In motion of no lesse celeritie then that of Thought.
Suppose, that you haue seene
The well-appointed King at Douer Peer,
Embarke his Royaltie: and his braue Fleet,
With silken Streamers, the young Phebus fayning;
Play with your Fancies: and in them behold,
Vpon the Hempen Tackle, Ship-boyes climbing;
Heare the shrill Whistle, which doth order giue
To sounds confus'd: behold the threaden Sayles,
Borne with th' inuisible and creeping Wind,
Draw the huge Bottomes through the furrowed Sea,
Bresting the loftie Surge. O, doe but thinke
You stand vpon the Riuage, and behold
A Citie on th' inconstant Billowes dauncing:
For so appeares this Fleet Maiesticall,
Holding due course to Harflew. Follow, follow:
Grapple your minds to sternage of this Nauie,
And leaue your England as dead Mid-night, still,
Guarded with Grandsires, Babyes, and old Women,
Eyther past, or not arriu'd to pyth and puissance:
For who is he, whose Chin is but enricht
With one appearing Hayre, that will not follow
These cull'd and choyse-drawne Caualiers to France?
Worke, worke your Thoughts, and therein see a Siege:
Behold the Ordenance on their Carriages,
With fatall mouthes gaping on girded Harflew.
Suppose th' Embassador from the French comes back:
Tells Harry, That the King doth offer him
Katherine his Daughter, and with her to Dowrie,
Some petty and vnprofitable Dukedomes.
The offer likes not: and the nimble Gunner
With Lynstock now the diuellish Cannon touches,
Alarum, and Chambers goe off.
And downe goes all before them. Still be kind,
And eech out our performance with your mind.
Enter.
Enter the King, Exeter, Bedford, and Gloucester. Alarum: Scaling
Ladders at Harflew.
King. Once more vnto the Breach,
Deare friends, once more;
Or close the Wall vp with our English dead:
In Peace, there's nothing so becomes a man,
As modest stillnesse, and humilitie:
But when the blast of Warre blowes in our eares,
Then imitate the action of the Tyger:
Stiffen the sinewes, commune vp the blood,
Disguise faire Nature with hard-fauour'd Rage:
Then lend the Eye a terrible aspect:
Let it pry through the portage of the Head,
Like the Brasse Cannon: let the Brow o'rewhelme it,
As fearefully, as doth a galled Rocke
O're-hang and iutty his confounded Base,
Swill'd with the wild and wastfull Ocean.
Now set the Teeth, and stretch the Nosthrill wide,
Hold hard the Breath, and bend vp euery Spirit
To his full height. On, on, you Noblish English,
Whose blood is fet from Fathers of Warre-proofe:
Fathers, that like so many Alexanders,
Haue in these parts from Morne till Euen 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 Coppy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to Warre. And you good Yeomen,
Whose Lyms were made in England; shew vs here
The mettell of your Pasture: let vs sweare,
That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not:
For there is none of you so meane and base,
That hath not Noble luster in your eyes.
I see you stand like Grey-hounds in the slips,
Straying vpon the Start. The Game's afoot:
Follow your Spirit; and vpon this Charge,
Cry, God for Harry, England, and S. George.
Alarum, and Chambers goe off.
Enter Nim, Bardolph, Pistoll, and Boy.
Bard. On, on, on, on, on, to the breach, to the breach
Nim. 'Pray thee Corporall stay, the Knocks are too hot: and for mine
owne part, I haue not a Case of Liues: the humor of it is too hot, that
is the very plaine-Song of it
Pist. The plaine-Song is most iust: for humors doe abound: Knocks goe
and come: Gods Vassals drop and dye: and Sword and Shield, in bloody
Field, doth winne immortall fame
Boy. Would I were in a Ale-house in London, I would giue all my fame
for a Pot of Ale, and safetie
Pist. And I: If wishes would preuayle with me, my purpose should not
fayle with me; but thither would I high
Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as Bird doth sing on
bough.
Enter Fluellen.
Flu. Vp to the breach, you Dogges; auaunt you
Cullions
Pist. Be mercifull great Duke to men of Mould: abate thy Rage, abate
thy manly Rage; abate thy Rage, great Duke. Good Bawcock bate thy Rage:
vse lenitie sweet Chuck
Nim. These be good humors: your Honor wins bad
humors.
