Henry V Script - Dialogue Transcript

Voila! Finally, the Henry V script is here for all you quotes spouting fans of the Kenneth Branagh movie.  This script is a transcript that was painstakingly transcribed using the screenplay and/or viewings of Henry V. I know, I know, I still need to get the cast names in there and I'll be eternally tweaking it, so if you have any corrections, feel free to drop me a line. You won't hurt my feelings. Honest.

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Henry V Script



Oh, for a muse of fire...



that would ascend the

brightest heaven of invention.



A kingdom for a stage,



princes to act...



and monarchs to behold

the swelling scene.



Then should the warlike harry,

like himself,



assume the port of Mars...



and at his heels,

leashed in like hounds,



should famine, sword and fire

crouch for employment.



But pardon, gentles all,



the flat, unraised spirits...



that have dared

on this unworthy scaffold...



to bring forth

so great an object.



Can this cockpit hold

the vasty fields of France



or may we cram

within this wooden "o"...



the very casques that did affright

the air at Agincourt?



Oh, pardon.



Let us, ciphers

to this great account,



on your imaginary forces work.



For it is your thoughts

that now must deck our kings,



carry them here, there,

jumping o'er times,



turning the accomplishment of

many years into an hourglass.



For the which supply,

admit me, chorus, to this history,



who, prologue-like,



your humble patience pray...



gently to hear,



kindly to judge...



our play!



My lord, I'll tell you.



That self bill is urged,

which, in the   th year...



of the last king's reign was

like to have passed against us.



But how, my lord,

shall we resist it now?



It must be thought on.



If it pass against us, we lose the

better half of our possession.



But what prevention?



The king is full of grace

and fair regard.



And a true lover

of the holy church.



The courses of his youth

promised it not.



Since his addiction

was to courses vain,



his hours filled up

with riots, banquets,



sports and never noted

in him any study.



But, my good lord,

how now for the mitigation...



Of this bill

urged by the commons?



Doth his majesty incline

to it or no?



He seems...




or rather swaying more

upon our part.



For I have made an offer

to his majesty,



as touching France.



[Footsteps approaching]



Where is my gracious

lord of Canterbury?



God and his angels guard your sacred

throne and make you long become it.



Sure we thank you.



My learned lord,

we pray you to proceed...



and justly and religiously unfold...



why the law salique

that they have in France,



or should or should not

bar us in our claim.



And pray, take heed

how you impawn our person,



how you awake

our sleeping sword of war.



We charge you,

in the name of God, take heed.



For never two such kingdoms did

contend without much fall of blood.



Then hear me,

gracious sovereign.



There is no bar to make against

your highness' claim to France...



but this, which they

produce from Pharamond.



"In terram salicam

mulieres ne succedant."



"No woman shall succeed

in Salique land."



Which Salique land

the French unjustly gloze...



to be the realm of France.



Yet their own authors

faithfully affirm...



that the land Salique

lies in Germany...



between the floods

of Sala and of Elbe.



Then doth it well appear

the Salique law...



was not devised

for the realm of France,



nor did the French possess

the Salique land...



until     years after

defunction of king Pharamond,



idly supposed

the founder of this law.



King Pepin,

which deposed childeric,



did, as heir general,

being descended of blithild,



which was the daughter

to king Clothair,



make claim and title

to the crown of France.



Hugh Capet, also, who usurped the

crown of Charles, the duke of Lorraine,



sole heir male of the true line

and stock of Charles the great,



could not keep quiet in his conscience

wearing the crown of France...



until satisfied that fair queen

Isabel, his grandmother,



was lineal

of the Lady Ermengare,



daughter to Charles,

the aforesaid duke of Lorraine,



by the which marriage the line

of Charles the great...



was reunited

to the crown of France.



So it is clear

as is the summer sun.



[Men chuckling]



All appear to hold in right

and title of the female.



So do the kings of France...



unto this day.



Howbeit, they would hold up

this salique law...



to bar your highness

claiming from the female.



May I, with right

and conscience,



make this claim?



The sin upon my head,

dread sovereign.



Stand for your own.

Unwind your bloody flag.



Your brother kings

and monarchs of the earth...



do all expect that you

should rouse yourself...



as did the former lions

of your blood.



Never king of England had nobles

richer and more loyal subjects...



whose hearts have left

their bodies here in England...



and lie pavilioned

in the fields of France.



Oh, let their bodies follow,

my dear liege,



with blood and sword and fire

to win your right.



In aid whereof,



we of the spirituality

will raise your highness...



such a mighty sum

as never did the clergy...



at one time bring in to

any of your ancestors.



Call in the messengers

sent from the Dauphin.



Now are we well resolved,

and by God's help and yours,



the noble sinews of our power,

France being ours,



we'll bend it to our all...



or break it all to pieces.



Now are we well prepared to know the

pleasure of our fair cousin Dauphin.



Your highness, lately sending into France

did claim some certain dukedoms...



in the right of your great

predecessor, king Edward III.



In answer of which claim,

the prince, my master,



says that you savor

too much of your youth.



He therefore sends you, meeter for

your spirit, this tun of treasure.



And in lieu of this, desires

you let those dukedoms...



that you claim

hear no more of you.



This the Dauphin speaks.



What... treasure, uncle?



Tennis balls, my liege.



We are glad the Dauphin

is so pleasant with us.



His present and your pains

we thank you for.



When we have matched

our rackets to these balls,



we will in France,

by God's grace,



play a set shall strike his

father's crown into the hazard.



And we understand him well,



how he comes o'er us

with our wilder days,



not measuring what use

we made of them.



But tell the Dauphin

I will keep my state,



be like a king and show

my sail of greatness...



when I do rouse me

in my throne of France.



And tell the pleasant prince

this mock of his...



hath turned his balls

to gunstones,



and his soul

shall stand sore charged...



for the wasteful vengeance

that shall fly with them.



For many a thousand widows

shall this his mock,



mock out of

their dear husbands,



mock mothers from their sons,

mock castles down.



And some are yet ungotten

and unborn...



that shall have cause

to curse the Dauphin's scorn.



So get you hence in peace,



and tell the Dauphin...



his jest... will savor

but of shallow wit...



when thousands weep

more than did laugh at it.



Convey them with safe conduct.



Fare you well.



This was a merry message.




We hope to make the sender

blush at it.



Therefore, my lords,

omit no happy hour...



that may give furtherance

to our expedition.



For we have now no thought

in us but France,



save those to God

that run before our business.



Therefore, let every man

now task his thought...



that this fair action

may on foot be brought.



[Chorus] Now all the youth of

England are on fire...



and silken dalliance

in the wardrobe lies.



For now sits expectation

in the air...



and hides a sword,

from hilts unto the point,



with crowns imperial,

crowns and coronets...



promised to Harry and his followers.






Well met, Corporal Nym.



Good morrow,

Lieutenant Bardolph.



[Cat meows]




[Meows, paws running]



What, are you and Ancient Pistol friends yet?



For my part, I care not.



I say little,



but when time shall serve,

there shall be smiles.



But that shall be as it may.



Come, I will bestow a breakfast

to make you friends,



and we'll be all three

sworn brothers to France.



- Let it be so, good corporal.

- I will do as I may.



It is certain, corporal, that Ancient

Pistol is married to Nell quickly.



For certainly she did you wrong,

for you were betrothed to her.



- [Clattering]

- [Man, woman shouting, laughing]



How now,

mine host Pistol?



