Henry V

O for a Muse of fire

that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention.

A kingdom for a stage!

Princes to act!

And monarchs to behold the swelling scene.

Then should the warlike Harry like himself assume the port of Mars

and at his heels, leashed in like hounds,

should famine, sword and fire crouch for employment.

But pardon, gentles all, the flat, unraised spirit,

that hath dared on this unworthy scaffold to bring forth so great an object.

Can this cockpit hold the vasty fields of France?

May we cram within this wooden "O"

the very casques that did affright the air at Agincourt?

Oh, pardon.

Let us ciphers to this great account on your imaginary forces work.

For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, carry them here and there,

jumping o'er times,

turning the accomplishment of many years into an hour-glass

for the which supply admit me, Chorus, to this history,

who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray,

gently to hear,

kindly to judge,

our PLAY.

My Lord, I'll tell you...

..that self bill is urged

which in the 11th year of the last king's reign

was like to have passed against us.

How, my Lord, can we resist it now?

We may lose the better half of our possession.

But what prevention?

The King is full of grace.

And a true lover of the Holy Church.

The courses of his youth promised it not.

His hours were filled up with riots, banquets, sports.

I never noted him in any study.

But, my good Lord, doth His Majesty incline to this bill,

urged by the Commons, or no?

He seems...indifferent,

or rather swaying more upon our part,

for I have made an offer to His Majesty as touching France.

FOOTSTEPS

Where is my gracious Lord of Canterbury?

God and his angels guard your sacred throne and make you long become it.

Sure we thank you.

My learned Lord, we pray you to justly and religiously unfold

why the law Salique that they have in France should bar our claim.

And pray take heed how you impawn our person,

how you awake our sleeping sword of war.

We charge you in the name of God, take heed.

For never two such kingdoms did contend without much fall of blood.

Then hear me, gracious sovereign.

There is no bar to make against Your Highness' claim to France,

but this which they produce from Pharamond.

"In terram Salicam mulieres ne succedant."

"No woman shall succeed in Salique land,"

which land the French unjustly glose to be the realm of France.

Yet their own authors faithfully affirm

that the land Salique lies in Germany,

between the floods of Sala and of Elbe.

It doth appear this Salique law was not devised for the realm of France,

nor did the French possess the Salique land

until 421 years after defunction of King Pharamond,

idly supposed the founder of this law.

King Pepin, which deposed Childeric,

did, as heir general, being descended of Blithild,

the daughter to King Clothair, laid title to the crown of France.

Hugh Capet who usurped the crown of Charles the Duke of Lorraine,

heir of Charles the Great, could not keep quiet in his conscience wearing the crown of France.

His grandmother was lineal of the Lady Ermengare, daughter to Charles the aforesaid Duke of Lorraine,

by the which marriage the line of Charles the Great was reunited with the crown of France.

So that, as clear as is the summer sun...

LAUGHTER

..all appear to hold in right and title of the female.

So do the kings of France unto this day.

How be it they would hold up this Salique law

to bar Your Highness claiming from the female?

May I, with right and conscience, make this claim?

The sin upon my head, dread sovereign!

Stand for your own, unwind your bloody flag.

Your brother kings do all expect that you should rouse yourself, as did the former lions of your blood.

No King of England had more loyal subjects whose hearts lie pavilioned in the fields of France.

Let their bodies follow, My Liege,

with blood and sword and fire to win your right.

In aid thereof, we of the spirituality,

will raise Your Highness such a mighty sum

as never did the clergy at one time bring in to any of your ancestors.

Call in the messengers sent from the Dauphin.

Now are we well resolved

and by God's help and yours the noble sinews of our power,

France being ours, we'll bend it to our awe...

..or break it all to pieces.

Now we would know the pleasure of our cousin the Dauphin.

Your Highness did claim some certain dukedoms in the right of your great predecessor King Edward III.

The prince says that you savour too much of your youth.

He therefore sends you, meeter for your spirit, this tun of treasure.

And in lieu of this, desires you let those dukedoms hear no more of you.

This the Dauphin speaks.

What treasure, Uncle?

Tennis-balls, My Liege.

We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us.

His present and your pains we thank you for.

When we have matched our rackets to these balls,

we will in France, by God's grace, play a set.

We shall strike his father's crown into the hazard.

We understand him well.

How he comes over us with our wilder days,

not measuring what use we made of them.

But tell the Dauphin

I will keep my state,

be like a king and show my sail of greatness

when I do rouse me in my throne of France!

Tell the Prince his mock hath turned his balls into gun-stones.

His soul shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance that shall fly with them.

Many a thousand widows shall this, his mock,

mock out of their dear husbands, mothers from their sons,

and some yet unborn that shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn.

So get you hence in peace and tell the Dauphin

his jest will savour but of shallow wit

when thousands weep more than did laugh at it.

Convey them with safe conduct.

Fare you well.

This was a merry message.

We hope to make the sender blush at it.

Therefore, My Lords, omit no happy hour that may give furtherance to our expedition,

for we have now no thought in us but France,

save those to God that run before our business.

Therefore let every man now task his thought

that this fair action may on foot be brought!

CHORUS: 'Now all the youth of England are on fire.

'And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies.

'For now sits expectation in the air

'and hides a sword from hilts unto the point

'with crowns imperial,

'crowns and coronets promised to Harry and his followers.'

Well met, Corporal Nym.

Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

CAT MIAOWS

CAT MIAOWS

What, are you and Ancient Pistol friends yet?

For my part, I care not.

I say little, but when time shall serve, there shall be smiles.

But that shall be as it may.

Come, I will bestow a breakfast to make you friends.

We'll be all three sworn brothers to France.

I will do as I may!

It is certain that Ancient Pistol is married to Nell Quickly.

