PROLOGUE.
Enter CHORUS
CHORUS.Now entertain conjecture of a time When creeping murmur and the poring dark Fills the wide vessel of the universe.From camp to camp,through the foul womb of night,The hum of either army stilly sounds,That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch.Fire answers fire,and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umber'd face;Steed threatens steed,in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night's dull ear;and from the tents The armourers accomplishing the knights,With busy hammers closing rivets up,Give dreadful note of preparation.The country cocks do crow,the clocks do ton,And the third hour of drowsy morning name.Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,The confident and over-lusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice;And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp So tediously away.The poor condemned English,Like sacrifices,by their watchful fires Sit patiently and inly ruminate The morning's danger;and their gesture sad Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts.O,now,who will behold The royal captain of this ruin'd band Walking from watch to watch,from tent to tent,Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'For forth he goes and visits all his host;Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,And calls them brothers,friends,and countrymen.Upon his royal face there is no note How dread an army hath enrounded him;Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watched night;But freshly looks,and over-bears attaint With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;That every wretch,pining and pale before,Beholding him,plucks comfort from his looks;A largess universal,like the sun,His liberal eye doth give to every one,Thawing cold fear,that mean and gentle all Behold,as may unworthiness define,A little touch of Harry in the night.And so our scene must to the battle fly;Where-O for pity!-we shall much disgrace With four or five most vile and ragged foils,Right ill-dispos'd in brawl ridiculous,The name of
Agincourt.Yet sit and see,Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.Exit
SCENE I.France.The English camp at Agincourt
Enter the KING,BEDFORD,and GLOUCESTER
KING HENRY.Gloucester,'tis true that we are in great danger;The greater therefore should our courage be.Good morrow,brother Bedford.God Almighty!There is some soul of goodness in things evil,Would men observingly distil it out;For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,Which is both healthful and good husbandry.Besides,they are our outward consciences And preachers to us all,admonishing That we should dress us fairly for our end.Thus may we gather honey from the weed,And make a moral of the devil himself.
Enter ERPINGHAM
Good morrow,old Sir Thomas Erpingham:A good soft pillow for that good white head Were better than a churlish turf of France.ERPINGHAM.Not so,my liege;this lodging likes me better,Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.'KING HENRY.'Tis good for men to love their present pains Upon example;so the spirit is eased;And when the mind is quick'ned,out of doubt The organs,though defunct and dead before,Break up their drowsy grave and newly move With casted slough and fresh legerity.Lend me thy cloak,Sir Thomas.Brothers both,Commend me to the princes in our camp;Do my good morrow to them,and anon Desire them all to my pavilion.GLOUCESTER.We shall,my liege.ERPINGHAM.Shall I attend your Grace?KING HENRY.No,my good knight:Go with my brothers to my lords of England;I and my bosom must debate awhile,And then I would no other company.ERPINGHAM.The Lord in heaven bless thee,noble Harry!Exeunt all but the KING KING HENRY.God-a-mercy,old heart!thou speak'st cheerfully.
Enter PISTOL
PISTOL.Qui va la?KING HENRY.A friend.PISTOL.Discuss unto me:art thou officer,Or art thou base,common,and popular?KING HENRY.I am a gentleman of a company.PISTOL.Trail'st thou the puissant pike?KING HENRY.Even so.What are you?PISTOL.As good a gentleman as the Emperor.KING HENRY.Then you are a better than the King.PISTOL.The King's a bawcock and a heart of gold,A lad of life,
an imp of fame;Of parents good,of fist most valiant.I kiss his dirty shoe,and from heart-string I love the lovely bully.What is thy name?KING HENRY.Harry le Roy.PISTOL.Le Roy!a Cornish name;art thou of Cornish crew?KING HENRY.No,I am a Welshman.PISTOL.Know'st thou Fluellen?KING HENRY.Yes.PISTOL.Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate Upon Saint Davy's day.KING HENRY.Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day,lest he knock that about yours.PISTOL.Art thou his friend?KING HENRY.And his kinsman too.PISTOL.The figo for thee,then!KING HENRY.I thank you;God be with you!PISTOL.My name is Pistol call'd.Exit KING HENRY.It sorts well with your fierceness.
Enter FLUELLEN and GOWER
GOWER.Captain Fluellen!FLUELLEN.So!in the name of Jesu Christ,speak fewer.It is the greatest admiration in the universal world,when the true and
aunchient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept:if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great,you shall find,I warrant you,that there is no tiddle-taddle nor pibble-pabble in Pompey's camp;I warrant you,you shall find the ceremonies of the wars,and the cares of it,and the forms of it,and the sobriety of it,and the modesty of it,to be otherwise.GOWER.Why,the enemy is loud;you hear him all night.FLUELLEN.If the enemy is an ass,and a fool,and a prating coxcomb,is it meet,think you,that we should also,look you,be an ass,and a fool,and a prating coxcomb?In your own conscience,now?GOWER.I will speak lower.FLUELLEN.I pray you and beseech you that you will.Exeunt GOWER and FLUELLEN KING HENRY.Though it appear a little out of fashion,There is much care and valour in this Welshman.