Enter.
Boy. As young as I am, I haue obseru'd these three Swashers: I am Boy
to them all three, but all they three, though they would serue me,
could not be Man to me; for indeed three such Antiques doe not amount
to a man: for Bardolph, hee is white-liuer'd, and red-fac'd; by the
meanes whereof, a faces it out, but fights not: for Pistoll, hee hath a
killing Tongue, and a quiet Sword; by the meanes whereof, a breakes
Words, and keepes whole Weapons: for Nim, hee hath heard, that men of
few Words are the best men, and therefore hee scornes to say his
Prayers, lest a should be thought a Coward: but his few bad Words are
matcht with as few good Deeds; for a neuer broke any mans Head but his
owne, and that was against a Post, when he was drunke. They will steale
any thing, and call it Purchase. Bardolph stole a Lute-case, bore it
twelue Leagues, and sold it for three halfepence. Nim and Bardolph are
sworne Brothers in filching: and in Callice they stole a fire-shouell.
I knew by that peece of Seruice, the men would carry Coales. They would
haue me as familiar with mens Pockets, as their Gloues or their
Hand-kerchers: which makes much against my Manhood, if I should take
from anothers Pocket, to put into mine; for it is plaine pocketting vp
of Wrongs. I must leaue them, and seeke some better Seruice: their
Villany goes against my weake stomacke, and therefore I must cast it
vp. Enter.
Enter Gower.
Gower. Captaine Fluellen, you must come presently to the Mynes; the
Duke of Gloucester would speake with you
Flu. To the Mynes? Tell you the Duke, it is not so good to come to the
Mynes: for looke you, the Mynes is not according to the disciplines of
the Warre; the concauities of it is not sufficient: for looke you, th'
athuersarie, you may discusse vnto the Duke, looke you, is digt
himselfe foure yard vnder the Countermines: by Cheshu, I thinke a will
plowe vp all, if there is not better directions
Gower. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the Order of the Siege is giuen,
is altogether directed by an Irish man, a very valiant Gentleman yfaith
Welch. It is Captaine Makmorrice, is it not?
Gower. I thinke it be
Welch. By Cheshu he is an Asse, as in the World, I will verifie as much
in his Beard: he ha's no more directions in the true disciplines of the
Warres, looke you, of the Roman disciplines, then is a Puppy-dog. Enter
Makmorrice, and Captaine Iamy.
Gower. Here a comes, and the Scots Captaine, Captaine
Iamy, with him
Welch. Captaine Iamy is a maruellous falorous Gentleman, that is
certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th' aunchiant Warres,
vpon my particular knowledge of his directions: by Cheshu he will
maintaine his Argument as well as any Militarie man in the World, in
the disciplines of the Pristine Warres of the Romans
Scot. I say gudday, Captaine Fluellen
Welch. Godden to your Worship, good Captaine
Iames
Gower. How now Captaine Mackmorrice, haue you quit the Mynes? haue the
Pioners giuen o're? Irish. By Chrish Law tish ill done: the Worke ish
giue ouer, the Trompet sound the Retreat. By my Hand I sweare, and my
fathers Soule, the Worke ish ill done: it ish giue ouer: I would haue
blowed vp the Towne, so Chrish saue me law, in an houre. O tish ill
done, tish ill done: by my Hand tish ill done
Welch. Captaine Mackmorrice, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me,
looke you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or
concerning the disciplines of the Warre, the Roman Warres, in the way
of Argument, looke you, and friendly communication: partly to satisfie
my Opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, looke you, of my Mind: as
touching the direction of the Militarie discipline, that is the Point
Scot. It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud Captens bath, and I sall quit
you with gud leue, as I may pick occasion: that sall I mary
Irish. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish saue me: the day is hot,
and the Weather, and the Warres, and the King, and the Dukes: it is no
time to discourse, the Town is beseech'd: and the Trumpet call vs to
the breech, and we talke, and be Chrish do nothing, tis shame for vs
all: so God sa'me tis shame to stand still, it is shame by my hand: and
there is Throats to be cut, and Workes to be done, and there ish
nothing done, so Christ sa'me law
Scot. By the Mes, ere theise eyes of mine take themselues to slomber,
ayle de gud seruice, or Ile ligge i'th' grund for it; ay, or goe to
death: and Ile pay't as valorously as I may, that sal I suerly do, that
is the breff and the long: mary, I wad full faine heard some question
tween you tway
Welch. Captaine Mackmorrice, I thinke, looke you, vnder your
correction, there is not many of your Nation
Irish. Of my Nation? What ish my Nation? Ish a Villaine, and a Basterd,
and a Knaue, and a Rascall. What ish my Nation? Who talkes of my
Nation? Welch. Looke you, if you take the matter otherwise then is
meant, Captaine Mackmorrice, peraduenture I shall thinke you doe not
vse me with that affabilitie, as in discretion you ought to vse me,
looke you, being as good a man as your selfe, both in the disciplines
of Warre, and in the deriuation of my Birth, and in other
particularities
Irish. I doe not know you so good a man as my selfe: so Chrish saue me,
I will cut off your Head
Gower. Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other
Scot. A, that's a foule fault.