It is certain she did you wrong, for you WERE betrothed to her.

LAUGHTER

Well now, mine host, Pistol.

Base tyke! Callest thou me host now?

By this arm, I swear I scorn the term!

-Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers!

-No, by my troth not long.

We can't lodge a dozen gentlewomen who live honestly

but it shall be thought we keep a bawdy house.

Pish!

Pish for thee, Iceland dog!

Good Corporal Nym, show thy valour and put up thy sword.

Will you shog off? Pistol...

I will prick your guts a little, that's the humour of it.

Braggart vile!

He that strikes the first stroke, I'll run him up to the hilts.

An oath of mickel might, and fury shall abate.

- Mine host, Pistol, you must come to my master. And you, hostess.

- He is very sick and would to bed.

- Bardolph, do him a warming-pan.

Away, you rogue.

- Faith, he's very ill.

Upon my troth, the King has killed his heart.

But, husband, come in presently.

Come, shall I make you two friends?

We must to France together. Why keep knives to cut one another's throats?

Pay me the eight shillings I won of you at betting.

Base is the slave that pays.

He that makes the first thrust, I will kill him.

If ever you come of women, come in quickly to Sir John.

He is shaked with a burning quotidian fever

that is lamentable to behold.

Sweet men, come to him.

Poor Sir John.

A good portly man is he.

SOUNDS OF REVELRY IN HIS IMAGINATION

'I have a cheerful look, a pleasing eye and a most noble courage.'

RAUCOUS LAUGHTER

But do I not dwindle?

My skin hangs about me like an old lady's loose gown!

Company, villainous company hath been the spoil of me.

Ah-h-h-h-h!

I was as virtuous as a gentleman need to be.

Virtuous enough. Swore little.

SHOUTS OF DISBELIEF

Diced not...above seven days a week.

Went to a bawdy house not above once in the quarter.

Oh-h!

Paid money that I borrowed...

three or four times.

Lived well and in good compass.

You are so fat, Sir John, that you must indeed be out of all compass.

Do thou amend thy face and I'll amend my life.

LAUGHTER

Oh! Oh!

If sack and sugar be a fault then God help the wicked!

If to be old and merry is a sin, if to be fat is to be hated...

..but no, My good Lord, when thou art King,

banish Pistol, banish Bardolph, banish Nym,

but sweet Jack Falstaff,

valiant Jack Falstaff,

and therefore more valiant being, as he is, OLD Jack Falstaff,

banish not him thy Harry's company.

Banish plump Jack and banish all the world.

I do.

I will.

(But we have heard the chimes at midnight, Master Harry.)

(Jesu.)

(Days that we have seen.)

I know thee not, old man.

The King hath run bad humours on the night.

Nym, thou hast spoke the right.

His heart is fracted and corroborate.

The King's a good king.

But it must be as it may.

He passes some humours and careers.

Let us condole the night.

For lambkins...we will live.

The French, advised by good intelligence of this most dreadful preparation, shake in their fear

and with pale policy seek to divert the English purposes.

O England! Model to thy inward greatness,

like a little body with a mighty heart,

what mightst thou do that honour would thee do,

were all thy children kind and natural?

But see thy fault! France hath found a nest of hollow bosoms

which he fills with treacherous crowns, and three corrupted men -

Richard, Earl of Cambridge, Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham,

and Sir Thomas Grey, Knight, of Northumberland

have for the guilt of France - O gilt indeed! -

confirmed conspiracy with France

and by their hands this King must die ere he takes ship for France.

The traitors are agreed.

The King is set from London

and the scene is now transported, gentles, to Southampton!

('Fore God, His Grace is bold to trust these traitors.)

They shall be apprehended by and by.

How smooth and even they do bear themselves,

as if allegiance in their bosoms sat.

The King hath note of what they intend by interception.

The man that was his bedfellow whom he hath cloyed with favours,

that he should, for a foreign purse, so sell his sovereign's life!

DOOR OPENS

Now sits the wind fair and we will aboard.

Cambridge, Masham, Northumberland, give me your thoughts.

Think you not that the powers we bear with us will cut a passage through the force of France?

-If each man do his best.

-They will.

Your Majesty is feared and loved.

True.

We therefore have great cause of thankfulness.

Exeter, enlarge the man committed yesterday that railed against us.

Excess of wine set him on.

We pardon him.

That's mercy, but too much security.

Let him be punished, lest example breed by his sufferance more of such a kind.

O, let us yet be merciful.

- So may you and yet punish too.

You show mercy if you give him life after the taste of correction.

Your love and care of me are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch.

If little faults preceding on distemper shall not be winked at,

how shall we stretch our eye when capital crimes chewed, swallowed and digested appear before us?

We'll yet enlarge that man

though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey,

in their care and tender preservation of our person,

would have him punished.

And now to our French causes.

-Who are the new commissioners?

-I am.

- I also. - And I.

Richard, Earl of Cambridge, this is yours. Lord Scroop...Sir Knight.

Read them.

And know...I know... your worthiness.

Westmoreland, Exeter, we will aboard tonight.

How now, gentlemen? What see you that you lose so much complexion?

I confess and submit me to thy mercy.

To which we all appeal.

The mercy that was quick in us of late by your own counsel is suppressed.

Do not dare talk of mercy.

For your own reasons, turn into your bosoms as dogs upon their masters.

See you, my princes and my noble peers, these English monsters.

What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop?

Thou cruel, ingrateful, savage and inhuman creature!

THOU that didst bear the key of all my counsels,

knewest the very bottom of my soul,

that almost mightst have coined me into gold.

Can foreign hire out of thee extract

one spark of evil that might annoy my finger?

'Tis strange that though the truth stands off as gross as black and white,

my eye will scarcely see it.