Base tyke!



Callest thou me host?



Now, by this hand,

I swear I scorn the term!



Nor shall my Nell

keep lodgers!



No, by my troth,

not long.



For we can't lodge or board

a dozen or    gentlewomen...



who live honestly

by the prick of their needles,



but it shall be thought

we keep a bawdy house straight.



- Pish!

- Pish for thee, Iceland dog!



Good Corporal Nym,



show thy valor

and put up thy sword.



- Will you shog off?

- [Shouts]



Pistol, I will prick your guts

a little in good terms, as I may.



That's the humor of it.




- Braggart vile!

- Ahh, hear me when I say,



he that strikes

the first stroke,



I'll run him up to the hilts,

as I'm a soldier.



An oath of mickle might,



and fury shall abate.

[Footsteps approaching]



My host Pistol!



You must come to my master,

and you, hostess!



He's very sick

and would to bed.



Good Bardolph, put thy face between his

sheets and do the office of a warming pan.



- Away, you rogue.

- [Sighs]



Faith, he's very ill.



By my troth,



the king has killed his heart.



Good husband,

come home presently.






Come, shall I make you two friends?

We must to France together.



Why the devil should we keep

nives to cut one another's throats?



You'll pay me the eight shillings

I won of you at betting?



Base is the slave that pays.



By this sword,

he that makes the first thrust,



I'll kill him,

by this sword, I will.



If ever you come of women,

come in quickly to Sir John.



He is so shaked with

a burning quotidian fever...



that it is most lamentable

to behold.



Sweet men, come to him.



Poor Sir John.




A good portly man of faith.



[Men chattering, laughing]




[Man] Aye, to a cheerful look,

a pleasing eye...



and a most noble carriage.

[Laughing continues]



But do I not dwindle?

[Laughing continues]



My skin hangs about me

like an old lady's loose gown.



Company, villainous company

have been the spoil of me.



[Shouts, laughs]




Hey! Hey!



I was as virtuous

as a gentleman need to be. [snickers]



Virtuous enough.

Swore a little.



- [Murmuring in protest]

- [Clears throat]



Diced not above

seven days a week.



Went to a bawdy house

not above once in the quarter.



- Ohhh!

- [Shouting]



Paid money that I borrowed,



three or four times.



Lived well

and in good compass.



What? You were so fat,

Sir John,



that you must indeed

be out of all compass.



Do thou amend thy face,

and I'll amend my life.



[Men laughing]



[Sir John, Nell laughing]



[Exclaims, laughs]







If sack and sugar be a fault,

then God help the wicked.



Mmm? If to be old

and merry is a sin,



if to be fat

is to be hated,



then no, my good lord,

when thou art king,



banish Pistol, banish Bardolph,

banish Nym.



But sweet Jack Falstaff,



Aliant Jack Falstaff,



and therefore more valiant

being as he is,



old Jack falstaff,



banish not him

thy Harry's company.



Banish plump Jack,

and banish all the world.



[Harry's voice]

I do. I will.



[Whispering] but we have heard the

chimes at midnight, master Harry.







The days that we have seen.



[Harry's voice]

I know thee not, old man.



[Hoofbeats passing]



[Dog barking]



The king hath run

bad humors on the knight.



Nym, thou hast

spoke the right.



His heart is fracted

and... corroborate.



The king's a good king,



but it must be as it may.



He passes some humors

and careers.



Let us condole the knight,



for, lambkins,

we will live.



The French, advised

by good intelligence...



of this most dreadful




shake in their fear...



and with pale policy seek

to divert the English purposes.



Oh, England, model

to thy inward greatness.



Like a little body

with a mighty heart.



What mightst thou do

that honor would thee do...



were all thy children

kind and natural?



But see, thy fault France

hath in thee found out.



A nest of hollow bosoms which he

fills with treacherous crowns...



and three corrupted men.



One, Richard Earl of Cambridge,



and the second,

Henry Lord Scroop of Masham,



and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight,

of Northumberland,



have for the gilt of France...

oh, guilt indeed...



confirmed conspiracy

with fearful France,



and by their hands

this grace of kings must die,



ere he take ship for France.



The traitors are agreed.



The king is set from London,



and the scene

is now transported, gentles,



to Southhampton.



Before God, his grace is bold

to trust these traitors.



They shall be apprehended

by and by.



How smooth and even

they do bear themselves,



as if allegiance in their bosoms sat

crowned with faith and constant loyalty.



The king hath note of all they intend by

interception which they dream not of.



Nay, but the man

that was his bedfellow,



whom he hath dulled and cloyed

with gracious favors...



That he should,

for a foreign purse,



so sell his sovereign's life

to death and treachery. [clatter]



Now sits the wind fair,

and we will aboard. [chuckles]



My lord of Cambridge

and my kind lord of Masham...



and you, my gentle knight,

give me your thoughts.



Think you not that

the powers we bear with us...



will cut their passage

through the force of France?



No doubt, my liege, if each man

do his best. I doubt not that.



Never was monarch better feared

and loved than is your majesty.



We therefore have great

cause of thankfulness.



Uncle of Exeter, enlarge the

man committed yesterday...



that railed against

our person.



We consider it was excess of

wine that set him on, [all chuckle]



And on his more advice

we pardon him.



That's mercy,

but too much security.



Let him be punished, lest example breed

by his sufferance, more of such a kind.



Oh, let us yet be merciful.



So may your highness,

and yet punish too.



Sir, you show great mercy

if you give him life...



after the taste

of much correction.



Alas, your too much love

and care of me...



are heavy orisons

against this poor wretch.



If little faults proceeding on

distemper shall not be winked at,



how shall we stretch our eye

when capital crimes, chewed,



swallowed and digested,

appear before us?



We'll yet enlarge that man,



though Cambridge,

Scroop and Grey,



in their dear care

and tender preservation...



of our person

would have him punished.



And now to

our French causes.



Who are the late commissioners?

[Cambridge] I one, my lord.



Your highness bade me

ask for it today. So did you me.



- And I.

- Then, Richard Earl of cambridge, there is yours.



There yours,

Lord Scroop of Masham,



and sir knight, Grey of

Northumberland, this same is yours.



Read them...



and know...



I know your worthiness.



My Lord of Westmoreland,

uncle Exeter, we will aboard tonight.



Why, how now, gentlemen



what see you in those papers

that you lose so much complexion?



I do confess my fault and do

submit me to your highness' mercy.



- To which we all appeal.

- The mercy that was quick in us of late...



by your own counsel

is suppressed and killed.



You must not dare for shame

to talk of mercy!



For your own reasons turn into your bosoms

as dogs upon their masters worrying you.



- [Shouting]

- [All shouting]



See you, my princes and my noble

peers, these English monsters.



What shall I say to thee,

Lord Scroop,



thou cruel, ingrateful,



savage and inhuman creature?



Thou knave thou!



Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,

that knewest the very bottom of my soul,



that almost mightst have

coined me into gold,



which thou have practiced

on me for thy use.



May it be possible

that foreign hire...



could out of thee extract one spark

of evil that might annoy my finger?



'Tis so strange...



that though the truth of it stand

off as gross as black and white,



my eye will scarcely see it.



So... constant and unspotted

didst thou seem...



that this thy fall

hath left a kind of blot...



to mark

the full-fraught man...



and best indued

with some suspicion.



I will weep for thee.



For this revolt of thine, methinks,

is like another fall of man.