A Parley.
Gower. The Towne sounds a Parley
Welch. Captaine Mackmorrice, when there is more better oportunitie to
be required, looke you, I will be so bold as to tell you, I know the
disciplines of Warre: and there is an end. Enter.
Enter the King and all his Traine before the Gates.
King. How yet resolues the Gouernour of the Towne?
This is the latest Parle we will admit:
Therefore to our best mercy giue your selues,
Or like to men prowd of destruction,
Defie vs to our worst: for as I am a Souldier,
A Name that in my thoughts becomes me best;
If I begin the batt'rie once againe,
I will not leaue the halfe-atchieued Harflew,
Till in her ashes she lye buryed.
The Gates of Mercy shall be all shut vp,
And the flesh'd Souldier, rough and hard of heart,
In libertie of bloody hand, shall raunge
With Conscience wide as Hell, mowing like Grasse
Your fresh faire Virgins, and your flowring Infants.
What is it then to me, if impious Warre,
Arrayed in flames like to the Prince of Fiends,
Doe with his smyrcht complexion all fell feats,
Enlynckt to wast and desolation?
What is't to me, when you your selues are cause,
If your pure Maydens fall into the hand
Of hot and forcing Violation?
What Reyne can hold licentious Wickednesse,
When downe the Hill he holds his fierce Carriere?
We may as bootlesse spend our vaine Command
Vpon th' enraged Souldiers in their spoyle,
As send Precepts to the Leuiathan, to come ashore.
Therefore, you men of Harflew,
Take pitty of your Towne and of your People,
Whiles yet my Souldiers are in my Command,
Whiles yet the coole and temperate Wind of Grace
O're-blowes the filthy and contagious Clouds
Of heady Murther, Spoyle, and Villany.
If not: why in a moment looke to see
The blind and bloody Souldier, with foule hand
Desire the Locks of your shrill-shriking Daughters:
Your Fathers taken by the siluer Beards,
And their most reuerend Heads dasht to the Walls:
Your naked Infants spitted vpon Pykes,
Whiles the mad Mothers, with their howles confus'd,
Doe breake the Clouds; as did the Wiues of Iewry,
At Herods bloody-hunting slaughter-men.
What say you? Will you yeeld, and this auoyd?
Or guiltie in defence, be thus destroy'd.
Enter Gouernour.
Gouer. Our expectation hath this day an end:
The Dolphin, whom of Succours we entreated,
Returnes vs, that his Powers are yet not ready,
To rayse so great a Siege: Therefore great King,
We yeeld our Towne and Liues to thy soft Mercy:
Enter our Gates, dispose of vs and ours,
For we no longer are defensible
King. Open your Gates: Come Vnckle Exeter,
Goe you and enter Harflew; there remaine,
And fortifie it strongly 'gainst the French:
Vse mercy to them all for vs, deare Vnckle.
The Winter comming on, and Sicknesse growing
Vpon our Souldiers, we will retyre to Calis.
To night in Harflew will we be your Guest,
To morrow for the March are we addrest.
Flourish, and enter the Towne.
Enter Katherine and an old Gentlewoman.
Kathe. Alice, tu as este en Angleterre, & tu bien parlas le Language
Alice. En peu Madame
Kath. Ie te prie m' ensigniez, il faut que ie apprend a parlen:
Comient appelle vous le main en Anglois?