So...constant and unspotted didst thou seem.

But this thy fall hath left a kind of blot

to mark the full-fraught man and best indued with some suspicion.

I will weep for thee.

For this revolt of thine, methinks, is like another fall of man!

I arrest thee of high treason by the name of Richard, Earl of Cambridge.

I arrest thee of high treason by the name of Thomas Grey, Knight, of Northumberland.

I arrest thee of high treason by the name of Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham.

Hear your sentence.

You conspired against our royal person, joined with an enemy,

and from him received the gold in earnest of our death wherein.

You would have sold your king to slaughter,

his subjects to oppression and contempt,

and his whole kingdom into desolation.

Get you therefore hence, poor miserable wretches, to your death.

The taste whereof God in His mercy give you patience to endure,

and true repentance of all your dear offences.

Bear them hence!

Now, Lords, for France.

The enterprise whereof shall be to you, as us, like glorious

as God hath brought to light this dangerous treason.

The signs of war advance.

No King of England, if not King of France.

Prithee, honey-sweet husband, let me bring thee to Staines.

No. For my manly heart doth yearn.

Bardolph, be blithe.

Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins.

Boy, bristle thy courage up.

Poor Falstaff is dead and we must yearn therefore.

Would I were with him in heaven or in hell.

Nay, sure he's not in hell.

He's in Arthur's bosom, if ever a man went to Arthur's bosom.

He made a finer end than many a Christian child.

He parted even just between twelve and one.

Even at the turning of the tide.

For after I saw him fumble with the sheets,

play with flowers and smile upon his fingers' ends,

I knew there was but one way.

For his nose was as sharp as a pen.

And a' babbled of green fields.

"How now, Sir John," quoth I, "What, man, be of good cheer!"

So he cried out, "God, God...

"God."

Three or four times.

Now, I had to comfort him.

Bid him he should not think of God.

I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet.

He bade me put more clothes on his feet.

I put my hand into the bed and felt them.

And they were as cold as any stone.

Now I felt to his knees.

And so upward.

And upward.

And all was as...

..cold as any stone.

-They say he called out of sack.

-Oh, that he did.

-And of women.

-That he did not.

-BOY: He did.

He said they were devils incarnate.

He could never abide carnation.

He said once the devil would have him about about women.

Well, he did in some sort handle women.

But then he was rheumatic and talked of the whore of Babylon.

Do you not remember he saw a flea stick upon Bardolph's nose?

He said it was a black soul burning in hell.

BARDOLPH: Well, the fuel is gone that maintained that fire.

That's all the riches I got in his service.

Shall we shog?

The King will be gone from Southampton.

Farewell, hostess.

I cannot kiss. That's the humour of it.

But...

Adieu.

Let housewifery appear.

Keep close...

I thee command!

KNOCKING

Farewell.

Adieu.

CHORUS: 'Follow, follow.

'For who is he whose chin is but enriched with one appearing hair

'that will not follow these culled and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?'

Thus comes the English with full power upon us.

And more than carefully it us concerns to answer royally in our defences.

Therefore the Dukes of Berri and of Bretagne,

of Brabant and of Orleans shall make forth. And you, Prince Dauphin...

My most redoubted father, 'tis most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe

for peace itself should not so dull a kingdom

but that defences, musters, preparations should be maintained as were a war in expectation.

Therefore it is meet we all go forth

to view the sick and feeble parts of France.

Let us do it with no more fear than if we heard that England were busied with a Whitsun Morris dance.

For she is so idly kinged by a giddy youth that fear attends her not.

O peace, Prince Dauphin! You are too much mistaken in this King.

The ambassadors say he heard them with great state.

He has many noble counsellors, how modest in exception,

and withal, how terrible in constant resolution.

Well, 'tis not so, my Lord High Constable,

but though we think it so, it is no matter.

It is best to think the enemy more mighty than he seems.

Think we King Harry strong.

And, Princes, look you strongly arm to meet him.

For he is bred out of that bloody strain

that haunted us in our familiar paths.

Witness our too much memorable shame

when Cressy battle fatally was struck.

And all our princes captived

by the hand of that black name,

Edward, Black Prince of Wales.

This is a stem of that victorious stock,

and let us fear the native mightiness and fate of him.

DOOR OPENS

Ambassadors from Harry, King of England, do crave admittance to Your Majesty.

Go and bring them.

You see this chase is hotly followed, friends.

Good my sovereign, take up the English short

and let them know of what a monarchy you are the head.

Self-love, My Liege, is not so vile a sin as self-neglecting.

From our brother England?

From him, and thus he greets Your Majesty.

He wills you in the name of God almighty that you divest yourself

and lay apart the borrowed glories that by gift of heaven,

by law of nature, and of nations,

'longs to him and to his heirs, namely, the crown.

Willing you overlook this pedigree...

..and when you find him evenly derived

from his most famed of famous ancestors, Edward III,

he bids you resign your crown and kingdom, indirectly held from him,

the native and true challenger.

Or else what follows?

Bloody constraint.

For if you hide the crown, even in your hearts,

there will he rake for it.

Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,

in thunder like a Jove that, if requiring fail, he will compel.

This is his claim, his threatening and my message.

Unless the Dolphin be in presence here,

to whom expressly I bring greeting too.

For the DAUPHIN, I stand here for him.

What to him from England?

Scorn and defiance,

slight regard, contempt,

and anything that may not misbecome the mighty sender,

doth he prize you at. Thus says my king.

If my father render fair return, it is against my will, for I desire nothing but odds with England.

To that end, matching his vanity,

I did present him with the Paris balls.

He'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it.

You'll find a difference,

as we, his subjects, have found between the promise of his greener days and these he masters now.

Tomorrow shall you know our mind at full.