I arrest thee of high treason by the

name of Richard Earl of Cambridge.



I arrest thee of high treason by the name

of Thomas Grey, Knight of Northumberland.



I arrest thee of high treason by the

name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham.



Hear your sentence.



You have conspired

against our royal person,



joined with an enemy

proclaimed and from his coffers...



received the golden earnest

of our death wherein.



You would have sold your king

to slaughter,



his princes and his peers

to servitude,



his subjects to oppression

and contempt...



and his whole kingdom

into desolation!



Get you therefore hence, poor

miserable wretches, to your death,



the taste whereof God of his mercy

give you patience to endure...



and true repentance

of all your dear offenses.



Bear them hence.



[Men shouting]



Now, Lords, for France,



the enterprise whereof shall

be to you, as us, like glorious,



since God so graciously hath brought to light

this dangerous treason lurking in our way.



Cheerly to sea.



The signs of war advance.



No king of England

if not king of France.






Prithee, honey-sweet husband,

let me bring thee to staines.



No, for my manly heart

doth yearn.



Bardolph, be blithe.



Nym, rouse

thy vaunting veins.



Boy, bristle

thy courage up.



For Falstaff is dead,



and we must yearn therefore.



Would I were with him, wheresome'er

he is, either in heaven or in hell.



Nay, sure,

he's not in hell.



He's in Arthur's bosom, if ever

a man went to Arthur's bosom.



He made a finer end and went away

an it had been any Christian child.



He parted even

just between   :   and  :  



even at the turning of the tide.



For after I saw him

fumble with the sheets...



and play with flowers and

smile upon his finger's ends,



I knew there was

but one way.



For his nose

was as sharp as a pen,



and he babbled of green fields.



"How now, Sir John," quoth I.



"What, man?

Be of good cheer."



So he cried out,

"God, God,






Three or four times.



Now I, to comfort him, bid him

he should not think of God.



I hoped there was no need to trouble himself

with any such thoughts yet.



He bade me put

more clothes on his feet.



I put my hand under the bed

and felt them,



and they were as cold

as any stone.



Then I felt to his knees,



and so upward... and upward,



and all was as...



cold as any stone.



They say he cried out for sack.

[Laughs] That he did.



And of women.

No, that he did not.




Yeah, that he did.



He said they were...

devils incarnate.



He could never abide carnation.

It was a color he never liked.



He said once the devil

would have him about women.



Well, he did in some sort...

handle women.






But then he was rheumatic and

talked of the whore of Babylon.



Do you not remember he saw a flea

stick upon Bardolph's nose?



He said it was a black soul

burning in hell. [chuckling]



Well, the fuel is gone

that maintained that fire.



That's all the riches

I got in his service.



Whall we shog?



The king will be gone

from Southampton.



Farewell, hostess.



I cannot kiss.



That's the humor of it.









Let housewifery appear.




Keep close.



I thee command.














Follow, follow.



For who is he whose chin is but

enriched with one appearing hair...



that will not follow these

culled and choice-drawn cavaliers...



to France?



Thus comes the English...

with full power upon us,



and more than carefully it us concerns

to answer royally in our defenses.




the dukes of Berri...



and of Bretagne,



of Brabant and of Orleans

shall make forth.



And you, prince Dauphin...



My most redoubted father,



it is most meet we arm us

against the foe.



For peace itself

should not so dull a kingdom,



but the defenses, musters,

preparations should be maintained,



assembled and collected,

as were a war in expectation.



Therefore, I say 'tis meet

we all go forth to view...



the sick and feeble

parts of France.



And let us do it

with no show of fear!



No, with no more than if we heard

that England were busied with,



uh, a Whitsun morris dance.




For, my good liege, she is so idly

kinged by a vain, giddy, shallow,



humorous youth,

that fear attends her not.



O peace, prince dauphin.



You're too much mistaken

in this king.



Question, your grace,

the late ambassadors.



With what great state

he heard their embassy,



how well supplied

with noble counselors,



how modest in exception

and withal how terrible...



in constant resolution.



Well, 'tis not so,

my lord high constable.



Though we think it so,

'tis no matter.



In matters of defense, 'tis best to weigh

the enemy more mighty than he seems.



Think we king Harry strong.



And, princes, look you

strongly armed to meet him.



For he is bred

out of that bloody strain...



that haunted us

in our familiar paths.



Witness our too-much

memorable shame...



when cressy battle

fatally was struck...



and all our princes captived...



by the hand

of that black name,






black prince of Wales.



This is a stem

of that victorious stalk.



And let us fear

the native mightiness...



and fate of him.



[Door opens]

[Footsteps approaching]



Ambassadors from Harry, king of England,

do crave admittance to your majesty.



Go and bring them.



You see, this chase

is hotly followed, friends.



Good my sovereign,

take up the English short,



and let them know of what a

monarchy you are the head.



Self-love, my liege, is not so vile

a sin as self-neglecting.



[Door opens]



From our brother England?



From him, and thus

he greets your majesty.



He wills you, in the

name of God almighty,



that you divest yourself

and lay apart...



the borrowed glories

that by gift of heaven,



by law of nature

and of nations,



belongs to him

and to his heirs.



Namely, the crown.



Willing you overlook

this pedigree.



And when you find him

evenly derived...



from his most famed of famous

ancestors, Edward the III,



he bids you then resign your crown

and kingdom, indirectly held from him,



the native and true challenger.



Or else what follows?



Bloody constraint.



For if you hide the crown,

even in your hearts,



there will he rake for it.



Therefore, in fierce

tempest is he coming,



in thunder and in earthquake,

like a Jove,



that if requiring fail,

he will compel.



This is his claim,

his threatening and my message.



Unless the Dauphin

be in presence here,



to whom expressly

I bring greeting to.



For the Dauphin,



I stand here for him.



What to him from England?



Scorn and defiance,



slight regard, contempt...



and anything that might not

misbecome the mighty sender,



doth he prize you at.



Thus says my king.



Say, if my father render a fair

return, it is against my will,



for I desire nothing

but odds with England.



And to that end, as matching

to his youth and vanity,



I did present him

with the Paris balls!



He'll make your Paris Louvre

shake for it.



And be assured

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.






Shall you know

our mind at full.



[Chorus] Thus with imagined wing

our swift scene flies,



in motion of no less celerity

than that of thought! [explosion]



Work, work your thoughts, and

in them see a siege! [men shouting]



Behold the ordinance

on their carriages,



with fatal mouths gaping

on girded harflew.



Suppose the ambassador

from the French comes back,



tells Harry that the king does

offer him Katherine, his daughter,



and with her to dowry, some

petty and unprofitable dukedoms.



The offer likes him not.



And the nimble gunner with linstock

now the devilish cannon touches,



and down goes all before them!




[Shouting continues]



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-favored 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 jetty

his confounded base,



swilled 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 England!






Now attest that those whom you

called fathers did beget you.



And you, good yeoman, 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 luster 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!"



[All] God for harry,

England and Saint George!



[All shouting]



[Shouts of




Up to the breach,

you dogs!



Avaunt, you cullions!






Captain Fluellen, you must

come presently to the mines.



The duke of Gloucester

would speak with you.



Tell the duke it is not so good

to come to the mines.



For look you, the mines is not

according to the disciplines of war.



By Cheshu, I think he will

blow up all,



if there is not

better direction. [explosion]



The duke of Gloucester,

to whom the order...



of the siege is given, is altogether

directed by an Irishman.