Alice. Le main il & appelle de Hand
Kath. De Hand
Alice. E le doyts
Kat. Le doyts, ma foy Ie oublie, e doyt mays, ie me souemeray
le doyts ie pense qu'ils ont appelle de fingres, ou de fingres
Alice. Le main de Hand, le doyts le Fingres, ie pense que ie
suis le bon escholier
Kath. I'ay gaynie diux mots d' Anglois vistement, coment
appelle vous le ongles?
Alice. Le ongles, les appellons de Nayles
Kath. De Nayles escoute: dites moy, si ie parle bien: de
Hand, de Fingres, e de Nayles
Alice. C'est bien dict Madame, il & fort bon Anglois
Kath. Dites moy l' Anglois pour le bras
Alice. De Arme, Madame
Kath. E de coudee
Alice. D' Elbow
Kath. D' Elbow: Ie men fay le repiticio de touts les mots que vous
maves, apprins des a present
Alice. Il & trop difficile Madame, comme Ie pense
Kath. Excuse moy Alice escoute, d' Hand, de Fingre, de
Nayles, d' Arma, de Bilbow
Alice. D' Elbow, Madame
Kath. O Seigneur Dieu, ie men oublie d' Elbow, coment appelle vous le
col
Alice. De Nick, Madame
Kath. De Nick, e le menton
Alice. De Chin
Kath. De Sin: le col de Nick, le menton de Sin
Alice. Ouy. Sauf vostre honneur en verite vous pronouncies
les mots ausi droict, que le Natifs d' Angleterre
Kath. Ie ne doute point d' apprendre par de grace de Dieu,
& en peu de temps
Alice. N' aue vos y desia oublie ce que ie vous a ensignie
Kath. Nome ie recitera a vous promptement, d' Hand, de
Fingre, de Maylees
Alice. De Nayles, Madame
Kath. De Nayles, de Arme, de Ilbow
Alice. Sans vostre honeus d' Elbow
Kath. Ainsi de ie d' Elbow, de Nick, & de Sin: coment appelle vous les
pied & de roba
Alice. Le Foot Madame, & le Count
Kath. Le Foot, & le Count: O Seignieur Dieu, il sont le mots de son
mauvais corruptible grosse & impudique, & non pour le Dames de Honeur
d' vser: Ie ne voudray pronouncer ce mots deuant le Seigneurs de
France, pour toute le monde, fo le Foot & le Count, neant moys, Ie
recitera vn autrefoys ma lecon ensembe, d' Hand, de Fingre, de Nayles,
d' Arme, d' Elbow, de Nick, de Sin, de Foot, le Count
Alice. Excellent, Madame
Kath. C'est asses pour vne foyes, alons nous a diner.
Enter.
Enter the King of France, the Dolphin, the Constable of France, and
others.
King. 'Tis certaine he hath past the Riuer Some
Const. And if he be not fought withall, my Lord,
Let vs not liue in France: let vs quit all,
And giue our Vineyards to a barbarous People
Dolph. O Dieu viuant: Shall a few Sprayes of vs,
The emptying of our Fathers Luxurie,
Our Syens, put in wilde and sauage Stock,
Spirt vp so suddenly into the Clouds,
And ouer-looke their Grafters?
Brit. Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards:
Mort du ma vie, if they march along
Vnfought withall, but I will sell my Dukedome,
To buy a slobbry and a durtie Farme
In that nooke-shotten Ile of Albion
Const. Dieu de Battailes, where haue they this mettell?
Is not their Clymate foggy, raw, and dull?
On whom, as in despight, the Sunne lookes pale,
Killing their Fruit with frownes. Can sodden Water,
A Drench for sur-reyn'd Iades, their Barly broth,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with Wine,
Seeme frostie? O, for honor of our Land,
Let vs not hang like roping Isyckles
Vpon our Houses Thatch, whiles a more frostie People
Sweat drops of gallant Youth in our rich fields:
Poore we call them, in their Natiue Lords
Dolphin. By Faith and Honor,
Our Madames mock at vs, and plainely say,
Our Mettell is bred out, and they will giue
Their bodyes to the Lust of English Youth,
To new-store France with Bastard Warriors
Brit. They bid vs to the English Dancing-Schooles,
And teach Lauolta's high, and swift Carranto's,
Saying, our Grace is onely in our Heeles,
And that we are most loftie Run-awayes
King. Where is Montioy the Herald? speed him hence,
Let him greet England with our sharpe defiance.