CHORUS: 'Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies in motion of no less celerity than that of THOUGHT!'

Work your thoughts, and in them see a siege.

Behold the ordnance on their carriages with fatal mouths gaping on Harfleur.

The French ambassador tells Harry that the King doth offer him Katherine, his daughter,

and to dowry, some petty dukedoms.

The offer likes him not. The gunner with linstock the cannon touches and down goes all before them!

Once more into 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,

summon up the blood, disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage.

Lend the eye a terrible aspect. Let the brow o'erwhelm it

as fearfully as doth a galled rock o'erhang his confounded base,

swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Set the teeth, stretch the nostril wide

and bend up every spirit to his full height!

On, on, you noblest English!

EXPLOSION

Dishonour not your mothers. Now attest that those whom you call fathers did beget you.

Show us 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 slip, straining upon the start.

The game's afoot.

Follow your spirit, and upon this charge, cry,

"God for Harry, ENGLAND and SAINT GEORGE!"

ALL: God for Harry, England and Saint George!

On! On! On!

Up to the breach, you dogs!

Avaunt, you cullions!

Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines. The Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.

It is not so good to come to the mines.

The mines is not according to the discipline of war.

I think I will blow up all if there is not better direction.

The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given,

is altogether directed by an Irishman.

-Captain Macmorris?

-I think it be.

-By Jesu, he is an ass in the world.

He has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars

than is a puppy-dog.

Here he comes with Captain Jamy.

Captain Jamy is a valorous gentleman.

I say, good day, Captain Fluellen.

Good day, good Captain James.

Captain Macmorris, have you quit the mines?

The trumpet sound the retreat.

By my hand, 'tis ill done.

Captain Macmorris, I beseech you,

a few disputations as partly touching the disciplines of the war

to satisfy my opinion and my mind,

as touching the direction of the military discipline.

The town is besieged and the trumpet calls us to the breach and we TALK!

'Ere my eyes take themselves to slumber,

I'll do good service, or I'll lie in the ground for it.

Captain Macmorris, I think there are not many of your nation.

What is my nation? Who talks of my nation is a villain and a bastard

and a knave and a rascal.

If you take the matter otherwise than it is meant,

I shall think you do not use me

with that affability which I deserve,

being as good a man as yourself.

I do not know you so good a man as myself so, Christ save me,

I will cut off your head!

How yet resolves the governor of the town?

This is the latest parle we will admit,

therefore to our best mercy give yourselves,

or like to men proud of destruction defy us to our worst.

If I begin the battery once again,

I will not leave Harfleur till in her ashes she lie buried.

Therefore, you men of Harfleur,

take pity of your town and of your people

whiles yet my soldiers are in my command,

whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace

o'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds

of heady murder, spoil and villany!

If not, why, in a MOMENT look to see

the blind and bloody soldier with foul hand

defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters,

your fathers taken by their beards and their heads dashed to the walls

and your naked infants spitted upon pikes,

whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused

do break the CLOUDS.

What say you?

Will you yield and this avoid?

Or, guilty in defence,

be thus destroyed?

The Dauphin, of whose succour we entreated,

returns us that his powers are not yet ready to raise so great a siege.

Therefore, dread King,

enter our gates,

dispose of us and ours,

for we no longer are defensible.

Go you and enter Harfleur.

There remain and fortify it strongly against the French.

Use mercy to them all.

For us, dear Uncle,

the winter coming on and sickness growing upon our soldiers,

we will retire to Calais.

Tonight in Harfleur will we be your guest.

Tomorrow for the march are we addressed.

Alice!

Tu as ete en Angleterre et tu parles le langage.

Un peu, madame.

Je te prie, m'enseignez. Il faut que j'apprenne a parler.

-Comment appelez-vous la main en anglais?

-La main? Elle est appelee de hand.

De hand.

-Et les doigts?

-Les doigt? Ma foi, j'oublie les doigts!

Mais je souviendrai. Les doigts? Ils sont appeles fingres.

La main - de hand.

-Les doigts - de fingres.

-Uh-huh.

Je suis le bon ecolier! J'ai gagne deux mots d'anglais vitement.

Comment appelez-vous les ongles?

-Les ongles? Nous les appelons de nails.

-Nails.

Ecoutez. Dites-moi si je parle bien.

De hand, de fingres et de nails.

C'est bien dit, madame.

Il est fort bon anglais.

Dites-moi l'anglais pour le bras.

-De arm, madame.

-Et le coude?

D'elbow.

D'elbow.

Je m'en fais la repetition de tous les mot que vous m'avez appris des a present.

-Il est trop difficile.

-Excusez-moi, Alice. Ecoutez.

-De hand, de fingres, de nails, de arma, de bilbow.

-D'elbow.

O Seigneur Dieu! D'elbow!

-Comment appelez-vous le col?

-De nick, madame.

-De nick.

-Et le menton?

-De chin.

De chin.

Le col - de nick. Le menton - de chin.

Oui! Sauf votre honneur, en verite,

vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre.

Je l'apprendrai - par la grace de Dieu et un peu de temps!

Ne l'avez-vous pas deja oublie?

Non! Je reciterai a vous promptement.

De hand, de fingres, de...mails.

-De nails, madame.

-De nails, de arm, de...bolbow.

Sauf votre honneur, d'elbow!

Ainsi dis-je! De elbow, de nick et de...sin.

Comment appelez-vous le pied et la robe?

Le foot, madame, et le...coun.

Le foot et le coun?

Mm.

O Seigneur Dieu!

Ils sont le mots de son mauvais, corruptible, gros et impudique,

et non pour les dames d'honneur d'user. Je ne veux dire ces mots devant les seigneurs de France!

Le foot et le coun!

Neanmoins, je reciterai un autre fois ma lecon ensemble.

