Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Henry V (Modern, Folio)
  • Editor: James D. Mardock
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-409-7

    Copyright James D. Mardock. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: James D. Mardock
    Peer Reviewed

    Henry V (Modern, Folio)

    Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, the Constable of France, [the Duke of Brittany,] and others.
    1380French King
    'Tis certain he hath passed the river Somme.
    And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
    Let us not live in France. Let us quit all
    And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
    O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us,
    1385The emptying of our fathers' luxury,
    Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
    Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds
    And overlook their grafters?
    Normans, but bastard Normans! Norman bastards!
    1390Mort de ma vie, if they march along
    Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom
    To buy a slobb'ry and a dirty farm
    In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.
    Dieu des batailles, where have they this mettle?
    1395Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull,
    On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
    Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
    A drench for sur-reined jades, their barley broth,
    Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
    1400And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
    Seem frosty? Oh, for honor of our land,
    Let us not hang like roping icicles
    Upon our houses' thatch whiles a more frosty people
    Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields!
    1405Poor we may call them in their native lords.
    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
    1410To new-store France with bastard warriors.
    They bid us to the English dancing schools
    And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos,
    Saying our grace is only in our heels
    And that we are most lofty runaways.
    1415French King
    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.
    Charles d'Alberet, High Constable of France,
    1420You Dukes of Orléans, Bourbon, and of Berry,
    Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy,
    Jaques Châtillon, Rambures, VaudĂ©mont,
    Beaumont, Grandpré, Roucy, and Fauquembergues,
    Foix, Lestrelles, Boucicaut, and Charolais,
    1425High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and kings,
    For your great seats, now quit you of great shames.
    Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
    With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.
    Rush on his host as doth the melted snow
    1430Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat
    The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon.
    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
    1440And, 'fore achievement, offer us his ransom.
    French King
    Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy
    And let him say to England that we send
    To know what willing ransom he will give.
    Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.
    Not so, I do beseech your majesty.
    French King
    Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
    Now forth, lord constable, and princes all,
    And quickly bring us word of England's fall.