Vp Princes, and with spirit of Honor edged,
More sharper then your Swords, high to the field:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France,
You Dukes of Orleance, Burbon, and of Berry,
Alanson, Brabant, Bar, and Burgonie,
Iaques Chattillion, Rambures, Vandemont,
Beumont, Grand Pree, Roussi, and Faulconbridge,
Loys, Lestrale, Bouciquall, and Charaloyes,
High Dukes, great Princes, Barons, Lords, and Kings;
For your great Seats, now quit you of great shames:
Barre Harry England, that sweepes through our Land
With Penons painted in the blood of Harflew:
Rush on his Hoast, as doth the melted Snow
Vpon the Valleyes, whose low Vassall Seat,
The Alpes doth spit, and void his rhewme vpon.
Goe downe vpon him, you haue Power enough,
And in a Captiue Chariot, into Roan
Bring him our Prisoner
Const. This becomes the Great.
Sorry am I his numbers are so few,
His Souldiers sick, and famisht in their March:
For I am sure, when he shall see our Army,
Hee'le drop his heart into the sinck of feare,
And for atchieuement, offer vs his Ransome
King. Therefore Lord Constable, hast on Montioy,
And let him say to England, that we send,
To know what willing Ransome he will giue.
Prince Dolphin, you shall stay with vs in Roan
Dolph. Not so, I doe beseech your Maiestie
King. Be patient, for you shall remaine with vs.
Now forth Lord Constable, and Princes all,
And quickly bring vs word of Englands fall.
Exeunt.
Enter Captaines, English and Welch, Gower and Fluellen.
Gower. How now Captaine Fluellen, come you from
the Bridge?
Flu. I assure you, there is very excellent Seruices committed
at the Bridge
Gower. Is the Duke of Exeter safe? Flu. The Duke of Exeter is as
magnanimous as Agamemnon, and a man that I loue and honour with my
soule, and my heart, and my dutie, and my liue, and my liuing, and my
vttermost power. He is not, God be praysed and blessed, any hurt in the
World, but keepes the Bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline.
There is an aunchient Lieutenant there at the Pridge, I thinke in my
very conscience hee is as valiant a man as Marke Anthony, and hee is a
man of no estimation in the World, but I did see him doe as gallant
seruice
Gower. What doe you call him?
Flu. Hee is call'd aunchient Pistoll
Gower. I know him not.
Enter Pistoll.
Flu. Here is the man
Pist. Captaine, I thee beseech to doe me fauours: the
Duke of Exeter doth loue thee well
Flu. I, I prayse God, and I haue merited some loue at
his hands
Pist. Bardolph, a Souldier firme and sound of heart, and of buxome
valour, hath by cruell Fate, and giddie Fortunes furious fickle Wheele,
that Goddesse blind, that stands vpon the rolling restlesse Stone
Flu. By your patience, aunchient Pistoll: Fortune is painted blinde,
with a Muffler afore his eyes, to signifie to you, that Fortune is
blinde; and shee is painted also with a Wheele, to signifie to you,
which is the Morall of it, that shee is turning and inconstant, and
mutabilitie, and variation: and her foot, looke you, is fixed vpon a
Sphericall Stone, which rowles, and rowles, and rowles: in good truth,
the Poet makes a most excellent description of it: Fortune is an
excellent Morall
Pist. Fortune is Bardolphs foe, and frownes on him: for he hath stolne
a Pax, and hanged must a be: a damned death: let Gallowes gape for
Dogge, let Man goe free, and let not Hempe his Wind-pipe suffocate: but
Exeter hath giuen the doome of death, for Pax of little price.
