enough in his pelly; hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to ferve God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels and diffenfions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you.

Will. I will none of your money.

Flu. It is with a good will. I can tell you, it will ferve you to mend your fhoes; come, wherefore fhould you be fo pafhful your fhoes is not fo good; 'tis a good filling, I warrant you, or I will change it.

SCENE XVII. Enter Herald.

K. Henry. Now, herald, are the dead number'd? Her. Here is the number of the flaughter'd French. K. Henry. What prifoners of good fort are taken,

uncle ?

Exe. Charles Duke of Orleans, nephew, to the King; John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouchiqualt; Of other lords, and barons, knights, and 'fquires, Full fifteen hundred, befides common men.

K. Henry. This note doth tell me of ten thousand
Slain in the field; of princes in this number, [French
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead.
One hundred twenty-fix; added to thefe,
Of knights, efquires, and gallant gentlemen,
Eight thoufand and four hundred; of the which,
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb'd knights:
So that in these ten thousand they have loft,
There are but fixteen hundred mercenaries.
The reft are princes, barons, lords, knights, 'fquires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.

The names of thofe their nobles that lie dead,
Charles Delabreth, High Conftable of France;
Jaques of Chatilion, Admiral of France;

The Mafter of the Crofs-bows, Lord Rambures;
Great Mafter of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dau-

phun;

John Duke of Alanfon; Anthony Duke of Brabant;
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy;
And Edward Duke of Bar: of lufty Earls,
Grandpree and Rouffie, Faulconbridge and Foyes
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Leftrale.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!

This lift is copied from Hall. Mr. Pope.

Where

Where is the number of our English dead?

Exe. Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk. Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam Esquire;

None elfe of name; and of all other men,
But five and twenty.

K. Henry. O God, thy arm was here!
And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
Afcribe we all. When, without ftratagem,
But in plain fhock and ev'n play of battle,
Was ever known fo great, and little loss,
On one part, and on th' other? Take it, God,
For it is only thine.

Exe. 'Tis wonderful!

K. Henry. Come, go we in proceffion to the village: And be it death proclaim'd through our hoft, To boast of this, or take that praife from God, Which is his only.

Flu. Is it not lawful, an' please your Majefty, to tell how many is kill'd?

K. Henry. Yes, Captain, but with this acknowledgeThat God fought for us.

[ment, Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great good. K. Henry. Do we all holy rites*;

Let there be fung Non nobis, and Te Deum;
The dead with charity inclos'd in clay;
And then to Calais, and to England then;

Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.
[Exeunt.

ACT

V. SCENE I.

Enter Chorus.

Vouchlafe

Ouchsafe to those that have not read the story,
That I may prompt them; and to such as have,
1
I humbly pray them to admit th' excuse

Of time, of numbers, and due courfe of things;
Which cannot in their huge and proper life
Be here prefented. Now we bear the King

*The King (fay the chroniclers) caufed the pfalm, In exitu Ifrael de Egypte (in which, according to the vulgate is included the palm, Non nobis, Domine, &c.), to be fung after the victory, Mr. Pope.

Tow'rd Calais: grant him there; and there being feen, Heave him away upon your winged thoughts thwart the fea: behold, the English beach

ales in the flood with men, with wives and boys, Whofe fhouts and claps outvoice the deep-mouth'd fea; Which, like a mighty whiffler 'fore the King, eems to prepare his way; fo let him land, nd folemnly fee him fet on to London. o fwift a pace hath thought, that even now ou may imagine him upon Black-heath: Where that his lords defire him to have borne is bruifed helmet, and his bended fword, Before him through the city; he forbids it; Being free from vainnefs and felf-glorious pride; Giving full trophy, fignal, and oftent,

Quite from himfelf to God. But now behold,
In the quick forge and working-houfe of thought,
How London doth pour out her citizens.
The Mayor and all his brethren in beft fort,
Like to the fenators of antique Rome,
With the Plebeians fwarming at their heels,
Go forth, and fetch their conqu'ring Cæfar in.
As by a low, but loving likelihood *,

Were now the General of our gracious Empress t
(As in good time he may) from Ireland coming,
Bringing rebellion broached on his fword;

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 ftay at home;
The Emperor's coming in behalf of France,
To order peace between them); and omit
All the occurrences, whatever chance'd,
Till Harry's back return again to France:
There muft we bring him; and myfelf have play'd
The int'rim, by rememb'ring you 'tis paft.
Then brook abridgment, and your eyes advance.
After your thoughts, ftraight back again to France.

