Enter Gower and Williams.
WILLIAMS.
I warrant it is to knight you, Captain.
Enter Fluellen.
FLUELLEN.
God’s will and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now, come apace to
the King. There is more good toward you peradventure than is in your
knowledge to dream of.
WILLIAMS.
Sir, know you this glove?
FLUELLEN.
Know the glove! I know the glove is a glove.
WILLIAMS.
I know this; and thus I challenge it.
[_Strikes him._]
FLUELLEN.
’Sblood! an arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in
France, or in England!
GOWER.
How now, sir! you villain!
WILLIAMS.
Do you think I’ll be forsworn?
FLUELLEN.
Stand away, Captain Gower. I will give treason his payment into plows,
I warrant you.
WILLIAMS.
I am no traitor.
FLUELLEN.
That’s a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty’s name,
apprehend him; he’s a friend of the Duke Alençon’s.
Enter Warwick and Gloucester.
WARWICK.
How now, how now! what’s the matter?
FLUELLEN.
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.
KING HENRY.
How now! what’s the matter?
FLUELLEN.
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.
WILLIAMS.
My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he that I
gave it to in change promis’d to wear it in his cap. I promis’d 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.
FLUELLEN.
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 will avouchment, that this is the glove of
Alençon that your Majesty is give me; in your conscience, now?
KING HENRY.
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.
FLUELLEN.
An it please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any
martial law in the world.
KING HENRY.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?
WILLIAMS.
All offences, my lord, come from the heart. Never came any from mine
that might offend your Majesty.
KING HENRY.
It was ourself thou didst abuse.
WILLIAMS.
Your Majesty came not like yourself. You appear’d to me but as a common
man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your
Highness suffer’d 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.
KING HENRY.
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 his crowns;
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.
FLUELLEN.
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.
WILLIAMS.
I will none of your money.
FLUELLEN.
It is with a good will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your
shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? Your shoes is not so
good. ’Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.
Enter an English Herald.
KING HENRY.
Now, herald, are the dead numb’red?
HERALD.
Here is the number of the slaught’red French.
KING HENRY.
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
EXETER.
Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew to the King;
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Boucicault:
Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
KING HENRY.
This note doth tell me of ten thousand 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;
Jacques of Chatillon, Admiral of France;
The master of the Crossbows, Lord Rambures;
Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin,
John, Duke of Alençon, Anthony, Duke of Brabant,
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy,
And Edward, Duke of Bar; of lusty earls,
Grandpré and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix,
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!
Where is the number of our English dead?
[_Herald gives him 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!
EXETER.
’Tis wonderful!
KING HENRY.
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.
FLUELLEN.
Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how many is kill’d?
KING HENRY.
Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment,
That God fought for us.
FLUELLEN.
Yes, my conscience, He did us great good.
KING HENRY.
Do we all holy rites.
Let there be sung _Non nobis_ and _Te Deum_,
The dead with charity enclos’d in clay,
And then to Calais; and to England then,
Where ne’er from France arriv’d more happy men.
[_Exeunt._]
ACT V
Enter Chorus.
CHORUS.
Vouchsafe to those that have not read the story,
That I may prompt them; and of such as have,
I humbly pray them to admit the excuse
Of time, of numbers, and due course of things,
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here presented. Now we bear the King
Toward Calais; grant him there; there seen,
Heave him away upon your winged thoughts
Athwart the sea. Behold, the English beach
Pales in the flood with men, with wives and boys,
Whose shouts and claps out-voice the deep-mouth’d sea,
Which like a mighty whiffler ’fore the King
Seems to prepare his way. So let him land,
And solemnly see him set on to London.
So swift a pace hath thought that even now
You may imagine him upon Blackheath,
Where that his lords desire him to have borne
His bruised helmet and his bended sword
Before him through the city. He forbids it,
Being free from vainness and self-glorious pride;
Giving full trophy, signal, and ostent
Quite from himself to God. But now behold,
In the quick forge and working-house of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens!