De hand. De fingres.

De nails! De arm. De elbo-le-bo-le-bow!

-De nick, de sin, de foot, de coun.

-Excellent, madame!

'Tis certain he hath passed the River Somme.

And if he be not fought withal, let us not live in France.

Normans! But bastard Normans!

Norman bastards!

Where have they this mettle? Their climate is dull.

O, for honour of our land!

Our madames mock at us and plainly say our mettle is bred out.

And they will give their bodies to the lust of English youth

to new-store France with bastard warriors.

Where is Mountjoy the herald?

Speed him hence.

Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.

Up, princes!

And with spirit of honour edged more sharper than your swords,

hie to the field.

Bar Harry England that sweeps through our land

with pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.

Go down upon him, you have power enough.

And in a captive chariot into Rouen bring him our prisoner.

This becomes the great.

Sorry I am his numbers are so few, his soldiers sick and famished.

When he do see our army, his heart will drop into the sink of fear

and for achievement offer us his ransom.

Therefore, Lord Constable,

haste on Mountjoy.

Prince Dauphin...

you shall stay with us in Rouen.

Not so, I do beseech Your Majesty.

Be patient, for you shall remain with us!

Now forth, Lord Constable and princes all,

and QUICKLY bring us word of England's fall.

Captain!

Captain Fluellen!

Come you from the bridge? Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

He is not, God be blessed and praised, any hurt in the world,

but keeps the bridge valiantly.

Captain!

I thee beseech to do me favours.

The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Ay, I praise God, and I have merited some love at his hands.

Bardolph, a soldier, firm and sound of heart, and of buxom valour,

hath, by cruel fate, and giddy Fortune's furious fickle wheel...

Touching your patience, Pistol,

Fortune is an excellent moral.

Fortune is Bardolph's foe and frowns on him,

for he hath stolen a pax and hanged must he be.

Therefore, go speak.

The Duke will hear thy voice.

Speak, Captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.

Ancient Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.

Why then, rejoice therefore!

It is not a thing to rejoice at -

for if he were my brother,

I would desire the Duke to do his good pleasure and put him to execution.

Discipline ought to be used.

Die and be damned,

and figo for thy friendship!

How now, Fluellen! Comest thou from the bridge?

Ay, so please Your Majesty.

The Duke of Exeter hath gallantly maintained the bridge.

What men have you lost, Fluellen?

I think the Duke hath lost never a man...

..but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church,

one Bardolph.

If Your Majesty know the man,

his face is all bubukles and whelks and knobs and flames of fire.

And his lips blow at his nose and it is like a coal of fire,

sometimes blue, sometimes red.

But his nose is executed and his fire's out.

Up!

LOUD CHEER

Do not, when thou art King, hang a thief.

No.

Thou shalt.

We would have all such offenders so cut off.

We give charge that in our marches through the country

there be nothing compelled from villages,

nothing taken but paid for...

..none of the French upbraided or abused in disdainful language...

..for when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom...

..the gentler gamester...

is the soonest winner.

Thus, says my King, "Say thou to Harry of England,

"though we seemed dead, we did but sleep.

"We could have rebuked him at Harfleur.

"Now we speak, and our voice is imperial.

"England shall repent his folly.

"Bid him, therefore, consider of his ransom,

"which must proportion the losses we have borne,

"which in weight we answer his pettiness would bow under.

"To this, add defiance, and tell him he hath betrayed his followers

"whose condemnation is pronounced."

So far my King and master, so much my office.

-What is thy name?

-Mountjoy.

Thou dost thy office fairly.

Turn thee back.

Tell thy King I do not seek him now

but could be willing to march on to Calais without impeachment.

Tell thy master my ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,

my army but a weak and sickly guard,

yet we WILL come on,

though France himself and such another neighbour stand in our way.

Mountjoy, fare you well. The sum of all our answer is but this.

We would not seek a battle as we are,

nor as we are we say, we will not shun it.

So tell your master.

I shall deliver so.

Thanks to Your Majesty.

I hope they will not come upon us now.

We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs.

THUNDER ROLLS

March to the bridge.

It draws towards night. Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves.

And on tomorrow...

..bid them march...away.

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 fixed sentinels almost receive the secret whispers of each other's watch.

Fire answers fire and each battle sees the other's umbered 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.

Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,

the confident and over-lusty French the low-rated English play at dice,

and chide the crippled, tardy-gaited night

who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp so tediously away.

ARMOURERS' HAMMERS RING OUT

-THE CONSTABLE OF FRANCE:

-I have the best armour in the world.

Would it were day!

You have an excellent armour, but let my horse have his due.

It is the best horse of Europe.

Will it never be morning?

My Lord of Orleans, and my Lord High Constable,

you talk of horse and armour?

You are as well provided of both.

I will not change my horse for any that treads but on four hooves.

When I bestride him, I soar!

I am a hawk.

He is pure air and fire!

And the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him,

but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him.

Indeed, it is an excellent horse.

My Lord Constable, the armour in your tent tonight, are those suns or stars on it?

Stars, Mountjoy.

-Some of them will fall tomorrow.

-And yet my sky shall not want.

Will it never be day?

I will trot tomorrow a mile

and my way shall be paved with English faces!

I will not say so, for fear I should be faced out of my way.

I'll go arm myself.

The Dauphin longs for morning.

He longs to eat the English.

I think he will eat all he kills.

He never did harm that I heard of.

Nor will do none tomorrow.

Would it were day!

Alas, poor Harry of England...

he longs not for the dawning as we do.

If the English had any apprehension they would run away.

That island of England breeds very valiant creatures.

Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we about it?

It is now two o'clock.

But, let me see, by ten,

we shall have each 100 Englishmen.

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 ruined 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.

