SCENE VII. Another part of the field.
[Enter Fluellen and Gower.]
Kill the poys and the luggage! 'Tis expressly against the
law of arms. 'Tis as arrant a piece of knavery, mark you now,
as can be offer't; in your conscience, now, is it not?
'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive; and the cowardly
rascals that ran from the battle ha' done this slaughter.
Besides, they have burned and carried away all that was in the
King's tent; wherefore the King, most worthily, hath caus'd every
soldier to cut his prisoner's throat. O, 'tis a gallant king!
Ay, he was porn at Monmouth, Captain Gower. What call you
the town's name where Alexander the Pig was born?
Alexander the Great.
Why, I pray you, is not pig great? The pig, or the great, or the
mighty, or the huge, or the magnanimous, are all one reckonings,
save the phrase is a little variations.
I think Alexander the Great was born in Macedon. His father
was called Philip of Macedon, as I take it.
I think it is in Macedon where Alexander is porn. I tell you,
Captain, if you look in the maps of the 'orld, I warrant you
sall find, in the comparisons between Macedon and Monmouth,
that the situations, look you, is both alike. There is a river in
Macedon; and there is also moreover a river at Monmouth; it is
call'd Wye at Monmouth; but it is out of my prains what is the
name of the other river; but 'tis all one, 'tis alike as my fingers
is to my fingers, and there is salmons in both. If you mark
Alexander's life well, Harry of Monmouth's life is come after it
indifferent well; for there is figures in all things. Alexander,
God knows, and you know, in his rages, and his furies, and his
wraths, and his cholers, and his moods, and his displeasures, and
his indignations, and also being a little intoxicates in his prains,
did, in his ales and his angers, look you, kill his best friend,
Our King is not like him in that. He never kill'd any of
It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out
of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the
figures and comparisons of it. As Alexander kill'd his friend
Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth,
being in his right wits and his good judgements, turn'd away the
fat knight with the great belly doublet. He was full of jests,
and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name.
Sir John Falstaff.
That is he. I'll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.
Here comes his Majesty.
[Alarum. Enter King Henry and [forces; Warwick, Gloucester,
Exeter, with prisoners. Flourish.]
I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald;
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill.
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field; they do offend our sight.
If they'll do neither, we will come to them,
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings.
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have,
And not a man of them that we shall take
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.
Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
How now! what means this, herald? Know'st thou not
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ransom?
No, great King;
I come to thee for charitable license,
That we may wander o'er this bloody field
To book our dead, and then to bury them;
To sort our nobles from our common men.
For many of our princes — woe the while! —
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies!
I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o'er the field.
The day is yours.
Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?
They call it Agincourt.
Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your
Majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of
Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave
pattle here in France.