William Shakespeare's The Life of King Henry the Fifth in the complete original text.
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The Life of King Henry the Fifth

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Act IV. Scene III.

Scene III.—The English Camp.

Enter the English host; GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD,
EXETER, SALISBURY, and WESTMORELAND.

Glo. 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! 'tis 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 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 KING HENRY.
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 Westmorland? 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 company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is call'd the feast of Crispian:
He that outhves this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
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 shows 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 remembered.
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 accursed 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 sov'reign 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 back-
ward 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,
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 dung-
hills,
They shall be fam'd; for there the sun shall
greet them,
And draw their honours reeking up to heaven
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then abounding valour in our English,
That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
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
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 constable.
Mont. I shall. King Harry. And so, fare
thee well:
Thou never shalt hear herald any more. [Exit.
K. Hen. I fear thou'lt once more come again
for 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.
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