A largess universal like the sun

his liberal eye doth give to everyone.

Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all behold,

as may unworthiness define,

a little touch of Harry in the night.

Good morrow, Sir Thomas Erpingham.

A soft pillow for that white head were better than a churlish turf of France.

Not so, My Liege.

This lodging likes me better since I may say,

"Now lie I like a king."

Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas.

Brothers both, commend me to the princes in our camp

and desire them all to my pavilion.

We shall, My Liege.

-Shall I attend Your Grace?

-No, my good knight.

I and my bosom must debate a while, and then I would no other company.

The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry.

God-a-mercy, old heart.

Thou speakest cheerfully.

Qui va?

A friend.

Discuss unto me, art thou officer?

Or art thou base, common and popular?

I am a gentleman of a company.

Trailest thou the puissant pike?

Even so. What are you?

As good a gentleman as the Emperor.

Then you are a better than the King.

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?

-Harry le Roy.

-Le Roy?

-A Cornish name.

-No, I am a Welshman.

-Knowest thou Fluellen?

-Aye.

Tell him I'll knock his leek about his pate upon Saint David's Day.

Do not wear your dagger in your cap that day, lest he knock that about yours!

-Art thou his friend?

-And his kinsman too.

-A figo for thee, then!

-I thank you. God be with you.

-My name is Pistol called.

-It sorts well with your fierceness.

-Captain Fluellen!

-Shh!

(In the name of Jesu Christ, speak lower.)

If you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the Great,

you shall find that there is no tiddle-taddle in Pompey's camp.

The enemy is loud. You hear him all night.

If the enemy is an ass and a fool, and a prating coxcomb,

is it meet that we should be thus also?

In your conscience, now?

(I will speak lower.)

I pray you and beseech you that you will.

In nomine patris et fili et spiritus sancti.

Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?

I think it be. But we have no great cause to desire the approach of day.

We see yonder the beginning of the day,

but I think we shall never see the end of it.

-Who goes there?

-A friend.

-Under what captain serve you?

-Under...Sir Thomas Erpingham.

A good old commander and a most kind gentleman.

What thinks he of our estate?

Even as men wrecked on a sand that look to be washed off at the next tide.

He hath not told his thought to the King.

No. Nor it is not meet he should.

The King is but a man as I am.

The violet smells to him as it doth to me.

His ceremonies laid by, in his nakedness he appears but a man.

Therefore, his fears, out of doubt, be of the same relish as ours are.

He may show outward courage,

but I believe as cold a night as 'tis that he could wish himself in Thames up to the neck,

and so I would he were,

and I by him, so we were quit here.

I think he would not wish himself anywhere but where he is.

Then I would he were here ALONE.

Methinks I could not die anywhere so contented as in the King's company,

his cause being just and his quarrel honourable.

That's more than we know.

Ay, and more than we should seek after.

If his cause be wrong, obedience to the King wipes the crime of it out of us.

If the cause be not good, the King hath a heavy reckoning to make,

when all those legs and arms and heads chopped off in a battle

shall join together at the latter day and cry all,

"We died at such a place,"

some swearing, some crying for a surgeon,

some upon their wives left poor behind them,

some upon the debts they owe,

some upon their children rawly left.

I'm afeard there are few die well that die in a battle,

for how can they charitably dispose of anything

when blood is their argument?

Now, if these men do not die well,

it'll be a black matter for the King that led them to it.

So if a son that is by his father sent about merchandise

so sinfully miscarry upon the sea,

the imputation of his wickedness, by your rule,

should be imposed upon the father that sent him.

But the King is not bound to answer the endings of his soldiers,

nor the father of his son,

for they purpose not their deaths when they purpose their services.

There is no king, be his cause never so spotless,

can try it out with all unspotted soldiers.

Every subject's duty is the King's...

..but every subject's soul's his own.

'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head,

the King is not to answer it.

I do not wish him to answer for me, yet I shall fight lustily for him.

The King said he'd not be ransomed.

When our throats are cut, he may be ransomed and we ne'er the wiser!

If I live to see it, I'll never trust his word after.

You pay him then!

You'll never trust his word after!

'Tis a foolish saying!

Your reproof is too round.

I should be angry with you if time were convenient.

Let it be a quarrel between us - if you live!

Be friends, you English fools! We have French foes enough!

Upon the King!

Let us our lives, our souls,

our debts, our careful wives,

our children and our sins lay on the King!

We must bear all.

O hard condition,

twin-born with greatness,

subject to the breath of every fool.

What infinite heart's-ease must kings neglect that private men enjoy!

And what have kings that privates have not too,

save ceremony, and what art thou, thou idol ceremony?

What drinkst thou oft, instead of homage sweet, but poisoned flattery?

O be sick, great greatness, and bid thy ceremony give thee cure!

Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,

command the health of it?

No, thou proud dream,

that playest so subtly with a king's repose.

I am a king that find thee,

and I know...

..'tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,

the sword, the mace, the crown imperial,

the intertissued robe of gold and pearl,

the farced title running 'fore the king,

the throne he sits on,

nor the tide of pomp that beats upon the high shore of this world.

No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,

not all these, laid in bed majestical,

can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,

who with a body filled and vacant mind

gets him to rest, crammed with distressful bread,

never sees horrid night,

but like a lackey but from the rise to set sweats in the eye of Phoebus

and all night sleeps in Elysium,

next day, after dawn, doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse.

He follows so the ever-running year

with profitable labour to his grave...

..and, but for ceremony...

..such a wretch

winding up days with toil and nights with SLEEP...

..had the forehand and vantage...

..of a king.

My Lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,

seek through the camp to find you.

Good old knight, collect them all together at my tent.

I'll be before thee.

O God of Battles, steel my soldiers' hearts.