[Trumpet blowing]

It's Captain Macmorris, is it not?



- I think it be.

- By Cheshu, he is an ass in the world.




He has no more directions...



in the true disciplines of the

wars than is a puppy dog.



Here he comes, and the Scots

captain, Captain Jamy, with him.



Oh, no, Captain Jamy is a marvelous,

valorous gentleman, that is certain.



I say... good day,

Captain Fluellen.



Good day to your worship,

good Captain James.



How now, Captain Macmorris?

Have you quit the mines? By Christ, la.



The workish give over.



The trumpets

sound the retreat.



By my hand,

'tis ill done.



Captain Macmorris,

I beseech you now,



a few disputations as partly

touching the disciplines of the war,



partly to satisfy

my opinion...



and partly for

the satisfaction of my mind,



as touching the direction

of the military discipline.



That is the point. It is no time

to discourse, so Christ save me.



The town is besieged, and the

trumpet calls us to the breach.



We talk, and, by Christ,

do nothing.



By the mass, ere these eyes of mine

take themselves to slumber,



I'll do good service, or I'll

lie in the ground for it.



Captain Macmorris,

I think, look you,



under your correction, there

are not many of your nation.




What is my nation?



Who talks of my nation

is a villain...



and a bastard and a knave

and a rascal?



Look you, if you take the matter otherwise

than it is meant, Captain Macmorris,



peradventure I shall think

you do not use me...



with that affability as in discretion

you ought to use me, now look you,



being as good

a man as yourself.



I do not know you

so good a man as myself.



So Christ save me,

I will cut off your head!







[Men shouting]






How yet resolves

the governor of the town?



This is the latest parle

we will admit.



Therefore, to our best mercy

give yourselves,



or, like to men proud of

destruction, defy us to our worst.



For as I am a soldier, if I

begin the battery once again,



I will not leave

the half-achieved Harflew...



till in her ashes

she lie buried.




you men of Harflew,



take pity of your town

and of your people...



whiles yet my soldiers

are in my command,



whiles yet the cool

and temperate wind of grace...



o'erblows the filthy

and contagious clouds...



of heady murder,

spoil and villainy!



If not, why, in a moment

look to see...



the blind and bloody

soldier with foul hand...



defile the locks of your shrill,

shrieking daughters,



your fathers taken

by their silvered beards...



and their most reverend heads

dashed to the walls,



your naked infants

spitted upon pikes...



whiles the mad mothers

with their howls confused...



do break the clouds!



What say you?



Will you yield and this avoid?



Or, guilty in defense,



be thus destroyed?



The Dauphin, of whose

succor we entreated,



returns us that his powers are not

yet ready to raise so great a siege.



Therefore, dread king,



enter our gates,

dispose of us and ours,



for we no longer

are defensible.






Go you and enter Harflew.



There remain and fortify it

strongly against the French.



Use... mercy to them all.



For us, dear uncle,

the winter coming on...



and sickness growing

upon our soldiers,



we will retire to Calais.



Tonight... in Harflew

will we be your guest.



Tomorrow... for the march

are we addressed.




whispers in french]//[cooing]










tu as ete en angleterre,



et tu parles bien le langage.



Un peu, madame.



Je te prie, m'enseignez.



Il faut que j'apprenne

a parler.



Comment appelez-vous

la main en anglais?



La main?

Elle est appelee"de" hand.



"De hand."




Et les doigts?



Les doigts?

Ma foi, j'oublie les doigts.



Mais je me souviendrai.

Les doigts?



Je pense qu'ils sont appeles

"de fingres."



Le main, de hand.

Le doigts, de fingres.






Je pense que je suis

le bon ecolier.



J'ai gagne deux mots

d'anglais vitement. [mutters]



Comment appelez-vous les ongles?

Les ongles?



Nous les appelons

de nails.



"De nails."



Ecoutez, dites-moi

si je parle bien.



De hand, de fingres

etde nails.



C'est bien dit, madame.

Il est fort bon anglais. [laughs]



Dites-moi I'anglais

pour le bras.



De arm, madame.

Et le coude?









Je m'en fais la repetition...



De tous les mots que vous

m'avez appris des a present.



Il est trop difficile,

madame, comme je pense.



Excusez-moi, Alice,

ecoutez: De hand, de fingres,



de nails, de "arma,"

de "bilbow."//d'elbow, madame.



O, seigneur dieu,

je m'en oublie! D'elbow.



Comment appelez-vous

le col?



De "nick," madame.



- "De nick."

- Mmm.



Et le menton?

De chin.



"De chin."



Le col, de nick.



Le menton, de chin.



Oui, sauf votre honneur,

en verite,



vous prononcez les mots aussi

droit que les natifs d'angleterre.



Je ne doute point d'apprendre par la

grace de dieu, et en peu de temps.



N'avez-vous pas deja oublie

ce que je vous ai enseigne?



Non, je reciterai

a vous promptement:



De hand, de fingres.

Tsk. Mmm.



- De "mails"?

- De nails, madame.



"De nails, madame."




- De arma, de belbow.

- Sauf votre honneur, d'elbow.



Ainsi dis-je:

D'elbow, de nick, [mutters]



Etde chin.




Comment appelez-vous

le pied et la robe?



De foot, madame,

et de coun.



- F-footet 'le coun.

- Mmm.



[Both chuckling]



O seigneur dieu!



Ce sont mots de son mauvais




Gros, et impudique et non pour

les dames d'honneur d'user.



Je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots devants

les seigneurs de france pour tout le monde.



De footet 'le coun!







Neanmoins, je reciterai une

autre fois ma lecon ensemble.



- De hand, de fingres,

- [chuckling]



De nails, de arma, de...




De nick, de chin, de foot

et 'le coun!



[Chattering, chuckling




'Tis certain...

He hath passed the river Somme.



And if he be not fought withal,

my lord, let us not live in France.




But bastard Normans!



Norman... bastards!



Where have they this mettle is not

their climate foggy, raw and dull?



- O, for honor of our land.

- By faith and honor,



our madams mock at us and

plainly say our mettle is bred out!



And they will give their bodies

to the lust of English youth...



to new-store France

with bastard warriors!



Where is Montjoy, the herald?



Speed him hence.



Let him greet England

with our sharp defiance.



Up, princes,



and with spirit of honor edged

more sharper than your swords,



hie to the field.



Bar Harry England,



that sweeps through our land...



with pennons painted

in the blood of Harflew.



Go down upon him.

You have power enough.



And in a captive chariot into

Rouen bring him our prisoner.



This becomes the great.



Sorry am I his numbers

are so few,



his soldiers sick and famished

in their march.



For I am sure when he

shall see our army,



he'll drop his heart

into the sink of fear...



and, for achievement,

offer us his ransom.



Therefore, lord constable,

haste on montjoy.



Prince Dauphin,

you shall stay with us in Rouen.



Not so, I do beseech

your majesty.



Be patient, for you

shall remain with us!



Now forth, lord constable

and princes all,



and quickly bring us word

of England's fall.



[Man shouting]



[Man shouting]



[Hoofbeats approaching]



[Hoofbeats galloping,

horse whinnies] [man shouts]



Come. Come in.



Captain Fluellen?



Come you from the bridge?

Is the duke of Exeter safe?



De is not...

God be praised and blessed...



any hurt in the world, but keeps the bridge

most valiantly, with excellent discipline.



