Henry V (1989) - full transcript

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,

the 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 'tis your thoughts
that now must deck our kings,

carry them here or 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 11th 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... indifferent.

Or rather swaying more
upon our part,

for I have made an offer
to His Majesty

as touching France.

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 Salic
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.

"No woman shall succeed"

"in Salic land."

Which Salic land
the French unjustly gloze

to be the realm of France.

Yet their own authors
faithfully affirm

that the land Salic lies in Germany

between the floods
of Sala and of Elbe.

Then doth it well appear
this Salic law was not devised

for the realm of France,

nor did the French
possess the Salic land

until 421 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 Blithilde,

which was the daughter
to King Clothar,

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

till satisfied that fair Queen Isabelle,
his grandmother,

was lineal of the Lady Ermengarde,
daughter to Charles,

the aforesaid Duke of Lorraine,

by which marriage
the line of Charles the Great

was reunited
to the crown of France.

So that, as clear
as is the summer sun...

...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 Salic 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 awe...

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 savour
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 savour 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.

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.

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 Nym.
- 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.

How now, mine host Pistol?

Base tike!

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 14 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 valour
and put up thy sword.

Will you shog off?

Pistol, I will prick your guts
a little in good terms, as I may.

That's the humour of it.

- Braggart vile!
- Ah ah ah, 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.

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.

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 knives
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.

Ah ah ah. 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.

Aye, to a cheerful look, a pleasing eye,

and a most noble carriage.

But do I not dwindle?

My skin hangs about me
like an old lady's loose gown.

Company, villainous company
have been the spoil of me.

- Whoo!
- Hey, hey!

I was as virtuous
as a gentlemen need to be.

Virtuous enough.

Swore a little.

Ahem, diced not
above seven days a week.

Went to a bawdy house
not above once in the quarter.

Oh!

Paid money that I borrowed...

three or four times.

Lived well and in good compass.

What?

You are so fat, Sir John,

that you must indeed be
out of all compass.

Do thou amend thy face
and I'll amend my life.

Hell!

If sack and sugar be a fault,
then God help the wicked.

Mm, 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,

valiant 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.

I do. I will.

But we have heard

the chimes at midnight,
Master Harry.

Jesus.

Days that we have seen.

I know thee not, old man.

The king hath run bad humours
on the knight.

Nym, thou has 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
humours and careers.

Let us condole the knight

for, lambkins, we will live.

The French,
advised by good intelligence

of this most dreadful preparation,

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 honour would thee do

were all they 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 Southampton.

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 favours,

that he should,
for a foreign purse,

so sell his sovereign's life
to death and treachery.

Now sits the wind fair
and we will aboard.

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.

True.

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.

And on his more advice,
we pardon him.

That's mercy,
but too much security.

Let him be punished, Sovereign,
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
'gainst 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?

I one, my lord.
Your Highness bade me ask for it today.

- So did you me, my liege.
- And I, my royal sovereign.

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.

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,

wouldst 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 offences.

Bear them hence.

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
than it had been any Christian child.

He parted even just
between 12:00 and 1:00.

Even at the turning of the tide.

For after I saw him
fumble with the sheets

and play with flowers
and smile upon his fingers' 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..."

"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 into 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.

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 colour 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.

Well, the fuel is gone

that maintained that fire.

That's all the riches I got
in his service.

Shall we shog?

The king will be gone
from Southampton.

Farewell, hostess.

I cannot kiss.

That's the humour of it.

But...

adieu.

Let housewifery appear.

Keep close.

I thee command.

Farewell.

Adieu.

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 defences.

Therefore, 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
'gainst the foe.

For peace itself
should not so dull a kingdom

but the defences, 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.
- Oh, 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 counsellors,

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 defence,
'tis best to weigh the enemy

more mighty than he seems.

Think we King Harry strong?

And, Princes, look you
strongly arm 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 Crécy Battle
fatally was struck

and all our princes captived

by the hand of that black name,

Edward, Black Prince of Wales.

This is a stem
of that victorious stock.