Therefore goe speake, the Duke will heare thy voyce; and let not
Bardolphs vitall thred bee cut with edge of Penny-Cord, and vile
reproach. Speake Captaine for his Life, and I will thee requite
Flu. Aunchient Pistoll, I doe partly vnderstand your meaning
Pist. Why then reioyce therefore
Flu. Certainly Aunchient, it is not a thing to reioyce at: for if,
looke you, he were my Brother, I would desire the Duke to vse his good
pleasure, and put him to execution; for discipline ought to be vsed
Pist. Dye, and be dam'd, and Figo for thy friendship
Flu. It is well
Pist. The Figge of Spaine.
Enter.
Flu. Very good
Gower. Why, this is an arrant counterfeit Rascall, I remember him now:
a Bawd, a Cut-purse
Flu. Ile assure you, a vtt'red as praue words at the Pridge, as you
shall see in a Summers day: but it is very well: what he ha's spoke to
me, that is well I warrant you, when time is serue
Gower. Why 'tis a Gull, a Foole, a Rogue, that now and then goes to the
Warres, to grace himselfe at his returne into London, vnder the forme
of a Souldier: and such fellowes are perfit in the Great Commanders
Names, and they will learne you by rote where Seruices were done; at
such and such a Sconce, at such a Breach, at such a Conuoy: who came
off brauely, who was shot, who disgrac'd, what termes the Enemy stood
on: and this they conne perfitly in the phrase of Warre; which they
tricke vp with new-tuned Oathes: and what a Beard of the Generalls Cut,
and a horride Sute of the Campe, will doe among foming Bottles, and
Ale-washt Wits, is wonderfull to be thought on: but you must learne to
know such slanders of the age, or else you may be maruellously mistooke
Flu. I tell you what, Captaine Gower: I doe perceiue hee is not the man
that hee would gladly make shew to the World hee is: if I finde a hole
in his Coat, I will tell him my minde: hearke you, the King is comming,
and I must speake with him from the Pridge.
Drum and Colours. Enter the King and his poore Souldiers.
Flu. God plesse your Maiestie
King. How now Fluellen, cam'st thou from the Bridge? Flu. I, so please
your Maiestie: The Duke of Exeter ha's very gallantly maintain'd the
Pridge; the French is gone off, looke you, and there is gallant and
most praue passages: marry, th' athuersarie was haue possession of the
Pridge, but he is enforced to retyre, and the Duke of Exeter is Master
of the Pridge: I can tell your Maiestie, the Duke is a praue man
King. What men haue you lost, Fluellen? Flu. The perdition of th'
athuersarie hath beene very great, reasonnable great: marry for my
part, I thinke the Duke hath lost neuer a man, but one that is like to
be executed for robbing a Church, one Bardolph, if your Maiestie know
the man: his face is all bubukles and whelkes, and knobs, and flames a
fire, and his lippes blowes at his nose, and it is like a coale of
fire, sometimes plew, and sometimes red, but his nose is executed, and
his fire's out
King. Wee would haue all such offendors so cut off: and we giue
expresse charge, that in our Marches through the Countrey, there be
nothing compell'd from the Villages; nothing taken, but pay'd for: none
of the French vpbrayded or abused in disdainefull Language; for when
Leuitie and Crueltie play for a Kingdome, the gentler Gamester is the
soonest winner.
Tucket. Enter Mountioy.
Mountioy. You know me by my habit
King. Well then, I know thee: what shall I know of
thee?
Mountioy. My Masters mind
King. Vnfold it
Mountioy. Thus sayes my King: Say thou to Harry of England, Though we
seem'd dead, we did but sleepe: Aduantage is a better Souldier then
rashnesse. Tell him, wee could haue rebuk'd him at Harflewe, but that
wee thought not good to bruise an iniurie, till it were full ripe. Now
wee speake vpon our Q. and our voyce is imperiall: England shall repent
his folly, see his weakenesse, and admire our sufferance. Bid him
therefore consider of his ransome, which must proportion the losses we
haue borne, the subiects we haue lost, the disgrace we haue digested;
which in weight to re-answer, his pettinesse would bow vnder. For our
losses, his Exchequer is too poore; for th' effusion of our bloud, the
Muster of his Kingdome too faint a number; and for our disgrace, his
owne person kneeling at our feet, but a weake and worthlesse
satisfaction. To this adde defiance: and tell him for conclusion, he
hath betrayed his followers, whose condemnation is pronounc't: So farre
my King and Master; so much my Office
King. What is thy name? I know thy qualitie
Mount. Mountioy