Captain! I thee beseech

to do me favors.



The duke of Exeter

doth love thee well.



Aye, I praise God, and I have

merited some love at his hands.



Bardolph, a soldier firm

and sound of heart...



and buxom valor,



hath by cruel fate and giddy

fortune's furious, fickle wheel...



Touching your patience,

Ancient Pistol,



fortune is an excellent moral.



Fortune is Bardolph's foe

and frowns on him...



for he hath stolen a pax

and hanged must he be.



Therefore, go speak.



The duke will hear thy voice.



Speak, captain, for his life,



and I will thee requite.



Ancient Pistol, I do partly

understand your meaning.



Why, then,

rejoice therefore!



'Tis not a thing

to rejoice at.



Look you, if he

were my brother,



I would desire the duke

to do his good pleasure...



and put him to execution.




Discipline ought to be used.



Then die and be damned...



and figo for thy friendship!



How now, Fluellen,

comest thou from the bridge?



Aye, so please your majesty.



The duke of Exeter hath very

gallantly maintained the bridge.



What men have you lost?



I think the duke

hath lost never a man...



but one that is like to be

executed for robbing a church.



One Bardolph, if

your majesty know the man.



[Fluellen] His face is all bubukles and

whelks and knobs and flames of fire.



His lips blows at his nose.



[Fluellen] 'tis like a coal of fire...

sometimes blue, sometimes red.



But his nose is executed

and his fire's out.



Get up!



[Thunder rumbling]











- Oh!

- [Laughs]



- Oh, oh, oh, oh!

- [Laughs]









Do not, when thou art king,

hang a thief.






thou shalt.



[Thunder rumbling]



We would have all such offenders

so cut off.



We give express charge

that in our marches...



through the country there be nothing

compelled from the villages,



nothing taken but paid for,



none of the French upbraided

or abused in disdainful language.



For when lenity and cruelty

play for a kingdom,



the gentler gamester

is the soonest winner.



Thus says my king,

"Say thou to Harry of England,



"though we seemed dead,

we did but sleep.



"Tell him we could have

rebuked him at Harflew.



"Now we speak,

and our voice is imperial.



"England shall

repent his folly.



"Bid him, therefore,

consider of his ransom...



"which must proportion

the losses we have borne...



"which in weight to re-answer

his pettiness would bow under.



"To this add defiance,

and tell him, for conclusion,



"he hath betrayed

his followers...



whose condemnation

is pronounced."



So far my king and master,

so much my office.



- What is thy name?

- Montjoy.



Thou dost thy office fairly.



Turn thee back, and tell

thy king I do not seek him now,



but could be willing to march on

to Calais without impeachment.



Go, therefore,

tell thy master here I am.



My ransom is this

frail and worthless trunk,



my army but a weak

and sickly guard.



Yet, God before,

tell him we will come on,



though France himself and such

another neighbor stand in our way.



So, Montjoy, fare you well.



The sum of all our answer

is but this:



We would not seek

a battle as we are,



nor, as we are,

we say we will not shun it.



So tell your master.



I shall deliver so.



Thanks to your majesty.



I hope they will not

come upon us now.



We are in god's hand, brother,

not in theirs.






March to the bridge.



It now draws towards night.



Beyond the river

we'll encamp ourselves...



and on tomorrow...



bid them march away.



Now entertain

conjecture of a time...



when creeping murmur

and the poring dark...



fills the wide vessel

of the universe.



From camp to camp through

the foul womb of night...



the hum of either army

stilly sounds...



that the fixed sentinels

almost receive...



the secret whispers

of each other's watch.



Fire answers fire,



and through their paly flames,



each battle sees

the other's umbered face.



Steed threatens steed

in high and boastful neighs,



piercing the night's dull ear.



And from the tents,



the armorers,

accomplishing the knights,



with busy hammers closing rivets up

give dreadful note of preparation.



Proud of their numbers

and secure in soul,



the confident

and over-lusty French...



do the low-rated English

play at dice...



and chide the cripple,

tardy-gaited night...



who, like a foul and ugly witch,

doth limp so tediously away.



[Horse whinnies]



[Man] I have the best armor

in the world.



Would it were day.



[Man   ] you have an excellent armor,

but let my horse have his due.



It is the best horse of Europe.



Will it never be morning?




[Chattering continues]



My lord of Orleans

and my lord High Constable,



you talk of horse and armor?



You are as well provided of both

as any prince in the world.



I will not change my horse...



for any that treads

but on four hooves.



When I bestride him,

I soar.



I am a hawk, and he is

pure air and fire!



The dull elements of earth

and water never appear in him,



but only impatient stillness

while his rider mounts him.



Indeed, my lord, it is a most

absolute and excellent horse.



[Chattering continues]



My lord constable,

the armor in your tent tonight...



Are those suns

or stars on it?



Stars, Montjoy.



Some of them will

fall tomorrow, I hope.



And yet my sky

shall not want.



Will it never be day?



I will trot tomorrow a mile,



and my way shall be paved

with English faces.



I will not say so, for fear I

should be faced out of my way.



I'll go arm myself.



[Chattering continues]



[Horse whinnies]



The Dauphin longs for morning.

He longs to eat the English.



I think he will eat

all he kills.



He never did harm that I heard of.

Nor will do none tomorrow.



Would it were day.

[Chattering continues]



Alas, poor Harry of England.



He longs not for

the dawning as we do.



If the English had any apprehension,

they would run away.






That island of England

breeds very valiant creatures.



Now is it time to arm.



Come, shall we about it?



It is now  :  .



But let me see, by   :   we shall

have each a hundred Englishmen.



The poor, condemned English,



like sacrifices,



by their watchful fires

sit patiently...



and inly ruminate

the morning's danger.




And their gesture sad,



investing lank, lean cheeks

and war-worn coats,



presenteth them

unto the gazing moon...



so many horrid ghosts.












Oh, now,



who will behold the royal

captain of this ruined band,



walking from watch to watch,

from tent to tent?



Let him cry,

"Praise and glory on his head,"



For forth he goes

and visits all his host.



Bids them good morrow

with a modest smile...



and calls them "Brothers,

friends and countrymen."



A largesse universal,

like the sun...



his liberal eye

doth give to everyone,



thawing cold fear...



that mean and gentle all...



behold, as may

unworthiness define,



a little touch of Harry

in the night.



Good morrow, old

sir Thomas Erpingham.



A good soft pillow for that good white head

were better than a churlish turf of France.



Not so, my liege.

This lodging likes me better...



since I may say,

"Now lie I like a king."




Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas.



Brothers both, commend me

to the princes in our camp.



Do my good morrow to them, and

anon desire them all to my pavilion.



We shall, my liege.



Shall I attend your grace?

No, my good knight.



I and my bosom

must debate a while,



and then I would

no other company.



The lord in heaven

bless thee, noble Harry.



God have mercy, old heart.



Thou speakest cheerfully.



[Clears throat]

Qui va la?



A friend.



Discuss unto me.



Art thou officer...



or art thou base,

common and popular?



I am a gentleman of a company.



Trailest thou

the puissant pike? Even so.



What are you?

As good a gentleman as the emperor.



Ah, then you are a better

than the king.



The king's a bawcock

and a heart of gold,



a lad of life,

an imp of fame,



of parents good,

of fist most valiant.



I kiss his dirty shoe,



and from heartstring,

I love the lovely bully.



What is thy name?