And let us fear
the native mightiness

and fate of him.

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.

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 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, too.

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 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.

Tomorrow

shall you know our mind at full.

Thus with imagined wing

our swift scene flies
in motion of no less celerity

than that of thought!

Work, work your thoughts

and in them see a siege!

Behold the ordnance
on their carriages

with fatal mouths
gaping on girded Harfleur!

Suppose the 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 him not,

and the nimble gunner
with linstock now

the devilish cannon touches
and down goes all before them!

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-favoured 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 England!

Dishonour not your mothers.

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 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!"

God for Harry,
England, and Saint George!

Up to the breach, you dogs!

Avaunt, you cullions!

Jesus.

Captain Fluellen,
you must come presently to the mines.

The Duke of Gloucester
would speak with you.

Tell the duke 'tis 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.

The duke of Gloucester,

to whom the order
of the siege is given,

is altogether directed
by an Irishman.

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 marvellous,
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 work ish 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!

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 soldier,
if I begin the battery once again,

I will not leave
the half-achieved Harfleur

till in her ashes she lie buried.

Therefore, you men of Harfleur,

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 silver 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 defence,

be thus destroyed?

The dauphin,
of whose succour 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 Harfleur.

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 Harfleur
will we be your guest.

Tomorrow for the march
are we addressed.

Alice?

...the hand.

- The hand?
- Mm-hmm.

...the fingers.

La main, the hand.
Le doigts, the fingers.

Mm-hmm.

...the nails.

The nails?

The hand, the fingers,

et the nails.

- "D'elbow."
- "D'elbow."

The hand, the fingers,
the nails, the arm, the "bilbow."

D'elbow, madame.

- De neck, madame.
- De neck?

De chin.

De chin.

The hand, the fingers,

the "mails."

- The nails, madame.
- "The nails, madame."

The arm, the "bulbow."

...d'elbow.

The elbow.

The neck et de chin.

Le foot, madame.

Et de "coun."

- Foot et le coun?
- Mm.

Le foot et le coun.

The hand, the... fingers!

The "arma."

The neck, the chin,

the foot, et le "coun!"

'Tis certain he hath passed
the river Somme?

And if he be not fought withal,
my lord, let us not live in France.

Normans.

Bastard Normans.

Norman bastards!

Where have they this mettle?

Is not their climate
foggy, raw, and dull?

- Oh, for honour of our land.
- By faith and honour,

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 honour 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 Harfleur.

Go down upon him.
You have power enough.

And in a captive chariot into Rouen
bring him our prisoner.

This becomes the great.

Sorry I am 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.

That's it!

Come.
Come in.

Captain Fluellen?

Come you from the bridge?
Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

He 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 favours.

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 valour,
hath by cruel fate

and giddy fortune's
furious, fickle wheel...

Touching your patience,
Ancient Pistol,

fortune is an excellent moral.

Well, 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, Fluellen?

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.

His face is all bubukles and whelks
and knobs and flames of fire.

And his lips blows at his nose.

'Tis like a coal of fire,
sometimes blue, sometimes red.

But his nose is executed
and his fire's out.

Get up!

Shh!

Do not, when thou art king,

hang a thief.

No...

thou shalt.

We would have
all such offenders so cut off.

And 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 Harfleur.

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 neighbour 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 armourers,

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 overlusty 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.

I have the best armour in the world.

Would it were day.

You have an excellent armour,
but let my horse have his due.

It is the best horse of Europe.

Will it never be morning?

My Lord of Orleans
and my Lord High Constable,

you talk of horse and armour?

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!

And the dull elements of earth
and water never appear in him,

but only in patient stillness
while his rider mounts him.

Indeed, my lord, it is a most
absolute and excellent horse.

My lord constable,
the armour 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.

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.

Alas, poor Harry of England.

He longs not for
the dawning as we do.

If the English had any apprehension,
they would run away.

Hmph.

That island of England
breeds very valiant creatures.

Now is it time to arm.

Come, shall we about it?

It is now 2:00.

But let me see,
by 10:00,

we shall have each
100 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 awhile,

and then I would no other company.