The mayor and all his brethren in best sort,
Like to the senators of th’ antique Rome,
With the plebeians swarming at their heels,
Go forth and fetch their conquering Caesar in;
As, by a lower but loving likelihood,
Were now the general of our gracious empress,
As in good time he may, from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached on his sword,
How many would the peaceful city quit,
To welcome him! Much more, and much more cause,
Did they this Harry. Now in London place him;
As yet the lamentation of the French
Invites the King of England’s stay at home,
The Emperor’s coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them;—and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chanc’d,
Till Harry’s back-return again to France.
There must we bring him; and myself have play’d
The interim, by rememb’ring you ’tis past.
Then brook abridgement, and your eyes advance
After your thoughts, straight back again to France.
[_Exit._]
SCENE I. France. The English camp.
Enter Fluellen and Gower.
GOWER.
Nay, that’s right; but why wear you your leek today?
Saint Davy’s day is past.
FLUELLEN.
There is occasions and causes why and wherefore in all things. I will
tell you ass my friend, Captain Gower. The rascally, scald, beggarly,
lousy, pragging knave, Pistol, which you and yourself and all the world
know to be no petter than a fellow, look you now, of no merits, he is
come to me and prings me pread and salt yesterday, look you, and bid me
eat my leek. It was in a place where I could not breed no contention
with him; but I will be so bold as to wear it in my cap till I see him
once again, and then I will tell him a little piece of my desires.
Enter Pistol.
GOWER.
Why, here he comes, swelling like a turkey-cock.
FLUELLEN.
’Tis no matter for his swellings nor his turkey-cocks. God pless you,
Anchient Pistol! you scurvy, lousy knave, God pless you!
PISTOL.
Ha! art thou bedlam? Dost thou thirst, base Trojan,
To have me fold up Parca’s fatal web?
Hence! I am qualmish at the smell of leek.
FLUELLEN.
I peseech you heartily, scurfy, lousy knave, at my desires, and my
requests, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek. Because, look
you, you do not love it, nor your affections and your appetites and
your digestions does not agree with it, I would desire you to eat it.
PISTOL.
Not for Cadwallader and all his goats.
FLUELLEN.
There is one goat for you. [_Strikes him._] Will you be so good, scald
knave, as eat it?
PISTOL.
Base Trojan, thou shalt die.
FLUELLEN.
You say very true, scald knave, when God’s will is. I will desire you
to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals. Come, there is sauce
for it. [_Strikes him._] You call’d me yesterday mountain-squire; but I
will make you today a squire of low degree. I pray you, fall to; if you
can mock a leek, you can eat a leek.
GOWER.
Enough, captain; you have astonish’d him.
FLUELLEN.
I say, I will make him eat some part of my leek, or I will peat his
pate four days. Bite, I pray you; it is good for your green wound and
your ploody coxcomb.
PISTOL.
Must I bite?
FLUELLEN.
Yes, certainly, and out of doubt and out of question too, and
ambiguities.
PISTOL.
By this leek, I will most horribly revenge. I eat and eat, I swear—
FLUELLEN.
Eat, I pray you. Will you have some more sauce to your leek? There is
not enough leek to swear by.
PISTOL.
Quiet thy cudgel; thou dost see I eat.
FLUELLEN.
Much good do you, scald knave, heartily. Nay, pray you, throw none
away; the skin is good for your broken coxcomb. When you take occasions
to see leeks hereafter, I pray you, mock at ’em; that is all.
PISTOL.
Good.
FLUELLEN.
Ay, leeks is good. Hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.
PISTOL.
Me a groat!
FLUELLEN.
Yes, verily and in truth you shall take it; or I have another leek in
my pocket, which you shall eat.
PISTOL.
I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.
FLUELLEN.
If I owe you anything I will pay you in cudgels. You shall be a
woodmonger, and buy nothing of me but cudgels. God be wi’ you, and keep
you, and heal your pate.
[_Exit._]
PISTOL.
All hell shall stir for this.
GOWER.
Go, go; you are a couterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an
ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable respect, and worn as a
memorable trophy of predeceased valour, and dare not avouch in your
deeds any of your words? I have seen you gleeking and galling at this
gentleman twice or thrice. You thought, because he could not speak
English in the native garb, he could not therefore handle an English
cudgel. You find it otherwise; and henceforth let a Welsh correction
teach you a good English condition. Fare ye well.
[_Exit._]
PISTOL.
Doth Fortune play the huswife with me now?
