| ACT IV SCENE III | The English camp. | |
| | Enter GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ERPINGHAM, with all his host: SALISBURY and WESTMORELAND. | |
| GLOUCESTER | Where is the king? | |
| BEDFORD | The king himself is rode to view their battle. | |
| WESTMORELAND | Of fighting men they have full three score thousand. | |
| EXETER | There's five to one; besides, they all are fresh. | 5 |
| SALISBURY | God's arm strike with us! 'tis a fearful odds. | |
| | God be wi' you, princes all; I'll to my charge: | |
| | If we no more meet till we meet in heaven, | |
| | Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford, | |
| | My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, | 10 |
| | And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu! | |
| BEDFORD | Farewell, good Salisbury; and good luck go with thee! | |
| EXETER | Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day: | |
| | And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it, | |
| | For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour. | 15 |
| | Exit SALISBURY | |
| BEDFORD | He is full of valour as of kindness; | |
| | Princely in both. | |
| | Enter the KING | |
| WESTMORELAND | O that we now had here | |
| | But one ten thousand of those men in England | |
| | That do no work to-day! | 20 |
| KING HENRY V | What's he that wishes so? | |
| | My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin: | |
| | If we are mark'd to die, we are enow | |
| | To do our country loss; and if to live, | |
| | The fewer men, the greater share of honour. | 25 |
| | God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more. | |
| | By Jove, I am not covetous for gold, | |
| | Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; | |
| | It yearns me not if men my garments wear; | |
| | Such outward things dwell not in my desires: | 30 |
| | But if it be a sin to covet honour, | |
| | I am the most offending soul alive. | |
| | No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England: | |
| | God's peace! I would not lose so great an honour | |
| | As one man more, methinks, would share from me | 35 |
| | For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more! | |
| | Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, | |
| | That he which hath no stomach to this fight, | |
| |
Let him depart; his passport shall be made | |
| | And crowns for convoy put into his purse: | 40 |
| | 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 tip-toe when the day is named, | 45 |
| | And rouse him at the name of Crispian. | |
| | He that shall live this day, and see old age, | |
| | Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, | |
| | And say 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:' | |
| | Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars. | 50 |
| | And say 'These wounds I had on Crispin's day.' | |
| | Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, | |
| | But he'll remember with advantages | |
| | What feats he did that day: then shall our names. | |
| | Familiar in his mouth as household words | 55 |
| | Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter, | |
| | Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, | |
| | Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd. | |
| | This story shall the good man teach his son; | |
| | And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by, | 60 |
| | From this day to the ending of the world, | |
| | But we in it shall be remember'd; | |
| | We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; | |
| | For he to-day that sheds his blood with me | |
| | Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, | 65 |
| | This day shall gentle his condition: | |
| | And gentlemen in England now a-bed | |
| | Shall think themselves accursed they were not here, | |
| | And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks | |
| | That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. | 70 |
| | Re-enter SALISBURY | |
| SALISBURY | My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: | |
| | The French are bravely in their battles set, | |
| | And will with all expedience charge on us. | |
| KING HENRY V | All things are ready, if our minds be so. | |
| WESTMORELAND | Perish the man whose mind is backward now! | 75 |
| KING HENRY V | Thou dost not wish more help from England, coz? | |
| WESTMORELAND | God's will! my liege, would you and I alone, | |
| | Without more help, could fight this royal battle! | |
| KING HENRY V | Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thousand men; | |
| | Which likes me better than to wish us one. | 80 |
| | You know your places: God be with you all! | |
| | Tucket. Enter MONTJOY | |
| MONTJOY | Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry, | |
| | If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound, | |
| | Before thy most assured overthrow: | |
| | For certainly thou art so near the gulf, | 85 |
| | Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy, | |
| | The constable desires thee thou wilt mind | |
| | Thy followers of repentance; that their souls | |
| | May make a peaceful and a sweet retire | |
| | From off these fields, where, wretches, their poor bodies | 90 |
| | Must lie and fester. | |
| KING HENRY V | Who hath sent thee now? | |
| MONTJOY | The Constable of France. | |
| KING HENRY V | I pray thee, bear my former answer back: | |
| | Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones. | 95 |
| | Good God! why should they mock poor fellows thus? | |
| | The man that once did sell the lion's skin | |
| | While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him. | |
| | A many of our bodies shall no doubt | |
| | Find native graves; upon the which, I trust, | 100 |
| | Shall witness live in brass of this day's work: | |
| | And those that leave their valiant bones in France, | |
| | Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills, | |
| | They shall be famed; for there the sun shall greet them, | |
| | And draw their honours reeking up to heaven; | 105 |
| | Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime, | |
| | The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France. | |
| | Mark then abounding valour in our English, | |
| | That being dead, like to the bullet's grazing, | |
| | Break out into a second course of mischief, | 110 |
| | Killing in relapse of mortality. | |
| | Let me speak proudly: tell the constable | |
| | We are but warriors for the working-day; | |
| | Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirch'd | |
| | With rainy marching in the painful field; | 115 |
| | There's not a piece of feather in our host-- | |
| | Good argument, I hope, we will not fly-- | |
| | And time hath worn us into slovenry: | |
| | But, by the mass, our hearts are in the trim; | |
| | And my poor soldiers tell me, yet ere night | 120 |
| | They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck | |
| | The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads | |
| | And turn them out of service. If they do this,-- | |
| | As, if God please, they shall,--my ransom then | |
| | Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour; | 125 |
| | Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald: | |
| | They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints; | |
| | Which if they have as I will leave 'em them, | |
| | Shall yield them little, tell the constable. | |
| MONTJOY | I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well: | 130 |
| | Thou never shalt hear herald any more. | |
| | Exit. | |
| KING HENRY V | I fear thou'lt once more come again for ransom. | |
| | Enter YORK. | |
| YORK | My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg | |
| | The leading of the vaward. | |
| KING HENRY V | Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, march away: | 135 |
| | And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day! | |
| | Exeunt | |
