Let him depar:; 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 :1
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 live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,
And say-To-morrow is Saint Crispian ;
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. Then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words-
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,-
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,
Bnt we in it shall be remembered:

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,
This day shall gentle his condition : 2
And gentlemen in England, now abed,
Shall think themselves accursed, they were not here :
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

Enter SALISBURY.

Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed;

The French are bravely in their battles set,

And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. Hen. All things are ready, if our minds be so. West. Perish the man whose mind is backward

now!

K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin ?

West. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone, Without more help, might fight this battle out!

K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwished five thousand men ; 1

Which likes me better, than to wish us one.-
You know your places. God be with you all!

Tucket. Enter MONTJOY.

Mont. 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,

Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy The constable desires thee-thou wilt mind 2

Thy followers of repentance; that their souls

May make a peaceful and a sweet retire

From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor

bodies

Must lie and fester.

K. Hen.

Who hath sent thee now ?

Mont. The constable of France.

K. Hen. 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?
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,
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 honors reeking up to heaven;
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then abounding valor in our English;
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
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 besmirched
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host,
(Good argument, I hope, we shall 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
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 labor;
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 to them,
Shall yield them little, tell the constable.

Mont. I shall, king Harry. And so fare thee well;

Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

[Exit.

K. Hen. I fear thou'lt once more come again for

Enter the Duke of York.1

York. My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg The leading of the vaward.2

K. Hen. Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers,

march away ;

And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day!

[Exeunt.

SCENE IV. The Field of Battle. Alarums: Excursions.

Enter French Soldier, PISTOL, and Boy.

Pist. Yield, cur.

Fr. Sol. Je pense, que vous estes le gentilhomme de bonne qualité.

Pist. Quality? Callino, castore me! Art thou a gentleman? What is thy name? discuss.

Fr. Sol. O seigneur Dieu!

Pist. O, seignior Dew should be a gentleman.— Perpend my words, O seignior Dew, and mark ;O seignior Dew, thou diest on point of fox, Except, O seignior, thou do give to me

Egregious ransom.

Fr. Sol. O, prennez misericorde! ayez pitié de moy!

1 "The duke of York." This Edward duke of York has already appeared in King Richard II. under the title of duke of Aumerle. He was the son of Edmond Langley, the duke of York of the same play, who was the fifth son of king Edward III. Richard earl of Cambridge, who appears in the second act of this play, was younger brother to this Edward duke of York.

2 The vaward is the vanguard.

3 "Callino, castore me!" The jargon of the old copies, where these words are printed Qualitie calmie custure me, was changed by former editors into "Quality, call you me? construe me." Malone found Calen o custure me, mentioned as the burden of a song in "A Handful of Plesant Delites," 1584. And Mr. Boswell discovered that it was an old Irish song, which is printed in Playford's Musical Companion, 1667 or 1673:

"Callino, Callino, Callino, castore me,
Eva ee, eva ee, loo, loo, loo lee."

The words are said to mean "Little girl of my heart forever and ever."
4 "- thou diest on point of fox." Fox is an old cant word for a sword.
Generally old fox; it was applied to the old English broadsword.

Pist. Moy shall not serve; I will have forty moys;

For I will fetch thy rim1 out at thy throat,

In drops of crimson blood.

Fr. Sol. Est-il impossible d'eschapper la force de ton bras?

Pist. Brass, cur!.

Thou damned and luxurious mountain goat,
Offer'st me brass?

Fr. Sol. O pardonnez moy!

Pist. Say'st thou me so? Is that a ton of moys? 2 Come hither, boy. Ask me this slave, in French, What is his name.

Boy. Escoutez. Comment estes-vous appellé ?
Fr. Sol. Monsieur le Fer.

Boy. He says his name is-master Fer.

Pist. Master Fer! I'll fer him, and firk 3 him, and ferret him:-discuss the same in French unto him.

Boy. I do not know the French for fer, and ferret, and firk.

Pist. Bid him prepare, for I will cut his throat.
Fr. Sol. Que dit-il, monsieur?

Boy. П те соmmande de vous dire que vous faites vous prest; car ce soldat icy est disposé tout à cette heure de couper vostre gorge.

Pist. Ouy, couper gorge, par ma foy, pesant,
Unless thou give me crowns, brave crowns;
Or mangled shalt thou be by this my sword.

Fr. Sol. O, je vous supplie pour l'amour de Dieu, me pardonner! Je suis gentilhomme de bonne maison; gardez ma vie, et je vous donneray deux cents escus. Pist. What are his words?

Boy. He prays you to save his life; he is a gentle