Enter Montjoy.

 

MONT.

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.

K. HEN.

Who hath sent thee now?

MONT.

The Constable of France.

K. HEN.

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 liv'd, was kill'd with hunting him.

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 fam'd; for there the sun shall greet them,

And draw their honors reeking up to heaven,

Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,

The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.

Mark then abounding valor in our English:

That being dead, like to the bullet's crasing,

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 besmirch'd

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, or they will pluck

The gay new coats o'er the 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 labor.

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 'um them,

Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

MONT.

I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well;

Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

 

Exit.

 

K. HEN. I fear thou wilt once more come again for a ransom.

 

Enter York.

 

YORK.

My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg

The leading of the vaward.

K. HEN.

Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away,

And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!

 

Exeunt.

 

 

[Scene IV]

Alarum. Excursions. Enter Pistol, French Soldier, Boy.

 

PIST. Yield, cur!

FR. SOL. Je pense que vous êtes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

PIST. Qualtitie! [Calen o] custure me! Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? Discuss.

FR. SOL. O Seigneur Dieu!

PIST.

O Signieur Dew should be a gentleman.

Perpend my words, O Signieur Dew, and mark:

O Signieur Dew, thou diest on point of fox,

Except, O signieur, thou do give to me

Egregious ransom.

FR. SOL. O, prenez miséricorde! ayez pitié de moi!

PIST.

Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys,

[Or] I will fetch thy rim out at thy throat

In drops of crimson blood.

FR. SOL. Est-il impossible d'échapper la force de ton bras?

PIST.

Brass, cur?

Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,

Offer'st me brass?

FR. SOL. O, pardonnez moi!

PIST.

Say'st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys?

Come hither, boy, ask me this slave in French

What is his name.

BOY. Écoutez: comment êtes-vous appelé?

FR. SOL. Monsieur le Fer.

BOY. He says his name is Master Fer.

PIST.