Henry V Page #6

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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.

I have the best armor

in the world.

Would it were day.

you have an excellent armor,

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 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.

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.

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 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.

Ahh.

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.

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 with 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 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.

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 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

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