Uh, Harry Le Roy.

Le Roy?



A... a Cornish name?



No, I am a Welshman.



Knowest thou Fluellen?




Tell him I'll knock his leek about

his pate upon Saint Davy's day.



Do not wear your dagger in your cap

that day, lest he knock that about yours.



Art thou his friend?



And his kinsman too.



The figo with thee then.

I thank you.



God be with you.



My name is Pistol called.



It sorts well

with your fierceness.



Captain Fluellen.




In the name of Jesus Christ,

speak lower.



If you would take the pains but to

examine the wars of Pompey the great,



you shall find that there is no Tiddle

Taddle nor Pibble Babble in Pompey's camp.



The enemy is loud.

You hear him all night.



If the enemy is an ass and

a fool and a prating coxcomb,



is it meet that we should

also be an ass...



and a fool and a prating coxcomb

in your conscience now?




I will speak lower.



I pray you and beseech you

that you will.



[Man murmuring]



[Speaking in

foreign language]



[Foreign language continues]



Brother John Bates,



Is not that the morning

which breaks yonder?



I think it be,



but we have no great cause

to desire the approach of day.



We see yonder

the beginning of the day,



but I think we shall

never see the end of it.



[Twig snaps]



Who goes there?

A friend.



Under what captain serve ya?



Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.



A good old commander

and a most kind gentleman.



I pray ya, what thinks he

of our estate?



Even as men

wrecked upon a sand...



that look to be washed off

with the next tide.



He hath not told

his thought to the king?



No, nor it is not

meet he should.



I think the king

is but a man as I am.



The violet smells to him

as it doth to me.



His ceremonies laid by,



in his nakedness

he appears but a man.



Therefore, when he sees

reason to fear, as we do,



his fears, out of doubt,

be of the same relish as ours are.



He may show what

outward courage he will,



but I believe as

cold a night as 'tis...



that he could wish himself

in Thames up to the neck.



[Bates] And so I would he were,

and I by him.



At all adventures,

so we were quit here.



I think he would not wish himself

anywhere but where he is.



Then I would

he were here alone.



Methinks I could not die

anywhere so contented...



as in the king's company,



his cause being just

and his quarrel honorable.



That's more than we know.



Aye, and more than

we should seek after.



We know enough if we know

we are the king's subject.



If his cause be wrong,

our obedience to the king...



wipes the crime of it

out of us.



But if the cause be not good,



the king himself hath

a heavy reckoning to make.



And all those legs

and arms and heads...



chopped off in the battle...



will join together at

the latter day and cry all,



"we died at such a place."



Some swearing,

some crying for a surgeon,



some upon their wives

left poor behind them,



some upon the debts they owe,



some upon their children

rawly left.



I'm afeared

there are few die well...



that die in a battle...



for how can they charitably

dispose of anything...



when blood is their argument?



Now if these men

do not die well,



it will be a black matter for

the king that led them to it.



So if a son that is by his father

sent about merchandise...



do sinfully miscarry

upon the sea,



the imputation of

his wickedness, by your rule,



should be imposed upon

the father that sent him?



But this is not so.



The king is not bound to answer the

particular endings of his soldiers...



nor the father of his son,



for they purpose not their deaths

when they purpose their services.



Besides, there is no king,

be his cause never so spotless,



can try it out with

all unspotted soldiers.



Every subject's duty

is the king's,



but every subject's soul

is his own.



'Tis certain.



Eevery man that dies ill,

the ill upon his own head.



The king is not to answer it.



I do not desire

he should answer for me.



Yet I determine

to fight lustily for him.



I myself heard the king say

he would not be ransomed.



Aye, he said so

to make us fight cheerfully.



But when our throats are cut, he may

be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser.



If I live to see it,

I'll never trust his word after.



You pay him then!



You'll never trust

his word after?



Come. 'tis a foolish saying.



Your reproof

is something too round.



I should be angry with you

if time were convenient.



Let it be a quarrel between us,

if you live!



Be friends,

you English fools! Be friends!



We have French quarrels enough!



Upon the king.



Let us our lives,

our souls, our debts,



our careful wives,

our children...



and our sins lay on the king.



We must bear all.



Oh, hard condition.



Twin-born with greatness,



subject to the breath

of every fool.



What infinite heart's ease

must kings neglect...



that private men enjoy?



And what have kings

that privates have not too...



save ceremony?



And what art thou,

thou idle ceremony?



What drinks thou oft instead of

homage sweet but poison flattery?



Oh, be sick, great greatness,

and bid thy ceremony give thee cure.



Canst thou, when thou

commandest the beggar's knee,



command the health of it?



No, thou proud dream,



that playest so subtly

with a king's repose.



I am a king that find thee,



and I know...



'tis not the balm,

the scepter and the ball,



the sword, the mace,

the crown imperial,



the intertissued robe

of gold and pearl,



the farced title

running fore the king,



the throne he sits on...



nor the tide of pomp...



that beats upon the high shore

of this world.



No, not all these,

thrice-gorgeous ceremony,



not all these,

laid in bed majestical,



can sleep so soundly...



as the wretched slave,



Who, with a body filled and

vacant mind, gets him to rest,



crammed with

distressful bread,



never sees horrid night,

the child of hell,



but like a lackey,

from the rise to the set...



sweats in the eye

of Phoebus...



and all night sleeps...



in Elysium.



Next day after dawn, doth rise

and help Hyperion to his horse...



and follows so

the ever-running year...



with profitable labor

to his grave.



And but for ceremony...



such a wretch,



winding up days of toil...



and nights with sleep...



had the forehand

and vantage...



of a king.



My lord, your nobles,

jealous of your absence,



seek through the camp

to find you.



Good old knight,



Collect them all together

at my tent.



I'll be before thee.



O God of battles,

steel my soldiers' hearts.



Possess them not with fear.



Take from them now

their sense of reckoning...



if the opposed numbers

pluck their hearts from them.



Not today, o God,

oh, not today.



Think not upon the fault my

father made encompassing the crown.



I Richard's body

have interred new...



and on it have bestowed

more contrite tears...



than from it issued

forced drops of blood.



Five hundred poor

I have in yearly pay...



who twice a day

their withered hands...



hold up toward heaven

to pardon blood.



And I have built

two chantries...



where the sad and solemn priests

sing still for Richard's soul.



More will I do...



though all that I can do...



is nothing worth...



since my penitence comes,

after all,



imploring pardon.



[Man] My liege!

My brother Gloucester's voice.



I know thy errand.



I will go with thee.



The day, my friends,



and all things...






for me.



[Drums beating]



Hark how our steeds

for present service neigh.



Mount them and make incision

in their hides...



that their hot blood

may spin in English eyes.



Do but behold

yon poor and starved band.



Your fair show shall

suck away their souls,



leaving them but

the shales and husks of men.



There is not work enough

for all our hands.



Why do you stay so long,

my lords of france?



Yon island carrions, desperate of their

bones, ill-favoredly become the morning field.



They have said their prayers,

and they stay for death.



A very little little let us do,

and all is done.



Then let the trumpets sound the

tucket sonance and the note to mount...



for our approach will

so much dare the field...



that England shall crouch down

in fear... and yield!






Where is the king?



The king himself has rode

to view their battle.



Of fighting men,

they have full threescore thousand.



That's five to one.

Besides, they are all fresh.



'Tis a fearful odds.



Oh, that we now had here but one ten

thousand of those men in England...