Take from them now their sense of reckoning

if the opposed numbers pluck their hearts from them.

Not today - O God, O not today!

Think not upon the fault my father made in compassing the crown!

I Richard's body have interred new

and on it have bestowed contrite tears.

500 poor I have in yearly pay,

who twice a day their hands hold up to heaven to pardon blood.

And I have built two chantries,

where the sad and solemn priests sing still for Richard's soul.

More will I do,

though all that I can do is nothing worth...

..since that my penitence comes after all,

imploring pardon.

My Liege!

My brother Gloucester's voice.

I know thy errand.

I will go with thee.

The day...my friends...

..and all things...

stay for me.

Hark how our steeds for present service neigh!

Mount them and their hot blood may spin in English eyes.

Behold yon poor and starved band.

Your fair show shall suck away their souls

leaving them but the husks of men.

There is not work for all our hands.

Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?

Yon island carrions ill-favouredly become the morning field.

They have said their prayers and they stay for death.

A very little, little let us do and all is done.

Let the trumpet sound, the tucket sonance and the note to mount

for our approach shall so much dare the field

that England shall couch down in fear and yield.

Where is the King?

The King himself is rode to view their battle.

Of fighting men they have full three-score-thousand.

That's five to one. Besides, they are all fresh.

'Tis a fearful odds.

O that we now had here but ONE ten thousand of those

that in England do no work today.

What's he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland?

Now, my fair cousin, if we are marked to die,

we are enough 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.

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 called the Feast of Crispian.

He that outlives this day

and comes safe home will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named

and rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall see this day and live old age

will yearly, on the vigil, feast his neighbours

and say, "Tomorrow is St Crispin's"

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.

Our names, familiar in their mouths as household words -

King Harry,

Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot,

shall 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 today 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 abed

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.

ENTHUSIASTIC CHEERING

My sovereign Lord, bestow yourself with speed!

The French are in their battles set and will march upon us.

All things are ready if our minds be so.

Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

Thou dost not wish more help?

God's will, My Liege,

would you and I alone could fight this royal battle!

You know your places. God be with you all!

CHEERING

Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,

if for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,

before thy most assured overthrow.

-Who hath sent thee now?

-The Constable of France.

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?

Let me speak proudly.

Tell the Constable we are but warriors for the working day.

Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirched

with rainy marching in the painful field,

but our hearts are in the trim.

Herald, save thou thy labour.

Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald.

They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints...

LOUD CHEER

..which, if they have as I shall leave 'em them,

shall yield them little...

..tell the Constable.

I shall, King Harry.

And so fare thee well.

Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

My Lord, most humbly on my knee I beg the leading of the vaward.

Take it...brave York.

Now, soldiers, march away.

And how thou pleasest, God,

dispose the day.

BATTLE CRIES

Our scene must to the battle fly

where, alas, we shall much disgrace with some vile and ragged foils,

ride ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, the name of Agincourt!

THUNDER OF APPROACHING HOOVES

READY!

BLOODTHIRSTY CRIES

Why, all our ranks are broke.

O perdurable shame!

Shame and eternal shame,

nothing but shame.

Let us die in arms - once more back again.

We are enough yet living to smother up the English if order be attained.

The devil take order now!

I'll to the throng.

Let life be short, else shame will be too long!

Have we done, thrice valiant countrymen?

But all's not done, yet keep the French the field!

Kill the boys and the luggage.

'Tis expressly against the law of arms.

'Tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now, as can be offered.

In your conscience now, is it not?

'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive.

I was not angry since I came to France until this instant.

Here comes the herald of the French.

How now! What means this, herald?

-Comest thou again for ransom?

-No, great King.

I come for charitable licence that we may wander o'er this bloody field

to book our dead and to bury them,

to sort our nobles from our common men,

for many of our princes lie soaked in mercenary blood.

O give us leave, great King, to view the field in safety

and dispose of their dead bodies.

I tell thee truly, herald, I know not if the day be ours or no.

The day is yours.

Praised be God and not our strength for it.

What is this castle called that stands hard by?

They call it Agincourt.

Then call we this the field of Agincourt...

..fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

Your grandfather of famous memory, and please Your Majesty...

and your great-uncle, Edward the Black Prince of Wales,

as I have read in the chronicles,

-fought a most brave battle here in France.

-They did, Fluellen.

Your Majesty says very true.

If Your Majesty's remembered of it,

the Welshmen did good service in a garden where leeks did grow...

..wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps which, to this hour,

is an honourable badge of service.

And I do believe Your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Davy's Day.

I wear it for a memorable honour

for I am Welsh, you know, good my countryman.

HENRY WEEPS

All the water in Wye

cannot wash Your Majesty's Welsh blood out of your body,

I can tell you that!

God bless it and preserve it so long as it pleases His Majesty.

Thanks, good my countryman.

I am Your Majesty's countryman.

I care not who knows it. I shall confess it to all the world!

And I need not be ashamed of Your Majesty, praised be God,

so long as Your Majesty is an honest man.

God keep me so.

Doth fortune play the huswife with me now?

News I have that my Nell is dead.

Old do I wax,

and from my weary limbs honour is cudgelled.

Well, bawd I'll turn,

and something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.

To England will I steal

and there I'll...

STEAL.

Herald, are the dead numbered?

Here is the number of the slaughtered French.

This note doth tell me of...

..ten thousand French that in the field lie slain,

of princes in this number, one hundred twenty six.

Added to these are knights, esquires and gallant gentlemen,

eight thousand and four hundred,

of the which five hundred were but yesterday dubbed knights.

Here was a royal fellowship of death.

Where is the number of our English dead?

"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."

'Tis wonderful.

Come,

go we in procession to the village,

and be it death proclaimed through our host

to boast of this, or take that praise from God which is His only.

