William Shakespeare's The Life of King Henry the Fifth in the complete original text.
William Shakespeare's plays, sonnets and poems at AbsoluteShakespeare.com
Home Plays Sonnets Poems Quotes Summaries Essays Glossary Links Help

HOME > Plays > The Life of King Henry the Fifth > Act IV. Scene VIII.

The Life of King Henry the Fifth

Study Guides
Hamlet
Julius Caesar
King Henry IV
King Lear
Macbeth
Merchant of Venice
Othello
Romeo and Juliet
The Tempest
Twelfth Night

Trivia
Authorship
Bard Facts
Bibliography
Biography
FAQ
Films
Globe Theatre
Pictures
Quiz
Timeline

Act IV. Scene VIII.

Scene VIII.—Before KING HENRY'S Pavilion.

Enter GOWER and WILLIAMS.

Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain.

Enter FLUELLEN.
Flu. God's will and his pleasure, captain, I
peseech you now come apace to the king: there
is more good toward you peradventure than is in
your knowledge to dream of.
Will. Sir, know you this glove?
Flu. Know the glove! I know the glove is
a glove.
Will. I know this; and thus I challenge it.
[Strikes him.
Flu. 'Sblood! an arrant traitor as any's in
the universal 'orld, or in France, or in England.
Gow. How now, sir! you villain!
Will. Do you think I'll be forsworn?
Flu. Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give
treason his payment into plows, I warrant you.
Will. I am no traitor.
Flu. That's a lie in thy throat. I charge you
in his majesty's name, apprehend him: he is a
friend of the Duke Alençon's.

Enter WARWICK and GLOUCESTER.
War. How now, how now! what's the matter?
Flu. My Lord of Warwick, here is,—praised be
God for it!—a most contagious treason come to
light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer's
day. Here is his majesty.

Enter KING HENRY and EXETER.
K. Hen. How now! what's the matter?
Flu. My liege, here is a villain and a traitor,
that, look your Grace, has struck the glove which
your majesty is take out of the helmet of Alençon.
Will. My liege, this was my glove; here is the
fellow of it; and he that I gave it to in change
promised to wear it in his cap: I promised to
strike him, if he did: I met this man with my
glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my
word.
Flu. Your majesty hear now,—saving your
majesty's manhood,—what an arrant, rascally,
beggarly, lousy knave it is. I hope your majesty
is pear me testimony and witness, and avouch-
ments, that this is the glove of Alençon that your
majesty is give me; in your conscience now.
K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier: look,
here is the fellow of it.
'Twas I, indeed, thou promisedst to strike;
And thou hast given me most bitter terms.
Flu. An't please your majesty, let his neck
answer for it, if there is any martial law in the
'orld.
K. Hen. How canst thou make me satis-
faction?
Will. All offences, my lord, come from the
heart: never came any from mine that might
offend your majesty.
K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse.
Will. Your majesty came not like yourself
you appeared to me but as a common man
witness the night, your garments, your lowliness
and what your highness suffered under that
shape, I beseech you, take it for your own fault
and not mine: for had you been as I took you
for I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your
highness, pardon me.
K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove
with crowns,
And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;
And wear it for an honour in thy cap
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns:
And, captain you must needs be friends with
him.
Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has
mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there is twelve
pence for you, and I pray you to serve God, and
keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels,
and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the
better for you.
Will. I will none of your money.
Flu. It is with a good will; I can tell you it
will serve you to mend your shoes: come, where-
fore should you be so pashful? your slices is not
so good: 'tis a good shilling, I warrant you, or I
will change it.

Enter an English Herald.
K. Hen. Now, herald, are the dead number'd?
Her. Here is the number of the slaughter'd
French. [Delivers a paper.
K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are
taken, uncle?
Exe. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the
king;
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt:
Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
K. Hen. This note doth tell me of ten thou-
sand French
That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this
number,
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead
One hundred twenty-six: added to these,
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights:
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights,
squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;
Jaques of Chatillon, Admiral of France;
The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures;
Great-master of France, the brave Sir Guischard
Dauphin;
John Duke of Alençon; Antony Duke of
Brabant,
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy,
And Edward Duke of Bar: of lusty earls,
Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix,
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!
Where is the number of our English dead?
[Herald presents another paper.
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire;
None else of name: and of all other men
But five and twenty. O God! thy arm was here;
And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
Ascribe we all. When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock and even play of battle,
Was ever known so great and little loss
On one part and on the other? Take it, God,
For it is none but thine!
Exe. 'Tis wonderful!
K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the
village:
And be it death proclaimed through our host
To boast of this or take the praise from God
Which is his only.
Flu. Is it not lawful, an please your majesty,
to tell how many is killed?
K. Hen. Yes, captain; but with this acknow-
ledgment,
That God fought for us.
Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.
K. Hen. Do we all holy rites:
Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum;
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay.
We'll then to Calais; and to England then,
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy
men. [Exeunt.
< PREVIOUS
Copyright 2000-2005 AbsoluteShakespeare.com. All rights reserved.  Contact Us  Privacy  Awards