;
For fo appears this fleet majestical,

Holding due courfe to Harfleur. Follow, follow.
Grapple your minds to fternage of this navy,
And leave your England, as dead midnight still,
Guarded with grandfires, babies, and old women;
Or pafs'd or not arriv'd, to pith and puiffance:
For who is he, whofe chin is but inrich'd
With one appearing hair, that will not follow
Thefe cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
Work, work your thoughts, and therein fee a fiege;
Behold the ordnance on their carriages

With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
Suppofe the ambaffador from France comes back;
Tells Harry, that the King doth offer him
Catharine his daughter, and with her to dowry
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms:
The offer likes not; and the nimble gunner
With lynstock now the devilifh cannon touches,

[Alarm, and cannon go off. And down goes all before him. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit.

SCENE II. Before Harfleur.

Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, and Gloucester; Soldiers with fealing ladders.

K. Henry. Once more unto the breach, dear friends,

once more;

Or close the wall up with the English dead.
In peace, there's nothing fo becomes a man

As modeft ftillnefs and humility:

But when the blaft of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tyger;
Stiffen the finews, fummon up the blood,
Difguife fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let it pry thro' the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon: let the brow o'erwhelm it,
As fearfully as doth a galled rock

O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now fet the teeth, and stretch the noftril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height. Now on, you nobleft English,
Whofe blood is fetch'd from fathers of war-proof;
Fathers, that, like fo many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought,
And fheath'd their fwords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers; now atteft,

That those whom you call'd fathers, did beget you.
Be copy now to men of groffer blood,

And teach them how to war; and you, good yeomen,
Whofe limbs were made in England, fhew us here
The mettle of your pasture: let us fwear

That you are worth your breeding, which I doubt not:
For there is none of you fo mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes;
I fee you stand like greyhounds in the flips,
Straining upon the tart. The game's a-foot:
Follow your fpirit; and, upon this charge,
¿Cry, God for Harry! England! and St. George!

[Exeunt King and Train. [Alarm, and cannon go off.

SCENE III.

Enter Nym, Bardolph, Piftol, and Boy.

Bard. On, on, on, on, on, to the breach, to the breach.

Nym. 'Pray thee, Corporal, ftay; the knocks are too hot; and for mine own part, I have not a cafe of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain fong

of it.

Pift. The plain fong is moft juft; for humours do

abound:

Knocks go and come: God's vaffals drop and die; And fword and fhield, in bloody field, doth win immortal fame.

Boy. Wou'd I were in an alehoufe in London, I would give all my fame for a pot of ale and fafety. Pift. And I if wifhes would prevail, I wou'd not stay, but thither would I hie.

Enter Fluellen.

Flu. Up to the preach, you dogs; avaunt, you cullions.

Pift. Be merciful, great Duke, to men of mould, Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage;

Good bawcock, bate thy rage; ufe lenity, fweet chuck. Nym. These be good humours; your honour wins bad humours.

[Exeunt.

Boy. As young as I am, I have obferv'd these three fwathers. I am boy to them all three; but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for, indeed, three fuch antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-liver'd and red-face'd; by the means whereof he faces it out, but fights not. For Piftol, he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet fword; 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 fay his prayers, left he should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are match'd 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 fteal any thing, and call it purchafe. "Bardolph, "ftole a lute-cafe, bore it twelve leagues, and fold it "for three half-pence. Nym and Bardolph are fworn brothers in filching; and in Calais they ftole a fire-thovel. I knew, by that piece of fervice, the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with mens' pockets, as their gloves or their handkerchers; which makes much against my manhood; for if I would take from another's pocket to put into mine, it is plain pocketting up of wrongs. I must leave them, and feek

fome

fome better fervice; their villany goes against my weak ftomach, and therefore I must caft it up.

Enter Gower, and Fluellen.

[Exit Boy.

Gower. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.

Flu. To the mines? tell you the Duke, it is not fo goot to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines are not according to the difciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not fufficient; for, look you, th'athverfary (you may difcufs unto the Duke, look you) is digg'd himself four yards under the countermines; by Chefhu, I think, a' will plow up all, if there is not petter directions.

Gower. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the fiege is given, is altogether directed by an Irish man, a very valiant gentleman, i'faith.

Flu. It is Captain Mackmorris, is it not?

Gower. I think it be.

Flu. By Chefhu he is an afs, as is in the world; I will verify as much in his peard; he has no more directions in the true difciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman difciplines, than is a puppy-dog.

Enter Mackmorris and Capt. Jamy.

Gower. Here he comes, and the Scots Captain, Captain Jamy, with him.

Flu. Captain Jamy is a marvellous valorous gentleman, that is certain; and of great expedition and knowledge in the ancient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions; by Chefhu he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the difciplines of the priftine wars of the Romans.

Jamy. I fay, gudday, Captain Fluellen.

Flu. Godden to your Worthip, good Captain James. Gower. How now, Captain Mackmorris, have you quitted the mines! have the pioneers giv'n o'er?

Mack. By Chrifh law, tifh ill done; the work ifh give over, the trumpet found the retreat. By my hand, 1 fwear, and by my father's foul, the work ith ill done; it ifh give over; I would have blowed up the town, fo