News have I, that my Doll is dead i’ the spital
Of malady of France;
And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.
Old I do wax; and from my weary limbs
Honour is cudgell’d. Well, bawd I’ll turn,
And something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal, and there I’ll steal;
And patches will I get unto these cudgell’d scars,
And swear I got them in the Gallia wars.
[_Exit._]
SCENE II. France. A royal palace.
Enter at one door, King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Warwick, Gloucester,
Westmorland, Clarence, Huntingdon and other Lords. At another, Queen
Isabel, the French King, the Princess Katharine, Alice, and other
Ladies; the Duke of Burgundy and other French.
KING HENRY.
Peace to this meeting, wherefore we are met!
Unto our brother France, and to our sister,
Health and fair time of day; joy and good wishes
To our most fair and princely cousin Katharine;
And, as a branch and member of this royalty,
By whom this great assembly is contriv’d,
We do salute you, Duke of Burgundy;
And, princes French, and peers, health to you all!
FRENCH KING.
Right joyous are we to behold your face,
Most worthy brother England; fairly met!
So are you, princes English, every one.
QUEEN ISABEL.
So happy be the issue, brother England,
Of this good day and of this gracious meeting
As we are now glad to behold your eyes;
Your eyes, which hitherto have borne in them
Against the French that met them in their bent
The fatal balls of murdering basilisks.
The venom of such looks, we fairly hope,
Have lost their quality; and that this day
Shall change all griefs and quarrels into love.
KING HENRY.
To cry amen to that, thus we appear.
QUEEN ISABEL.
You English princes all, I do salute you.
BURGUNDY.
My duty to you both, on equal love,
Great Kings of France and England! That I have labour’d,
With all my wits, my pains, and strong endeavours,
To bring your most imperial Majesties
Unto this bar and royal interview,
Your mightiness on both parts best can witness.
Since then my office hath so far prevail’d
That, face to face and royal eye to eye,
You have congreeted, let it not disgrace me
If I demand, before this royal view,
What rub or what impediment there is,
Why that the naked, poor, and mangled Peace,
Dear nurse of arts, plenties, and joyful births,
Should not in this best garden of the world,
Our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
Alas, she hath from France too long been chas’d,
And all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
Corrupting in it own fertility.
Her vine, the merry cheerer of the heart,
Unpruned dies; her hedges even-pleach’d,
Like prisoners wildly overgrown with hair,
Put forth disorder’d twigs; her fallow leas
The darnel, hemlock, and rank fumitory,
Doth root upon, while that the coulter rusts
That should deracinate such savagery;
The even mead, that erst brought sweetly forth
The freckled cowslip, burnet, and green clover,
Wanting the scythe, all uncorrected, rank,
Conceives by idleness, and nothing teems
But hateful docks, rough thistles, kecksies, burs,
Losing both beauty and utility;
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads, and hedges,
Defective in their natures, grow to wildness.
Even so our houses and ourselves and children
Have lost, or do not learn for want of time,
The sciences that should become our country;
But grow like savages,—as soldiers will
That nothing do but meditate on blood,—
To swearing and stern looks, diffus’d attire,
And everything that seems unnatural.
Which to reduce into our former favour
You are assembled; 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.
KING HENRY.
If, Duke of Burgundy, you would the peace,
Whose want gives growth to the imperfections
Which you have cited, you must buy that peace
With full accord to all our just demands;
Whose tenours and particular effects
You have enschedul’d briefly in your hands.
BURGUNDY.
The King hath heard them; to the which as yet
There is no answer made.
KING HENRY.
Well, then, the peace,
Which you before so urg’d, lies in his answer.
FRENCH KING.
I have but with a cursorary eye
O’erglanc’d the articles. Pleaseth your Grace
To appoint some of your council presently
To sit with us once more, with better heed
To re-survey them, we will suddenly
Pass our accept and peremptory answer.
KING HENRY.
Brother, we shall. Go, uncle Exeter,
And brother Clarence, and you, brother Gloucester,
Warwick, and Huntington, go with the King;
And take with you free power to ratify,
Augment, or alter, as your wisdoms best
Shall see advantageable for our dignity,
Anything in or out of our demands,
And we’ll consign thereto. Will you, fair sister,
Go with the princes, or stay here with us?
