Pift. Quality, cality-confture me, art thou a gentleman what is thy name? discuss.

Fr. Sol. O Seigneur Dieu!

Pift. O Signieur Dewe should be a gentleman: Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark; O Signieur Dewe, thou dieft on point of fox, Except, O Signieur, thou do give to me Egregious ransom.

moy.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez mifericorde, ayez pitié de Pift. Moy fhall not ferve; I will have forty moys; or I will fetch thy ranfom out of thy throat, in drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Eft-il impoffible d'efchapper la force de ton Pift. Brais, cur?

[bras? Thou damned and luxurious mountain-goat, offer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pift. Say't thou me fo? is that a ton of moys?
Come hither, boy; ask me this flave in French,
What is his name?

Boy. Efcoutez, cemment eftes vous appellé ?
Fr. Sol. Monfieur le Fer.

Boy. He fays his name is Mr. Fer.

Pift. Mr. Fer! I'll fer him, and ferk him, and ferret him difcufs the fame in French unto him.

:

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and ferk.

Pift. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, Monfieur?

Boy. Il me commande de vous dire que vous vous teniez preft; car ce foldat icy eft difpofe tout à cette heure de couper voftre gorge.

Pift. Owy, cuppelle gorge, parmafoy, pefant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns: or mangled fhalt thou be by this my fword.

Fr. Sol. O, je vous fupplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner; je fuis gentilhomme de bonne maifon, gardes ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cents efcus.

Pift. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to fave his life, he is a gentleman of a good houfe, and for his ranfom he will give you two hundred crowns.

Pift. Tell him my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take.

Fr. Sol. Petit Monfieur, que dit-il?

Boy. Encore qu'il eft contre fon jurement de pardonner aucun prifonnier, neantmoins pour les efcus que vous l'avez promettes, il eft content de vous donner la liberté, le franchifement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remerciemens, et je me eftime heureux qui je fuis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier, je penfe, le plus brave, valiant, et très-eftimé Signeur d'Angleterre.

Pift. Expound unto me, boy.

Boy. He gives you upon his knees a thousand thanks, and esteems himself happy that he hath fall'n into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy Signieur of England.

Pift. As I fuck blood, I will fome mercy fhew. Follow me, cur.

Boy. Suivez le grand capitain. [Ex. Pift. and Fr. Sol. I did never know fo full a voice iffue from fo empty a heart; but the faying is true, The empty vessel makes the greatest found. Bardolph and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' th' old play; every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger: yet they are both hang'd; and fo would this be, if he durft fteal any thing advent'rously. I muft ftay with the lacqueys, with the luggage of our camp; the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it but boys. [Exit.

SCENE XI.

Another part of the field of battle.

Enter Conftable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin, and

Con. O diable!"

Rambures.

Orl. O Signeur! le jour eft perdu, tout eft perdu. Dau. Mort de ma vie ! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our plumes.

[A Short alarm.

Omifchante fortune! do not run away.

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable fhame! let's ftab ourselves:

Be

Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?
Orl. Is this the King we fent to for his ranfom?
Bour. Shame, and eternal fhame, nothing but fhame!
Let us die, instant :- once more back again;
The man that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand
Like a base pander hold the chamber-door,
Whilft by a flave, no gentler than a dog,
His faireft daughter is contaminated.

Con. Disorder that hath spoil'd us, friend us now Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

Orl. We are enow, yet living in the field, To fmother up the English in our throngs;

If any order might be thought upon.

Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng; Let life be fhort, elfe fhame will be too long. [Exeunt.

Alarum. Enter the King and his train, with prisoners. K. Henry. Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen ;

But all's not done; the French yet keep the field. Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your Majefty.

K. Henry. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this

hour

I faw him down; thrice up again, and fighting:
From helmet to the fpur all bleeding o'er.

Exe. In which array, brave foldier, doth he lie,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody fide
(Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds)
The noble Earl of Suffolk alfo lies.

Suffolk first dy'd; and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him where in gore he lay infteep'd,
And takes him by the beard; kiffes the gashes,
That bloodily did yawn upon his face,
And cries aloud, Tarry my coufin Suffolk,
My foul fhall thine keep company to heav'n;
Tarry, sweet foul, for mine, then fly a breast
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry.

Upon

Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up:
He fmil'd me in the face, gave me his hand,
And, with a feeble gripe, fays, Dear my Lord,
Commend my fervice to my Sovereign;

So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kifs'd his lips;
And fo efpous'd to death, with blood he feal'd
A testament of noble ending love.

The pretty and sweet manner of it force'd
Thefe waters from me which I would have stopp'd;
But I had not fo much of man in me,

But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.

K. Henry I blame you not;

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will iffue too.
But, hark, what new alarm is this fame?

[Alarum

The French have reinforce'd their scatter'd men:
Then every foldier kill his prifoners.

Give the word through.

SCENE

[Exeunt.

XIII.

Alarms continued; after which enter Fluellen and Gower.

Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis exprefsly against the law of arms; 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be defir'd in your confcience now; is it not?

Gow. 'Tis certain, there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly rafcals that ran away from the battle, ha' done this flaughter: befides, they have burn'd or carried away all that was in the King's tent; wherefore the King moft worthily has caus'd ev'ry foldier to cut his prifoner's throat. O'tis a gallant King!

Flu. I, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower; what call you the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born?

Gow. Alexander the Great.

Flu. Why, I pray you, is not pig, great? the pig, or the great, or the mighty, or the huge, or the mag nanimous, are all one reckonings, fave the phrafe is a little variations.

Gow

Gow. I think Alexander the Great was born in Mahis father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.

cedon;

Flu. I think, it is in Macedon where Alexander is

you

porn: I tell you, Captain, if look in the maps of the orld, I warrant that you fall find, in the comparifons between Macedon and Monmouth, that the fituations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in Macedon, there is also moreover a river in Monmouth: it is call'd Wye at Monmouth, but it is out of my prains what is the name of the other river; but it is all one, 'tis as like as my fingers to my fingers, and there is falmons 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 pest friend Clytus.

Gow. Our King is not like him in that, he never kill'd any of his friends.

Flu. It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out of my mouth, ere it is made and finish'd. I fpeak but in figures, and comparisons of it; as Alexander kill'd his friend Clytus, being in his ales and his cups; fo alfo Harry Monmouth, being in his right wits and his good judgments, turn'd away the fat Knight with the great belly-doublet; he was full of jefts and gypes, and knaveries, and mocks: I have forgot his name. Gow. Sir John Falstaff.

Fiu. That is he: I tell you, there is good men porn at Monmouth.

Gow. Here comes his Majefty.

SCENE

XIV.

Alarm. Enter King Henry, with Bourbon and other prifoners; Lords and Attendants. Flourish.

K. Henry. I was not angry fince I came to France, Until this inftant. Take a trumpet, herald,

Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:

If