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Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes
That bloodily did yawn upon his face;

And cries aloud 'Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk !
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven;
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,
As in this glorious and well-foughten field
We kept together in our chivalry!'
Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up:
He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,
And, with a feeble gripe, says 'Dear my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign.'

So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck

He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;
And so espoused to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forced

Those waters from me which I would have 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.

I blame you not;

K. Hen.
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.

[Alarum.

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.

9. honour-owing, honourable. 11. haggled, mangled.

[Exeunt.

20

30

37. On this order, see Introduction, and note to vii. 57.

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SCENE VII. Another part of the field.

Enter FLUELLEN and GoWER.

Flu. Kill the poys and the luggage! 'tis expressly against the law of arms: 'tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as offer't; in your conscience, now, is it not?

can be

Gow. '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 to a gallant king!

Flu. Ay, 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 magnanimous, are all one reckonings, save the phrase is a little variations.

Gow. I think Alexander the Great was born 20 in Macedon his father was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.

Flu. 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,

Sc. 7. Holinshed relates that some six hundred French horsemen, being the first that fled,' 'hearing that the English tents and pavilions were a good way

distant from the army, without any sufficient guard, entered the camp, slew the servants, and plundered the treasure.'

30

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 40 you, kill his best friend, Cleitus.

Gow. Our king is not like him in that: he never killed 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 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 50 with the great-belly doublet: he was full of jests, and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name.

Gow. Sir John Falstaff.

Flu. That is he: I'll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.

Gow. Here comes his majesty.

Alarum. Enter KING HENRY, with BOURBON and prisoners; WARWICK, GLOUCESTER, EXETER, and others.

K. Hen. I was not angry since I came to
France

Until this instant.

Take a trumpet, herald;

Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon 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.

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.

Glo. His eyes are humbler than they used to be.

K. Hen. How now! what means this, herald? know'st thou not

That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom?

[blocks in formation]

бо

70

Bourbon and others are taken.
Henry has thus a new batch of
prisoners, and it is these whose
slaughter he threatens in v. 66,
as a deterrent to the horsemen

on yon hill.' This, as Mr.
Stone has shown, disposes of
Johnson's sarcasm : 'the King
is of a very bloody disposition.
He has already cut the throats
of his prisoners; and
threatens to cut them again.
72. fined, agreed to pay as a

fine.

I

now

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Comest thou again for ransom?

Mont.

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!

K. Hen.

I tell thee truly, herald,

I know not if the day be ours or no;

80

For yet a many of your

horsemen peer

The day is yours.

And gallop o'er the field.

Mont.

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength,

for it!

What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?
Mont. They call it Agincourt.

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

Flu. 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.

K. Hen. They did, Fluellen.

Flu. Your majesty says very true: if your

76. book, enter on the list of killed.

83. Yerk, jerk, kick.

90

100

94. Crispin Crispianus; properly Crispin and Crispinian; and so Holinshed.

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