Is it not lawful, and please Your Majesty, to tell how many is killed?

Ay, Captain.

But with this acknowledgement, that God fought...

..for us.

Yes, my conscience,

he did us great good.

Do we all holy rites.

Let there be sung "Non nobis" and "Te Deum."

The dead with charity enclosed in clay.

And then to Calais and to England then

where ne'er from France arrived more happy men!

# Non nobis domine domine

# Non nobis domine

# Sed nomine

# Sed nomine tuo da gloriam

OTHERS JOIN IN: # Non nobis domine domine

# Non nobis domine

# Sed nomine

# Sed nomine tuo da gloriam

# Non nobis domine domine

# Non nobis domine

# Sed nomine

# Sed nomine tuo da gloriam

SING IN HARMONY: # Non nobis domine

# Non nobis domine

# Sed nomine

# Sed nomine tuo da gloriam

# Non nobis domine domine

# Non nobis domine

# Sed nomine

# Sed nomine tuo da gloriam

# Non nobis domine domine

# Non nobis domine

# Sed nomine

# Sed nomine tuo da gloriam

# Non nobis domine domine

# Non nobis domine

# Sed nomine

# Sed nomine tuo da gloriam

# Tuo da gloriam. #

Peace to this meeting

unto our brother France health and fair time of day.

Joy and good wishes to our most fair cousin Katherine.

As a member of this royalty by whom this great assembly is contrived,

we do salute you, Duke of Burgundy,

and princes French, and peers, health to you all!

Right joyous are we to behold your face,

most worthy brother England, fairly met.

So are you, princes English, every one.

My duty to you both, on equal love,

great kings of France and England.

Since that my office hath so far prevailed that,

face to face, and royal eye to eye,

you have congreeted,

let it not disgrace me if I demand

why that the naked, poor and mangled peace

should not, in this garden of the world, our fertile France,

put up her lovely visage?

Alas, she hath from France too long been chased,

and all her husbandry doth lie on heaps

corrupting in its own fertility.

And as our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges,

defective in their natures, grow to wildness,

even so our houses and our selves,

our children, have lost or do not learn for want of time,

those sciences which should become our country

but grow like savages,

as soldiers will that nothing do but meditate on blood,

to swearing and stern looks, defused attire

and everything that seems unnatural.

And my speech entreats that I may know the let

why gentle peace should not expel these inconveniences

and bless us with her former qualities.

If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace

whose want gives growth to the imperfections which you cited,

then you must buy that peace

with full accord to all our just demands.

I have but with a cursatory eye o'erglanced the articles.

Pleaseth Your Grace to appoint some of your council to sit with us once more,

we will suddenly pass our accept and peremptory answer.

Brother, we shall.

Yet leave our cousin Katherine here with us.

She is our capital demand,

comprised within the fore-rank of our articles.

She hath good leave.

Fair Katherine, and most fair,

will you teach a soldier terms that will enter at a lady's ear

and plead his love-suit to her heart?

Your Majesty shall mock at me.

I cannot speak your England.

Oh.

Fair Katherine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart,

I will gladly hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue.

Do you like me, Kate?

Pardonnez-moi, I cannot tell what is like me.

You are like an angel.

-Que dit-il? Que je suis semblable a les anges?

-Oui, ainsi dit-il.

O bon Dieu! Les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies.

What says she? That the...tongues of men are full of deceits?

Oui. Dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits.

I'faith, my wooing is fit for thy understanding.

I know no ways to mince it in love but directly to say, "I love you."

If you urge me farther than to say "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit. Give me your answer.

Sauf votre honneur, me understand well.

If I could win a lady at leap-frog,

or by vaulting into my saddle with my armour on my back,

I should quickly leap into a wife.

But, before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly or gasp out my eloquence,

nor I have no cunning in protestation.

If thou canst love a fellow that never looks in his glass,

let thine eye be thy cook.

I speak to thee plain soldier.

If thou canst love me for this, take me.

If not, I shall not die for thy love. Yet I love thee too.

If thou would have such a one, and take me, take a soldier,

Take a soldier, take a king.

And what sayest thou then to my love?

Speak, my fair, and fairly, too, I pray thee.

Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?

No, Kate.

It is not possible that you should love the enemy of France, Kate.

But in loving me you should love the friend of France.

I love France and will not part with any of it.

And, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is France, and you are mine.

-I cannot tell what is dat.

-No, Kate?

I will tell thee in French,

which, I am sure, will hang about my tongue like a new-married wife about her husband's neck,

hardly to be shook off.

Je quand sur le possession de France

et...quand vous avez le possession de moi...

er...let me see...

Oh!

Donc...

votre est France et vous etes mienne!

It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French!

I will never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me!

Sauf votre honneur, le francais que vous parlez,

il est meilleur que l'anglais lequel je parle!

No, faith, it is not.

But, tell me, Kate, canst thou understand thus much English -

canst...thou...love...me?

-I cannot tell.

-Can any of your neighbours tell? I'll ask them.

By mine honour, I swear I love thee.

By which honour, I dare not swear thou lovest me,

yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost,

notwithstanding the poor and untempering effect of my visage.

My father was thinking of civil wars when he got me therefore was I created with an aspect of iron,

that, when I come to woo ladies, I fright them.

But the elder I wax, the better I shall appear.

Old age, that ill layer-up of beauty,

can do no more spoil upon my face!

Thou hast me, if thou hast me at the worst.

And thou shalt wear me, IF thou wear me, better and better.

Therefore tell me, most fair Katherine, will you have me?

Come, your answer in broken music,

for thy voice is music and thy English broken.

Therefore, Queen of all, Katherine,

wilt thou have me?

Dat is as it sall please le roi mon pere.

Nay, it shall please him well, Kate.