vided, no more is the king guilty of their danination, than he was before guilty of those impieties for the which they are now visited. Every subject's duty is the king's; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience. and dying so, death is to hin. advantage; or not dying, the time was blessedly lost, wherein such preparation was gained: and, in him that escapes, it were not sin to think, that making God so free an offer, he let him outlive that day to see his greatness, and to teach others how they should prepare. Will. 'Tis certain, every man that dies ill, the ill is upon his own head, the king is not to answer for it. Bates. I do not desire he should answer for me; and yet I determine to fight lustily for him. K. Hen. I myself heard the king say, he would not be ransomed. Will. Ay, he said so, to make us fight cheerfully: but, when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser. K. Hen. If I live to see it, I will never trust his word after. Will. 'Mass, you'll pay him then! That's a perilous shot out of an elder gun, that a poor and private displeasure can do against a monarch! you may as well go about to turn the sun to ice, with fanning in his face with a peacock's feather. You'll never trust his word after! come, 'tis a foolish saying. K. Hen. Your reproof is something too round; I should be angry with you, if the time were convenient. Will. Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live. K. Hen. I embrace it. Will. How shall I know thee again? K. Hen. Give me any gage of thine, and I will wear it in my bonnet: then, if ever thou darest acknowledge it, I will make it my quarrel. Will. Here's my glove; give me another of thine. Will. This will I also wear in my cap: if ever thou come to me and say, after to-morrow, This is my glove, by this hand, I will take thee a box on the ear. K. Hen. If ever I live to see it, I will challenge it. K. Hen. Well, I will do it, though I take thee in the king'e company. Will. Keep thy word: fare thee well. Bates. Be friends, you English fools, be friends; we have French quarrels enough, if you could tell how to reckon. K. Hen. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French Our debts, our careful wives, our children, and Subjected to the breath of every fool, Whose sense no more can feel but his own wringing! That private men enjoy? And what have kings, that privates have not too; Save ceremony, save general ceremony? And what art thou, thou idol ceremony? What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more What is the soul of adoration? Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form, Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd Than they in fearing. What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out With titles blown from adulation? Will it give place to flexure and low bending? I am a king, that find thee; and I know, Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave; Sleeps in Elysium; next day, after dawn, Enter ERPINGHAM. Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence. Seek through your camp to find you. K. Hen. Collect them all together at my tent: Good old knight I shall do't, my lord. [Exit Erp. K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts! Possess them not with fear.; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if th' opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them!-Not to-day, O Lord, O not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown! I Richard's body have interred new; And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, Though all that I can do, is nothing worth; Glo. My liege! K. Hen. Enter GLOSTER. My brother Gloster's voice?-Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee: The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [Exeunt. SCENE II.-The French camp. Enter Dauphin, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others. Orl. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords. Dau. Montez a cheval:-My horse! valet! lacquay} ha! Orl. O brave spirit! Dau. Via!-les eaux et la terre Orl. Rien puis? l'air et le feu Dau. Ciel! cousin Orleans. Enter Constable. Now, my lord Constable! Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh. Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides; That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout them with superfluous courage: Ha! Ram. What, will you have them weep our horses' blood How shall we then behold their natural tears? Enter a Messenger Mess. The English are embattlea, you French peers |