Henry V

ACT III, SCENE I.

France. Before Harfleur.

Alarm. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, [and Soldiers, with] scaling-ladders.

K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more,

Or close the wall up with our English dead.

In peace there's nothing so becomes a

man

As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of war blows in our

ears,

Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd

rage;

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head

Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it

As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,

Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit

To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,

Whose blood is fet from fathers of warproof!

Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even

fought,

And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.

Dishonour not your mothers; now attest That those whom you call'd fathers did

beget you.

Be copy now to men of grosser blood, And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,

Whose limbs were made in England,

show us here

The mettle of your pasture; let us swear That you are worth your breeding, which

I doubt not;

For there is none of you so mean and base,

That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,

Straining upon the start. The game 's afoot!

Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry, "God for Harry! England and Saint George!"

ACT IV, SCENE III.

The English camp.

Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with all his host: SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND.

Glou. Where is the King?

Bed. The King himself is rode to view

their battle.

West. Of fighting men they have full

three-score thousand.

Exe. There's five to one; besides,

they all are fresh.

Sal. God's arm strike with us! 't is a

fearful odds.

God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge.

If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,

Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,

My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,

And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!

Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury, and
good luck go with thee!
Exe. Farewell, kind
kind lord; fight
valiantly to-day!

And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,

For thou art fram'd of the firm truth of valour. [Exit Salisbury.]

Bed. He is as full of valour as of kindness,

Princely in both.

Enter the KING.

West. O that we now had here But one ten thousand of those men in England

That do no work to-day!

K. Hen. What 's he that wishes so? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin.

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of
honour.

God's will! I pray thee, wish not one

man more.

By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments

wear;

Such outward things dwell not in my desires;

But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from
England.

God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour

As one man more, methinks, would share from me

For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,

That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

Let him depart. His passport shall be made,

And crowns for convoy put into his purse. We would not die in that man's com

pany

That fears his fellowship to die with us. This day is call'd the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,

And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age,

Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,

And say, "To-morrow is Saint Crispian." Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,

And say, "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he'll remember with advantages What feats he did that day. Then shall

our names,

Familiar in his mouth as household words,

Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,

Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.

This story shall the good man teach his

son;

And Crispin Crispian 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 shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were
not here,

And hold their manhoods cheap whiles

any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Re-enter SALISBURY.

Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.

The French are bravely in their battles set,

And will with all expedience charge on

us.

K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so.

West. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz? West. God's will! my liege, would you and I alone,

Without more help, could fight this royal battle!

K. Hen. 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!

Tucket. 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,