P. Hen. (kneeling.) Oh, pardon me, my liege! for my tears
I had forestalled this dear and deep rebuke,
Ere you with grief had spoke, and I had heard
The course of it so far.
There is your crown ;
And He that wears the crown immortally,
Long guard it yours! If I affect it more
Than as your honour, and as your renown,
Let me no more from this obedience rise.
Heaven witness with me, when I here came in,
And found no course of breath within your majesty,
How cold it struck my heart! If I do feign,
Oh, let me in my present wildness die ;
And never live to show the incredulous world
The noble change that I have purposed!
Coming to look on you, thinking you dead,
I spake unto the crown, as having sense,
And thus upbraided it :-"The care on thee depending,
Hath fed upon the body of my father;
Therefore thou, best of gold, art worst of gold.
Other, less fine in carat, is more precious;
But thou, most fine, most honoured, most renowned,
Hast eat thy bearer up." Thus, my most royal liege,
Accusing it, I put it on my head,
To try with it,—as with an enemy,
That had, before my face, murdered my father,—
The quarrel of a true inheritor.
But if it did infect my blood with joy,
Or swell my thoughts to any strain of pride;
any rebel or vain spirit of mine
Did, with the least affection of a welcome,
Give entertainment to the might of it,
Let God for ever keep it from my head!
Heaven put it in thy mind to take it hence,
That though might'st win the more thy father's love, Pleading so wisely in excuse of it.
Come hither, Harry, sit thou by my bed,
And hear, I think, the very latest counsel
That ever I shall breathe. Heaven knows, my son,
By what by-paths, and unstraight crooked ways,
I gained this crown: and I myself know well
How troublesome it sat upon my head
How I came by the crown, O God, forgive!
And grant
it may with thee in true peace live!
P. Hen. My gracious liege!
You won it, wore it, kept it, gave it me;
Then plain and right must my possession be,
Which I, with more than with a common pain,
'Gainst all the world will rightfully maintain.
YE mariners of England!
Who guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze,
Your glorious standard launch again,
To match another foe,
And sweep through the deep
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages long and loud
And the stormy tempests blow.
The spirits of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And Ocean was their grave;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages long and loud,
And the stormy tempests blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep:
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow; When the battle rages long and loud, And the stormy tempests blow.
The meteor-flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors,
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow; When the fiery fight is heard no more, And the storm has ceased to blow.
(SCENE- France - English camp.
BEDFORD, EXETER, SALISBURY, and WESTMORELAND.) Glo. Where is the king?
Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle.
West. Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.
Exe. There's five to one; besides they all are fresh.
Sal. God's arm strike with us! 'Tis a fearful odds.
God be with you, princes all; I'll to my charge.
If we no more meet, till we meet in heaven,
Then joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,—
My dear Lord Gloster,-and my good Lord Exeter,-
And my kind kinsman,-warriors all, adieu !
Bed. Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with
Exe. Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly to-day;
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art framed of the firm truth of valour.
West. Oh that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England,
That do no work to-day!
(Enter KING HENRY V.)
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.
Oh no! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold;
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honour,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
For me, I would not lose so great an honour,
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hope I have. Oh, do not wish one more !
Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he who hath no stomach for 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 on tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and sees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his friends,
"To-morrow is Saint Crispian :"
Then he will strip his sleeve, and show his scars,
And say, "These wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget; yea, 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 the good man teach his son;
And Crispian's feast shall ne'er again 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:
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