QUEEN ISABEL.
Our gracious brother, I will go with them.
Haply a woman’s voice may do some good,
When articles too nicely urg’d be stood on.
KING HENRY.
Yet leave our cousin Katharine here with us:
She is our capital demand, compris’d
Within the fore-rank of our articles.
QUEEN ISABEL.
She hath good leave.
[_Exeunt all except Henry, Katharine and Alice._]
KING HENRY.
Fair Katharine, and most fair,
Will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier terms
Such as will enter at a lady’s ear
And plead his love-suit to her gentle heart?
KATHARINE.
Your Majesty shall mock me; I cannot speak your England.
KING HENRY.
O fair Katharine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart, I
will be glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English tongue.
Do you like me, Kate?
KATHARINE.
_Pardonnez-moi_, I cannot tell wat is “like me.”
KING HENRY.
An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.
KATHARINE.
_Que dit-il? Que je suis semblable à les anges?_
ALICE.
_Oui, vraiment, sauf votre Grâce, ainsi dit-il._
KING HENRY.
I said so, dear Katharine; and I must not blush to affirm it.
KATHARINE.
_O bon Dieu! les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies._
KING HENRY.
What says she, fair one? That the tongues of men are full of deceits?
ALICE.
_Oui_, dat de tongues of de mans is be full of deceits: dat is de
Princess.
KING HENRY.
The Princess is the better Englishwoman. I’ faith, Kate, my wooing is
fit for thy understanding. I am glad thou canst speak no better
English; for if thou couldst, thou wouldst find me such a plain king
that thou wouldst think I had sold my farm to buy my crown. I know no
ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, “I love you”; then if
you urge me farther than to say, “Do you in faith?” I wear out my suit.
Give me your answer; i’ faith, do; and so clap hands and a bargain. How
say you, lady?
KATHARINE.
_Sauf votre honneur_, me understand well.
KING HENRY.
Marry, if you would put me to verses, or to dance for your sake, Kate,
why you undid me; for the one, I have neither words nor measure, and
for the other I have no strength in measure, yet a reasonable measure
in strength. If I could win a lady at leap-frog, or by vaulting into my
saddle with my armour on my back, under the correction of bragging be
it spoken, I should quickly leap into a wife. Or if I might buffet for
my love, or bound my horse for her favours, I could lay on like a
butcher and sit like a jack-an-apes, never off. But, before God, Kate,
I cannot look greenly, nor gasp out my eloquence, nor I have no cunning
in protestation; only downright oaths, which I never use till urg’d,
nor never break for urging. If thou canst love a fellow of this temper,
Kate, whose face is not worth sunburning, that never looks in his glass
for love of anything he sees there, let thine eye be thy cook. I speak
to thee plain soldier. If thou canst love me for this, take me; if not,
to say to thee that I shall die, is true; but for thy love, by the
Lord, no; yet I love thee too. And while thou liv’st, dear Kate, take a
fellow of plain and uncoined constancy; for he perforce must do thee
right, because he hath not the gift to woo in other places; for these
fellows of infinite tongue, that can rhyme themselves into ladies’
favours, they do always reason themselves out again. What! a speaker is
but a prater: a rhyme is but a ballad. A good leg will fall; a straight
back will stoop; a black beard will turn white; a curl’d pate will grow
bald; a fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good
heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the
moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course
truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a
soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say’st thou then to my
love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee.
KATHARINE.
Is it possible dat I should love de enemy of France?
KING HENRY.
No; it is not possible you should love the enemy of France, Kate; but,
in loving me, you should love the friend of France; for I love France
so well that I will not part with a village of it, I will have it all
mine; and, Kate, when France is mine and I am yours, then yours is
France and you are mine.
KATHARINE.
I cannot tell wat is dat.
KING HENRY.
No, Kate? I will tell thee in French; which I am sure will hang upon 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_,—let me see, what then? Saint Denis be my
speed!—_donc votre est France, et vous êtes mienne._ It is as easy for
me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom as to speak so much more French. I
shall never move thee in French, unless it be to laugh at me.
KATHARINE.
_Sauf votre honneur, le français que vous parlez, il est meilleur que
l’anglais lequel je parle._
KING HENRY.
