Where is the king?

The king himself is rode to view their 2242battle.

Of fighting men they have full threescore 2244thousand.

There's five to one, besides they all are fresh.

God's arm strike with us! 'Tis a fearful odds.

4.3.62247God b'wi'you, princes all. I'll to my charge.

4.3.72248If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,

4.3.82249Then joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford,

4.3.92250My dear lord Gloucester, and my good lord Exeter,

4.3.102251And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu.

Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee.

[To Salisbury] Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly today.

4.3.132253And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,

4.3.142254For thou art framed of the firm truth of valor.

He is as full of valor as of kindness,

4.3.162257Princely in both.

Princely in both. Oh, that we now had here

4.3.172260But one ten thousand of those men in England

4.3.182261That do no work today.

That do no work today. What's he that wishes so?

4.3.192263My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin,

4.3.202264If we are marked to die, we are enough

4.3.212265To do our country loss; and if to live,

4.3.222266The fewer men, the greater share of honor.

4.3.232267God's will, I pray thee wish not one man more.

4.3.242268By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,

4.3.252269Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost.

4.3.262270It earns me not if men my garments wear;

4.3.272271Such outward things dwell not in my desires.

4.3.282272But if it be a sin to covet honor,

4.3.292273I am the most offending soul alive.

4.3.302274No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England.

4.3.312275God's peace, I would not lose so great an honor

4.3.322276As one man more methinks would share from me

4.3.332277For the best hope I have. Oh, do not wish one more.

4.3.342278Rather proclaim it, Westmorland, through my host

4.3.352279That he which hath no stomach to this fight,

4.3.362280Let him depart. His passport shall be made

4.3.372281And crowns for convoy put into his purse.

4.3.382282We would not die in that man's company

4.3.392283That fears his fellowship to die with us.

4.3.402284This day is called the feast of Crispian.

4.3.412285He that outlives this day and comes safe home

4.3.422286Will stand a tiptoe when this day is named

4.3.432287And rouse him at the name of Crispian.

4.3.442288He that shall see this day and live old age

4.3.452289Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors

4.3.462290And say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."

4.3.472291Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars.

4.3.482292Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,

4.3.492293But he'll remember, with advantages,

4.3.502294What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,

4.3.512295Familiar in his mouth as household words --

4.3.522296Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,

4.3.532297Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester --

4.3.542298Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.

4.3.552299This story shall the good man teach his son,

4.3.562300And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by

4.3.572301From this day to the ending of the world,

4.3.582302But we in it shall be rememberèd,

4.3.592303We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.

4.3.602304For he today that sheds his blood with me

4.3.612305Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,

4.3.622306This day shall gentle his condition.

4.3.632307And gentlemen in England now abed,

4.3.642308Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,

4.3.652309And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks

4.3.662310That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed.

4.3.682313The French are bravely in their battles set

4.3.692314And will with all expedience charge on 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, 2318coz?

God's will, my liege, would you and I alone

4.3.742320Without more help could fight this royal battle!

Why, now thou hast unwished five thousand men,

4.3.762322Which likes me better than to wish us one. --

4.3.772323You know your places. God be with you all.

Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,

4.3.792326If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound

4.3.802327Before thy most assurèd overthrow,

4.3.812328For certainly thou art so near the gulf

4.3.822329Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy

4.3.832330The constable desires thee thou wilt mind

4.3.842331Thy followers of repentance, that their souls

4.3.852332May make a peaceful and a sweet retire

4.3.862333From off these fields where, wretches, their poor bodies

4.3.872334Must lie and fester.

Must lie and fester. Who hath sent thee now?

The Constable of France.

I pray thee bear my former answer back:

4.3.902338Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones.

4.3.912339Good God, why should they mock poor fellows thus?

4.3.922340The man that once did sell the lion's skin

4.3.932341While the beast lived, was killed with hunting him.

4.3.942342A many of our bodies shall no doubt

4.3.952343Find native graves, upon the which I trust

4.3.962344Shall witness live in brass of this day's work.

4.3.972345And those that leave their valiant bones in France,

4.3.982346Dying like men, though buried in your dunghills,

4.3.992347They shall be famed, for there the sun shall greet them

4.3.1002348And draw their honors reeking up to heaven,

4.3.1012349Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,

4.3.1022350The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.

4.3.1032351Mark then abounding valor in our English,

4.3.1042352That being dead, like to the bullets crazing,

4.3.1052353Break out into a second course of mischief,

4.3.1062354Killing in relapse of mortality.

4.3.1072355Let me speak proudly: tell the constable

4.3.1082356We are but warriors for the working day.

4.3.1092357Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirched

4.3.1102358With rainy marching in the painful field.

4.3.1112359There's not a piece of feather in our host --

4.3.1122360Good argument, I hope, we will not fly --

4.3.1132361And time hath worn us into slovenry.

4.3.1142362But by the mass, our hearts are in the trim,

4.3.1152363And my poor soldiers tell me yet ere night

4.3.1162364They'll be in fresher robes, or they will pluck

4.3.1172365The gay new coats o'er the French soldiers' heads

4.3.1182366And turn them out of service. If they do this,

4.3.1192367As, if God please, they shall, my ransom then

4.3.1202368Will soon be levied. 2369Herald, save thou thy labor.

4.3.1212370Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald.

4.3.1222371They shall have none, I swear, but these my joints,

4.3.1232372Which if they have as I will leave 'em them,

4.3.1242373Shall yield them little. Tell the constable.

I shall, King Harry. And so fare thee well.

4.3.1262375Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

I fear thou wilt once more come for a 2377ransom.

[Kneeling] My lord, most humbly on my knee I beg

4.3.1292380The leading of the vanguard.

Take it, brave York. 2382-- Now soldiers, march away,

4.3.1312383And how thou pleasest, God, dispose the day.