That do no work today.



What's he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland?



No, my fair cousin.



If we are marked to die, we are

enough to do our country loss.



And if to live,

the fewer men,



The greater share of honor.



God's will, I pray thee,

wish not one man more.



Rather, proclaim it,

Westmoreland, through my host,



that he which hath

no stomach to this fight...



let him depart.



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.



He that outlives this day

and comes safe home...



will stand at tiptoe

when this day is named...



and rouse him

at the name of Crispian.



He that shall see this day

and live old age...



will yearly, on the vigil,

feast his neighbors...



and say, "tomorrow

is Saint Crispin's."



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 Gloucester...



be in their flowing cups

freshly remembered.



This story shall

a good man teach his son.



Crispin Crispian

shall ne'er go by,



from this day to

the ending of the world,



but we in it

shall be remembered.



We few,



we happy few,



we band of brothers.



For he today that sheds his

blood with me shall be my brother.



Be he ne'er so vile,

this day shall gentle his condition.



And gentlemen in England

now abed...



shall think themselves accursed

they were not here...



and hold their manhoods cheap...



whiles any speaks

that fought with us...



upon Saint Cispin's day!






My sovereign lord!

Bestow yourself with speed!



The French are bravely

in their battle set...



and will with all expedience

march upon us!



All things are ready

if our minds be so!



Perish the man whose mind

is backward now.



Thou dost not wish more help

from England, coz?



God's will, my liege.



You and I alone, without more help,

could fight this royal battle.



You know your places!



God be with you all!




Once more I come to know

of thee, if for they ransom,



thou wilt now compound before

thy most assured overthrow.



Who hast sent thee now?

The constable of France.



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?



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,



but by the mass,

our hearts are in the trim.




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 shall leave of them,



shall yield them little.



Tell the constable.



I shall, king Harry.



And so fare thee well.



Thou never shalt

hear herald anymore.



My lord,

most humbly on my knee,



I beg the leading

of the vaward.



Take it, brave York.



Now, soldiers, march away,



and how thou pleasest, God,



dispose the day.






And so our scene must

to the battle fly...



where, oh, for pity

we shall much disgrace...



with four or five

most vile and ragged foils...



right ill-disposed

in brawl ridiculous...



the name of Agincourt.



[Horse whinnies]






[Men shouting]



[Horse whinnies]






[Metal clanging]



[Galloping hoofbeats rumbling]









- [Shouting]

- Fire!












[Arrows whooshing]



[Arrows whooshing]



[Arrows whooshing]









Why, all our ranks are broke.



O perdurable shame!



Shame and eternal shame.



Nothing but shame.



Let us die in arms.

Once more back again.



We are enough yet living in the field

to smother up the English in our throngs...



if any order

might be thought upon.



The devil take order now!



I'll to the throng!



Let life be short!

Else shame will be too long!



Well have we done,

thrice-valiant countrymen!



Yet all's not done!



Yet keep the French the field!






[Horse whinnying]



[Whinnying continues]

[Thunder rumbling]



Kill the boys and the luggage.



'Tis expressly against

the law of arms.



'Tis as errant a piece

of knavery, mark you now,



as can be offered.



In your conscience,

now, is it not?



'Tis certain there's

not a boy left alive.






I was not angry

since I came to France!



Until this instant!



Here comes the herald

of the French, my liege.



What means this, herald?

Huh? 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 drowned and soaked

in mercenary blood.



O, give us leave, great king,

to view the field in safety...



and to dispose

of their dead bodies.



I tell thee truly, herald,



I know not if the day

be ours or no.



The day is yours.



Praised be god...



and not our strength for it.






[Thunder rumbling]



What is this castle called...



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 black prince of Wales,



as I have read

in the Chronicles,



fought a most brave battle

here in France.



They did, Fluellen.



Y-your majesty says very true.



[Clears throat]



If your majesty

is remembered of it,



the Welshmen did good service in

a garden where leeks did grow,



wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps,

which, as your majesty know,



to this hour is

an honorable badge of service.



And I do believe your majesty

takes no scorn...



to wear the leek

upon St. Davy's day.



I wear it for

a memorable honor,



for I am Welsh, you know,

good my countryman.



All the water in Wye...



cannot wash your majesty's Welsh blood

out of your body, I can tell you that.



God bless it and preserve it, so long

as it pleases his grace...



and his majesty too.



Thanks, good my countryman.

By jeshu, I am your majesty's countryman!



I care not who know it.

I shall confess it to all the world!



And I need not be ashamed

of your majesty, praised be god,



so long as your majesty

is an honest man.



God keep me so.



Doth fortune play

the housewife with me now?



News I have

that my Nell is dead.







Old do I wax,



and from my weary limbs

honor is cudgeled.






bawd I'll turn...



and something lean

to cutpurse of quick hand.



To England will I steal,



and there I'll... steal.



[Grunts] herald, are

the dead numbered?



Here is the number

of the slaughtered French.



This note doth tell me of...






that in the field

lie slain.



Of princes

in this number,    .



Added to these, of knights,

esquires and gallant gentlemen,



eight thousand

and four hundred...



of the which

five hundred...



were but yesterday

dubbed knights.



Here was a royal

fellowship of death.



Where is the number

of our English dead?



[Paper rustles]

[Thunder rumbling]



"Edward, the duke of York,



"the earl of Suffolk,



"Sir Richard Ketly,



Davy Gam, esquire."




in the distance]



None else of name...



and of all other men...



but five-and-twenty.



'Tis wonderful.






Go we in procession

to the village...



and be it death proclaimed

through our host...



to boast of this...



or take that praise

from God which is his only.



Is it not lawful,

an't please your majesty,



to tell how many

is killed?



Aye, captain,



but with this acknowledgement:



That God fought...



for us.



Yes, my conscience.



He did us great good.



Do we all holy rites.



Let there be sung

non nobisandte deum.



The dead with charity

enclosed in clay.



And then to Calais...



and to England then,



where ne'er from

France arrived...



more happy men.



  Non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



[men's chorus]

  Non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  tuo da  






Peace to this meeting.



Unto our brother France,

health and fair time of day.



Joy and good wishes to our most fair

and princely cousin Katherine.



And as a branch and member

of this royalty...



by whom this great assembly

is contrived,



we do salute you,

duke of Burgundy.



And, princes French and peers,



health to you all.



Right joyous are we to behold your

face, most worthy brother England.



Fairly met.



So are you,

princes English, every one.



My duty to you both,

on equal love,



great kings of France...



and England.



Since that my office

hath so far prevailed,



that face to face and royal

eye to eye you have congreeted...



let it not disgrace me if I

demand before this royal view...



why that the naked,

poor and mangled peace...



should not in this best

garden of the world,



our fertile France,

put up her lovely visage?






she hath from France

too long been chased,



and all her husbandry

doth lie on heaps,



corrupting in

its own fertility.



And as our vineyards,

fallows, meads and hedges,



defective in their natures,

grow to wildness,



even so our houses and ourselves,

our children have lost...



or do not learn

for want of time...



those sciences which

should become our country,



but grow like savages,

as soldiers will...



that nothing do

but meditate on blood...



to swearing and stern looks,

diffused attire,



and everything that seems...






And my speech entreats

that I may know...



the let why gentle peace...



should not expel

these inconveniences...



and bless us with

her former qualities.