No, faith, is’t not, Kate; but thy speaking of my tongue, and I thine,
most truly-falsely, must needs be granted to be much at one. But, Kate,
dost thou understand thus much English: canst thou love me?
KATHARINE.
I cannot tell.
KING HENRY.
Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate? I’ll ask them. Come, I know thou
lovest me; and at night, when you come into your closet, you’ll
question this gentlewoman about me; and I know, Kate, you will to her
dispraise those parts in me that you love with your heart. But, good
Kate, mock me mercifully; the rather, gentle princess, because I love
thee cruelly. If ever thou beest mine, Kate, as I have a saving faith
within me tells me thou shalt, I get thee with scambling, and thou must
therefore needs prove a good soldier-breeder. Shall not thou and I,
between Saint Denis and Saint George, compound a boy, half French, half
English, that shall go to Constantinople and take the Turk by the
beard? Shall we not? What say’st thou, my fair flower-de-luce?
KATHARINE.
I do not know dat.
KING HENRY.
No; ’tis hereafter to know, but now to promise. Do but now promise,
Kate, you will endeavour for your French part of such a boy; and for my
English moiety, take the word of a king and a bachelor. How answer you,
_la plus belle Katherine du monde, mon très cher et divin déesse?_
KATHARINE.
Your Majestee ’ave _fausse_ French enough to deceive de most _sage
demoiselle_ dat is _en France_.
KING HENRY.
Now, fie upon my false French! By mine honour, in true English, I love
thee, Kate; 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. Now, beshrew my father’s ambition! He
was thinking of civil wars when he got me; therefore was I created with
a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that, when I come to woo
ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better
I shall appear. My comfort is, that 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; and therefore tell me, most fair Katharine, will you have me?
Put off your maiden blushes; avouch the thoughts of your heart with the
looks of an empress; take me by the hand, and say, Harry of England, I
am thine; which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine ear withal, but I
will tell thee aloud, England is thine, Ireland is thine, France is
thine, and Henry Plantagenet is thine; who, though I speak it before
his face, if he be not fellow with the best king, thou shalt find the
best king of good fellows. Come, your answer in broken music; for thy
voice is music and thy English broken; therefore, queen of all,
Katharine, break thy mind to me in broken English. Wilt thou have me?
KATHARINE.
Dat is as it shall please _le roi mon père_.
KING HENRY.
Nay, it will please him well, Kate; it shall please him, Kate.
KATHARINE.
Den it sall also content me.
KING HENRY.
Upon that I kiss your hand, and call you my queen.
KATHARINE.
_Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez! Ma foi, je ne veux point que
vous abaissiez votre grandeur en baisant la main d’une—Notre
Seigneur!—indigne serviteur. Excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon
très-puissant seigneur._
KING HENRY.
Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
KATHARINE.
_Les dames et demoiselles pour être baisées devant leurs noces, il
n’est pas la coutume de France._
KING HENRY.
Madame my interpreter, what says she?
ALICE.
Dat it is not be de fashion _pour les_ ladies of France,—I cannot tell
wat is _baiser en_ Anglish.
KING HENRY.
To kiss.
ALICE.
Your Majestee _entend_ bettre _que moi_.
KING HENRY.
It is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are
married, would she say?
ALICE.
_Oui, vraiment._
KING HENRY.
O Kate, nice customs curtsy to great kings. Dear Kate, you and I cannot
be confined within the weak list of a country’s fashion. We are the
makers of manners, Kate; and the liberty that follows our places stops
the mouth of all find-faults, as I will do yours, for upholding the
nice fashion of your country in denying me a kiss; therefore, patiently
and yielding. [_Kissing her._] You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate;
there is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them than in the tongues of
the French council; and they should sooner persuade Harry of England
than a general petition of monarchs. Here comes your father.
Enter the French Power and the English Lords.
BURGUNDY.
God save your Majesty! My royal cousin, teach you our princess English?
KING HENRY.
I would have her learn, my fair cousin, how perfectly I love her; and
that is good English.
BURGUNDY.
Is she not apt?
KING HENRY.
Our tongue is rough, coz, and my condition is not smooth; so that,
having neither the voice nor the heart of flattery about me, I cannot
so conjure up the spirit of love in her, that he will appear in his
true likeness.
