The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (book suggestions TXT) 📖

says my king: an if your father’s Highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his Majesty, He’ll call you to so hot an answer of it That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass and return your mock In second accent of his ordinance.

DAUPHIN. Say, if my father render fair return, It is against my will; for I desire

Nothing but odds with England. To that end, As matching to his youth and vanity,

I did present him with the Paris balls.

EXETER. He’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it, Were it the mistress court of mighty Europe; And be assur’d you’ll find a difference, As we his subjects have in wonder found, Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now. Now he weighs time Even to the utmost grain; that you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France.

FRENCH KING. Tomorrow shall you know our mind at full.

EXETER. Dispatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already.

FRENCH KING. You shall be soon dispatch’d with fair conditions.

A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence. Flourish. Exeunt

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ACT III. PROLOGUE.

 

Flourish. Enter CHORUS

 

CHORUS. Thus with imagin’d wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity

Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed King at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phorbus fanning.

Play with your fancies; and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give To sounds confus’d; behold the threaden sails, Borne with th’ invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea, Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think You stand upon the rivage and behold

A city on th’ inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow!

Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy And leave your England as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, Either past or not arriv’d to pith and puissance; For who is he whose chin is but enrich’d With one appearing hair that will not follow These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?

Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.

Suppose th’ ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry that the King doth offer him Katherine his daughter, and with her to dowry Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.

The offer likes not; and the nimble gunner With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, [Alarum, and chambers go off]

And down goes an before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind. Exit

<<THIS ELECTRONIC VERSION OF THE COMPLETE WORKS OF WILLIAM

SHAKESPEARE IS COPYRIGHT 1990-1993 BY WORLD LIBRARY, INC., AND IS

PROVIDED BY PROJECT GUTENBERG ETEXT OF ILLINOIS BENEDICTINE COLLEGE

WITH PERMISSION. ELECTRONIC AND MACHINE READABLE COPIES MAY BE

DISTRIBUTED SO LONG AS SUCH COPIES (1) ARE FOR YOUR OR OTHERS

PERSONAL USE ONLY, AND (2) ARE NOT DISTRIBUTED OR USED

COMMERCIALLY. PROHIBITED COMMERCIAL DISTRIBUTION INCLUDES BY ANY

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SCENE I.

France. Before Harfleur

 

Alarum. Enter the KING, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and soldiers with scaling-ladders

 

KING. Once more unto 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, Then imitate the action of the tiger: Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, Disguise fair nature with hard-favour’d rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let it pry through the portage of the head Like the brass cannon: let the brow o’erwhelm it As fearfully as doth a galled rock

O’erhang and jutty his confounded base, Swill’d with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide; Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English, Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof-Fathers that like so many Alexanders

Have in these parts from morn till even 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 copy now to men of grosser blood,

And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 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 slips, Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot: Follow your spirit; and upon this charge Cry ‘God for Harry, England, and Saint George!’

[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off]

 

SCENE II.

Before Harfleur

 

Enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and BOY

 

BARDOLPH. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach!

NYM. Pray thee, Corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot, and for mine own part I have not a case of lives. The humour of it is too hot; that is the very plainsong of it.

PISTOL. The plainsong is most just; for humours do abound: Knocks go and come; God’s vassals drop and die; And sword and shield

In bloody field

Doth win immortal fame.

 

BOY. Would I were in an alehouse in London! I wouid give all my fame for a pot of ale and safety.

PISTOL. And I:

 

If wishes would prevail with me, My purpose should not fail with me, But thither would I hie.

 

BOY. As duly, but not as truly, As bird doth sing on bough.

 

Enter FLUELLEN

 

FLUELLEN. Up to the breach, you dogs!

Avaunt, you cullions! [Driving them forward]

PISTOL. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.

Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage; Abate thy rage, great duke.

Good bawcock, bate thy rage. Use lenity, sweet chuck.

NYM. These be good humours. Your honour wins bad humours.

Exeunt all but BOY

BOY. As young as I am, I have observ’d these three swashers. I am boy to them all three; but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-liver’d and red-fac’d; by the means whereof ‘a faces it out, but fights not.

For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword; by the means whereof ‘a breaks words and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men, and therefore he scorns to say his prayers lest ‘a should be thought a coward; but his few bad words are match’d with as few good deeds; for ‘a never broke any man’s head but his own, and that was against a post when he was drunk. They will steal anything, and call it purchase. Bardolph stole a lute-case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nym and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire-shovel; I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men’s pockets as their gloves or their handkerchers; which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another’s pocket to put into mine; for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them and seek some better service; their villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit Re-enter FLUELLEN, GOWER following GOWER. Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines; the Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.

FLUELLEN. To the mines! Tell you the Duke it is not so good to come to the mines; for, look you, the mines is not according to the disciplines of the war; the concavities of it is not sufficient.

For, look you, th’ athversary-you may discuss unto the Duke, look you-is digt himself four yard under the countermines; by Cheshu, I think ‘a will plow up all, if there is not better directions.

GOWER. The Duke of Gloucester, to whom the order of the siege is given, is altogether directed by an Irishman-a very vallant gentleman, i’ faith.

FLUELLEN. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not?

GOWER. I think it be.

FLUELLEN. By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world: I will verify as much in his beard; he has no more directions in the true disciplines of the wars, look you, of the Roman disciplines, than is a puppy-dog.

 

Enter MACMORRIS and CAPTAIN JAMY

 

GOWER. Here ‘a comes; and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him.

FLUELLEN. Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th’ aunchient wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.

JAMY. I say gud day, Captain Fluellen.

FLUELLEN. God-den to your worship, good Captain James.

GOWER. How now, Captain Macmorris! Have you quit the mines? Have the pioneers given o’er?

MACMORRIS. By Chrish, la, tish ill done! The work ish give over, the trompet sound the retreat. By my hand, I swear, and my father’s soul, the work ish ill done; it ish give over; I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me, la, in an hour. O, tish ill done, tish ill done; by my hand, tish ill done!

FLUELLEN. Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now, will you voutsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication; partly to satisfy my opinion, and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind, as touching the direction of the military discipline, that is the point.

JAMY. It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath; and I sall quit you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion; that sall I, marry.

MACMORRIS. It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day is hot, and the weather, and the wars, and the King, and the Dukes; it is no time to discourse. The town is beseech’d, and the trumpet call us to the breach; and we talk and, be Chrish, do nothing. ‘Tis shame for us all, so God sa’ me, ‘tis shame to stand still; it is shame, by my hand; and there is throats to be cut, and works to be done; and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa’ me, la.

JAMY. By the mess, ere theise eyes of mine take themselves to slomber, ay’ll de gud service, or I’ll lig i’ th’ grund for it; ay, or go to death. And I’ll pay’t as valorously as I may, that sall I suerly do, that is the breff and the long. Marry,