Likelihood, for fimilitude.

The Earl of Effex in the reign of Q. Elifabeth. Mr. Pofe.

VOL. IV.

Sf

SCENE

SCENE

II. The English camp in France.

Enter Fluellen and Gower.

Gow. Nay, that's right: but why wear you your leek to-day? St. David's day is paft.

Flu. There is occafions and causes why and wherefore in all things. I will tell you as a friend, Captain Gower; the rafcally, fcauld, peggarly, lowly, pragging knave, Piftol, which you, and yourself, and all the orld, know to be no petter than a fellow (look you now) of no merits, he is come to me, and prings me pread and falt yesterday, look vou, and pids me eat my leek. It was in a place where I could preed no contentions with him; but I will be so pold as to wear it in my cap, till I fee him once again; and then I will tell him a little piece of my defires.

Enter Pitol.

Gow. Why, here he comes fwelling like a turkycock.

Flu. 'Tis no matter for his fwelling, nor his turky. cocks. God pleffe you, Aunchient Piftol: you scurvy lowly knave, God pleffe you.

Pift. a art thou bedlam? doft thou thirst, base To have me told up Farca's fatal web Hence, I am qualmish at the tmell of leek.

[Trojan,

Flu. I pefeech you heartily, fcurvy lowfy knave, at my defires, and my requefts, and my petitions, to eat, look you, this leek becaufe, look you, you do not love it; and your affections, and your appetites, and your digeftions, does not agree with it. I would defire you to eat it.

Pift. Not for Cadwallader and all his goats. Flu. There is one goat for you. [Strikes him. Will you be fo good, fcauld knave, as eat it? Pift. Bafe Trojan, thou shalt die.

Flu. You fay very true, fcauld knave, when God's will is. I defire you to live in the mean time, and eat your victuals; come, there is fauce for it [Strikes him.] You call'd me yesterday Mountain-Squire, but I will make you to-day a Squire of low degree. I pray you, fall too; if you can mock a leek you can eat a leek.

Gow.

Gow. Enough, Captain; you have aftonifh'd him. Flu. I fay, I will make him eat fome part of my leek, or I will peat his pate, four days and four nights. Pite, I pray you; it is good for your green wound and your ploody coxcomb.

Pift. Mult I bite ?

Flu. Yes out of doubt, and out of questions too, and ambiguities.

Pift. By this leek, I will moft horribly revenge; I eat and fwear

Flu. Eat, I pray you; will you have fome more fauce to your leek? there is not leek enough to swear by. Pift. Quiet thy cudgel; thou doft fee I eat.

Flu. Much good do you, fcauld knave, heartily, Nay, pray you throw none away, the skin is good for your proken coxcomb. When you take occafions to fee leeks hereafter, I pray you mock at 'em, that's all. Pift. Good.

Flu. Ay, leeks is good; hold you, there is a groat to heal your pate.

Pift. Me a groat!

Flu. Yes, verily, and in truth, you fhall take it; or I have another leek in my pocket, which you fhall eat. Pift. I take thy groat in earnest of revenge.

Flu. If I owe you any thing, I will pay you in cudgels; you fhall be a woodmonger, and puy nothing of me but cudgels. God pe wi' you, and keep you, and heal your pate.

Pift. All hell fhall ftir for this.

[Exit.

Gow Go, go, you are a counterfeit cowardly knave. Will you mock at an ancient tradition, begun upon an honourable refpećt, and worn as a memorable trophy of predeceas'd 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 cou'd not therefore handle an English cudgel: you find 'tis otherwife; and henceforth let a Welch correction teach you a good English condition. Fare you well.[Exit.

Pift. Doth fortune play the hulewife with me now? News have I that my Dol is dead of malady of France; And there my rendezvous is quite cut off.