Then will he strip his sleeve, and shew his scars:
Old men forget; yet shall not all forget,
But they'll remember, with advantages,

What feats they did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouth as houshold words,

Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Glofter,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.
This story shall the good man teach his fon :
And Crifpin Crifpian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he, to day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day fhall gentle his condition.

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day.

Enter Salisbury.

Sal. My fov'reign lord, bestow your self with speed: The French are bravely in their battels set, And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. Henry. All things are ready, if our minds be fo. Weft. Perish the man, whose mind is backward now ! K. Henry. Thou dost not wish more help from England,

coufin?

West. God's will, my Liege, would you and I alone Without more help could fight this royal battle!

K. Henry. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men:

Which likes me better than to wish us one.
You know your places: God be with you all !

A Tucket founds. Enter Mountjoy.

Mount. Once more I come to know of thee, King

If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,
Before thy most assured over-throw :

[Harry,

For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf,
Thou needs must be englutted. Thus, in mercy,
The Constable desires thee, thou wilt mind
Thy followers of repentance; that their fouls

May make a peaceful and a sweet retire

From off these fields; where, wretches, their poor bodies
Must lye and fefter.

K. Henry. Who hath sent thee now ?
Mount. The Conftable of France.

K. Henry. I pray thee, bear my former answer back.
Bid them atchieve me, and then fell my bones.
Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus ?
The man, that once did fell the Lion's skin
While the beast liv'd, was killed with hunting him.
And many of our bodies shall, no doubt,
Find native graves; upon the which, I truft,
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work.
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, tho' buried in your dunghils,
They shall be fam'd; for there the fun shall greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heav'n;
Leaving their earthly parts to choak your clime,
The fmell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then a bounding valour in our English: (35)
That being dead, like to the bullets grafing,
Breaks 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 gaynefs, and our gilt, are all be-fmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field.
There's not a piece of feather in our hoft;

(35) Mark then abounding Valour in our English :) Thus the Old Folio's. The 4to's, more erroneously still,

Mark then aboundant

Mr. Pope degraded the Passage in both his Editions, because, I presume, he did not understand it. I corrected it sometime ago in Print, as I have now reform'd the Text, and the Allusion is exceedingly beautifull; comparing the Revival of the English Valour to the rebounding of a Cannonball.

(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 foldiers tell me, yet ere night
They'll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck
The gay new coats o'er the French foldiers heads;
And turn them out of service. If they do,
(As, if God please, they shall) my ransom then
Will foon be levy'd. Herald, save thy labour.
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 'em them,
Shall yield them little, tell the Conftable.

Mount. I shall, King Harry: and so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

[Exit.

K. Henry. I fear, thou'lt once more come again for

Ranfom.

Enter York.

York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg

The leading of the vaward.

[away.

K. Henry. Take it, brave York; now, foldiers, march And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! [Exeunt.

SCENE, the Field of Battle.

Alarm, Excursions. Enter Pistol, French foldier, and boy.

IELD, cur.

Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentlehomme

de bonne qualité.

Pist. Quality, calmy, custure me, art thou a gentle

man? what is thy name? discuss.

Fr. Sol. O Seignieur Dieu!

Pift. O, Signieur Dewe should be a gentleman :

Perpend my words, O Signieur Dewe, and mark;
O Signieur Dewe, thou diest on point of fox,

Except, O Signeur, thou do give to me

Egregious ransom.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez mifericorde, ayez pitie de moy.

Pift. Moy shall not serve, I will have forty moys; for I will fetch thy rym out at thy throat, in drops of crimfon blood.

Fr. Sol. Eft-il impossible d' eschapper la force de ton bras? Pift. Brass, cur? [brass ? Thou damned and luxurious mountain Goat, offer'st me

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy.

Pift. 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. Efcoutez, comment estes 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: discuss the fame in French unto him.

[ferk.

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and Pist. 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 est disposé tout a cette beure de couper vostre gorge.

Pist. Owy, cuppelle gorge, parmafoy, pesant, unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns: or mangled shalt thou be by this my fword.

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner; je fuis gentilhomme de bonne maifon, gardez ma vie, & je vous donneray deux cents escus.

Pist. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to save his life, he is a gentleman of a good house, and for his ransom he will give you two hundred crowns.

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

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

Boy. Encore qu'il est contre fon jurement, de pardonner aucun prisonnier : neantmoins pour les escus que vous l'avez promettes, il est content de vous donner la liberté, le franchisement.

Fr. Sol. Sur mes genoux je vous donne milles remerciemens, & je me eftime heureux que je suis tombé entre les mains d'un Chevalier,

Chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, valiant, & tres estimé 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 shew.

Follow me, cur.

Boy. Suivez le grand capitain. [Ex. Pist. and Fr. Sol. I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart; (36) but the saying is true, The empty vessel makes the greatest sound. Bardolph and Nim 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 so would this be, if he durst steal any thing advent'rously. I must stay 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, Another part of the Field of Battle...

Enter Conftable, Orleans, Bourbon, Dauphin and Rambures.

Orl. O Signeur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu.

Dau. Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!

Reproach and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our plumes.

O meschante fortune!

do not run away.

Con. Why, all our ranks are broke.

[A short alarm.

(36) I did never know so wofull a Voice issue from so empty a Heart ;) This corrupted-Reading, which both Mr. Rozve and Mr. Pope have espoused, took its Rise from a Blunder of the 2d Edition in Folio. But why, wofull? Pistol was all Bounce and Noife. Besides, where's the Antithesis? We must certainly read with the first Folio, I did never know so full a Voice -But then the arch Boy immediately corrects himself from the old Saying, The empty Veffel makes the greatest Sound.

Dau.