The Lord in heaven
bless thee, noble Harry.

God-a-mercy, old heart.

Thou speakest cheerfully.

- Ahem.
- 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?

Aye.

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 for thee, then.
- I thank you.

God be with you.

My name is Pistol called.

It sorts well
with your fierceness.

- Captain Fluellen.
- Shh!

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, I warrant you,

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, think you,
that we should also, look you,

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.

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.

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.

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 honourable.

That's more than we know.

Aye, and more than
we should seek after.

For we know enough if we know
we are the king's subjects.

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
shall 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's his own.

'Tis certain.

Every 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 drink'st thou oft instead
of homage sweet but poison'd 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 sceptre, 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 labour
to his grave.

And, but for ceremony,

such a wretch,
winding up days with 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.

Oh, 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, oh, God,
oh, not today.

Think not upon the fault
my father made in compassing the crown.

I Richard's body
have interred anew

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.

My liege!

My brother Gloucester's voice.

I know thy errand.

I will go with thee.

The day, my friends,

and all things

stay

for me.

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-favouredly 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
is 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 honour.

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 a-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 neighbours

and say,
"Tomorrow is Saint Crispian's."

Then will he strip his sleeve
and show his scars

and say,
"These wounds I had on Crispian'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.

And 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 Crispin's day!

My Sovereign Lord!

Bestow yourself with speed!

The French are bravely
in their battles 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.

Would 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,
King Harry,

if for thy ransom,
thou wilt now compound

before thy most assured overthrow.

Who hath 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.

Herald, save thou thy labour.

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 'em 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.

Ready!

Ready!

Fire!

Ready!

Ah!

Ah!

Ah!

Why, all our ranks are broke.

Oh, 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!

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.

Oh, 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.

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.

Ahem, 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.

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 honourable badge of service.

And I do believe Your Majesty
takes no scorn

to wear the leek
upon Saint Davy's day.

I wear it
for a memorable honour.

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 huswife
with me now?

News I have
that my Nell is dead.

Old do I wax,

and from my weary limbs
honour is cudgelled.

Well, bawd I'll turn

and something lean to cutpurse

of... quick hand.

To England will I steal,

and there I'll-

steal.

Herald, are the dead numbered?

Here is the number
of the slaughtered French.

This note doth tell me...

of 10,000 French

that in the field lie slain.

Of princes in this number, 126.

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?

"Edward, the Duke of York,"

"the Earl of Suffolk,"

"Sir Richard Ketly,"

"Davy Gam, esquire."

None else of namem

and of all other men

but five and twenty.

'Tis wonderful.

Come.

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 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 nobis" and "Te 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.

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?

Alas, 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

unnatural.

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.

If, 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.

Oh.

Fair Katherine, if you will love me
soundly with your French heart,

I will be glad to hear you confess it
brokenly with your English tongue.

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.

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?

Me understand well.

Marry, if you would put me to verses
or to dance for your sake, Kate,

why, you undid me.

If I could win a lady at leapfrog
or by vaulting into my saddle

with my armour on 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, Kate.

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.

Oh, uh, wh- let me see.

Uh, oh...

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.

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 neighbours tell, Kate?

I'll ask them.

By mine honour, in true English,
I swear I love thee,

by which honour I dare
not swear thou lovest me.

Yet my blood begins
to flatter me that thou dost

notwithstanding the poor
and untempering effect of my visage.

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, if thou 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,
Katherine,

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.

Then I will kiss your lips,
Kate.

Madame my interpreter,
what says she?

That is not be the fashion
for the ladies of France-

I cannot tell
what is "baiser" in English.

To kiss?

Your Majesty
entendre bettre que moi.

Ah, it is not a fashion
for the maids in France

to kiss before they are married,
would she say?

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 neighbourhood

and Christian-like accord
in their sweet bosoms

that never war advance

his bleeding sword

'twixt England and fair France.

Amen.

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
to 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.

Amen.

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.

Henry VI, in infant bands
crowned King of France and England,

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.