BURGUNDY.
Pardon the frankness of my mirth, if I answer you for that. If you
would conjure in her, you must make a circle; if conjure up Love in her
in his true likeness, he must appear naked and blind. Can you blame her
then, being a maid yet ros’d over with the virgin crimson of modesty,
if she deny the appearance of a naked blind boy in her naked seeing
self? It were, my lord, a hard condition for a maid to consign to.
KING HENRY.
Yet they do wink and yield, as love is blind and enforces.
BURGUNDY.
They are then excus’d, my lord, when they see not what they do.
KING HENRY.
Then, good my lord, teach your cousin to consent winking.
BURGUNDY.
I will wink on her to consent, my lord, if you will teach her to know
my meaning; for maids, well summer’d and warm kept, are like flies at
Bartholomew-tide, blind, though they have their eyes; and then they
will endure handling, which before would not abide looking on.
KING HENRY.
This moral ties me over to time and a hot summer; and so I shall catch
the fly, your cousin, in the latter end, and she must be blind too.
BURGUNDY.
As love is, my lord, before it loves.
KING HENRY.
It is so; and you may, some of you, thank love for my blindness, who
cannot see many a fair French city for one fair French maid that stands
in my way.
FRENCH KING.
Yes, my lord, you see them perspectively, the cities turn’d into a
maid; for they are all girdled with maiden walls that no war hath
entered.
KING HENRY.
Shall Kate be my wife?
FRENCH KING.
So please you.
KING HENRY.
I am content, so the maiden cities you talk of may wait on her; so the
maid that stood in the way for my wish shall show me the way to my
will.
FRENCH KING.
We have consented to all terms of reason.
KING HENRY.
Is’t so, my lords of England?
WESTMORLAND.
The king hath granted every article;
His daughter first, and then in sequel all,
According to their firm proposed natures.
EXETER.
Only he hath not yet subscribed this: where your Majesty demands, that
the King of France, having any occasion to write for matter of grant,
shall name your Highness in this form and with this addition, in
French, _Notre très-cher fils Henri, Roi d’Angleterre, Héritier de
France_; and thus in Latin, _Praeclarissimus filius noster Henricus,
rex Angliae et haeres Franciae._
FRENCH KING.
Nor this I have not, brother, so denied
But our request shall make me let it pass.
KING HENRY.
I pray you then, in love and dear alliance,
Let that one article rank with the rest;
And thereupon give me your daughter.
FRENCH KING.
Take her, fair son, and from her blood raise up
Issue to me; that the contending kingdoms
Of France and England, whose very shores look pale
With envy of each other’s happiness,
May cease their hatred; and this dear conjunction
Plant neighbourhood and Christian-like accord
In their sweet bosoms, that never war advance
His bleeding sword ’twixt England and fair France.
LORDS.
Amen!
KING HENRY.
Now, welcome, Kate; and bear me witness all,
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.
[_Flourish._]
QUEEN ISABEL.
God, the best maker of all marriages,
Combine your hearts in one, your realms in one!
As man and wife, being two, are one in love,
So be there ’twixt your kingdoms such a spousal,
That never may ill office, or fell jealousy,
Which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage,
Thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms,
To make divorce of their incorporate league;
That English may as French, French Englishmen,
Receive each other. God speak this Amen!
ALL.
Amen!
KING HENRY.
Prepare we for our marriage; on which day,
My Lord of Burgundy, we’ll take your oath,
And all the peers’, for surety of our leagues,
Then shall I swear to Kate, and you to me;
And may our oaths well kept and prosperous be!
[_Sennet. Exeunt._]
EPILOGUE.
Enter Chorus.
CHORUS.
Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen,
Our bending author hath pursu’d the story,
In little room confining mighty men,
Mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
Small time, but in that small most greatly lived
This star of England. Fortune made his sword,
By which the world’s best garden he achieved,
And of it left his son imperial lord.
Henry the Sixth, in infant bands crown’d King
Of France and England, did this king succeed;
Whose state so many had the managing,
That they lost France and made his England bleed:
Which oft our stage hath shown; and, for their sake,
In your fair minds let this acceptance take.
[_Exit._]