Lf, duke of Burgundy,

you would the peace...



whose want gives growth to the

imperfections which you have cited,



then you must buy

that peace...



with full accord

to all our just demands.



I have but with

a cursorary eye...



o'erglanced the articles.



Pleaseth your grace to appoint

some of your council...



to sit with us once more...



we will suddenly pass...



our accept

and peremptory answer.



Brother, we shall.



Yet leave

our cousin Katherine...



here with us.



She is our capital demand...



comprised within

the fore-rank of our articles.



She hath good leave.



Fair Katherine,

and most fair,



will you vouchsafe

to teach a soldier...



terms such as will enter

at a lady's ear...



and plead his love suit

to her gentle heart?



Your majesty

shall mock at me.



I cannot speak your England.






Fair Katherine, if you will love me

soundly with your French heart,



glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English



Do you like me, Kate?



Pardonnez-moi. I cannot

tell what is "like me."



An angel is like you, Kate,

and you are like an angel.



Que dit-il? Que je suis

semblable a les anges?



Qui, vraiment, sauf votre

grace, ainsi dit-il.




Mon dieu.



Les langues des hommes

sont pleines de tromperies.



What says she, fair one?



That the tongues of men

are full of deceits?



Oui. That the tongues of

the mens is be full of deceits.



That is the princess.



I'faith, my wooing is fit

for thy understanding.



I know no ways to mince it in love,

but directly to say, "I love you."



Then, if you urge me farther than to say,

"Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit.



Give me your answer... i'faith do... and so

clap hands and a bargain. How say you, lady?



Sauf votre honneur,

me understand well.



Marry, if you would put me to verses or

to dance for your sake, why, you undid me.



If I could win a lady at leapfrog

or by vaulting into my saddle...



with my arm around my back,

I should quickly leap into a wife.



I could lay on like a butcher and

sit like a jackanapes, never off.



But before God, Kate,

I cannot look greenly...



Nor gasp out my eloquence nor

I have no cunning in protestation.



If thou canst love a fellow

of this temper, Kate,



that never looks in his glass

for love of anything he sees there,



let thine eye be thy cook.



I speak to thee plain soldier. If thou

canst love me for this, take me.



If not, to say to thee

that I shall die, 'tis true,



but for thy love,

by the lord, no.



Yet I love thee too.



If thou would have

such a one, take me.



And take me, take a soldier.



Take a soldier, take a king.



And what sayest thou

then to my love?



Speak, my fair,



and fairly, too, I pray thee.



Is it possible that I should

love the enemy of France?



No, kate.



It is not possible that you

should love the enemy of France.



But in loving me, you should

love the friend of France,



for I love France so well that

I will not part with a village of it.



I will have it all mine.



And, Kate, when France

is mine, and I am yours,



then yours is France,

and you are mine.



I cannot tell what is that.



No, kate?



I will tell thee in French...



which I am sure will

hang about my tongue...



like a new-married wife

about her husband's neck, //hardly to be shook off.



Je quand sur

le possession de France...



et, uh, quand vous

avez la possession,



uh, de moi...



Let me see...




Uh, oh...




Donc, uh, votre est france...



et, uh, vous etes mienne.



It is as easy for me, Kate,

to conquer the kingdom...



as to speak so much more French!



I will never move thee in French

unless it be to laugh at me.



Sauf votre honneur,

le francais que vous parlez...



Il est meilleur

que I'anglais lequel je parle.



No, faith, it is not.



But tell me, Kate,



Canst thou understand

thus much English?



Canst thou love me?



I cannot tell.



Well, can any of your neighbors

tell, Kate? I'll ask them.



By mine honor, in true English,

I swear I love thee,



by which honor I dare

not swear thou lovest me.



Yet my blood begins to flatter

me that thou dost...



withstanding the poor and untempering effect of my vis



Now beshrew

my father's ambition!



He was thinking of

civil wars when he got me.



Therefore was I created

with a stubborn outside,



with an aspect of iron, that

when I come to woo ladies,



I fright them.



But, in faith, kate, the elder I wax,

the better I shall appear.



My comfort is that old age,

that ill layer-up of beauty,



can do no more spoil

upon my face.



Thou hast me... ifthou

hast me... at the worst.



And thou shalt wear me...

if thou wear me...



Better and better.



And, therefore, tell me,

most fair Katherine,



Will you have me?



Come, your answer

in broken music,



for thy voice is music,



and thy English, broken.



Therefore, queen of all,




wilt thou have me?



That is as it shall please

le roi mon pere.



Nay, it shall

please him well, Kate.



It shall please him, Kate.



Then it shall also content me.



Upon that, I kiss your hand,

and I call you my queen.



Laissez, mon seigneur,

laissez, laissez.



Ma foi, je ne veux point que

vous abaissiez votre grandeur...



En baisant la main d'une de

votre seigneurie indigne serviteur.



Excusez-moi, je vous supplie,

mon tres-puissant seigneur.



Then I will kiss

your lips, Kate.



Les dames et demoiselles pour

etre baisees devant leur noces...



Il n'est pas

la coutume de France.



Madame my interpreter,

what says she?



That is not be the fashion

for the ladies of France...



Oh, I cannot tell

what Isbaiserin English.



To kiss?



Your majestyentends

betterque moi.



Ah, it is not a fashion for the maids in

France to kiss before they are married?



Oui, vraiment.



Oh, kate.



Nice customs curtsy

to great kings.



You and I cannot be confined within

the weak list of a country's fashion.



We... are the makers

of manners, Kate.



Therefore, patiently...



and yielding.



You have witchcraft

in your lips, Kate.



There is more eloquence

in a sugar touch of them...



than in the tongues

of the French council.




Here comes your father.



God save

your majesty.



My royal cousin,



teach you

our princess english?



I would have her learn,

my fair cousin,



how perfectly I love her,



and that is good english.






We have consented

to all terms of reason.



And thereupon

give me your daughter.



Take her, fair son,



and from her blood

raise up issue to me...



that the contending kingdoms

of France and England...



whose very shores look pale with

envy of each other's happiness...



may cease their hatred...



and this

dear conjunction...



plant neighborhood...



and Christian-like accord

in their sweet bosoms...



that never war advance...



his bleeding sword...



'twixt England

and fair France.






Now, welcome, Kate,

and bear me witness all...



That here I kiss her

as my sovereign queen.



God, the best maker

of all marriages,



combine our hearts in one,

our realms in one.



As man and wife, being two,

are one in love,



so be there 'twixt our kingdoms

such a spousal...



that never may ill office

or fell jealousy...



which troubles oft

the bed of blessed marriage...



thrust in between

the paction of these kingdoms...



to make divorce

of their incorporate league...



that English may as French,



French Englishmen,

receive each other.



God speak this.




[Group] Amen.



Thus far, with rough

and all-unable pen...



our bending author

hath pursued the story...



in little room

confining mighty men...



mangling by starts

the full course of their glory.



Small time,



but in that small

most greatly lived...



this star of England.



Fortune made his sword...



by which the world's

best garden he achieved...



and of it left

his son imperial lord.



He sixth, in infant bands crowned king of France and E



did this king succeed...



whose state so many

had the managing...



that they lost France...



and made his England bleed...



which oft our stage

hath shown,



and, for their sake,



in your fair minds

let this acceptance take.




  Non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



[men's chorus]

  Non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  non nobis domine, domine  



  non nobis domine  



  sed nomeni  



  sed nomeni  



  tuo da gloriam  



  tuo da  




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