Before King Henry’s pavilion.
(Gower; Williams; Fluellen; Warwick; Gloucester; King Henry the Fifth; Exeter; English Herald)Welsh
Fluellen and Williams meet, and seeing the gloves start to quarrel. Henry enters and the two contestants tell their conflicting versions of the story. In the end Henry admits to having been Williams’s interlocutor the night before; hearing that Williams abused the King, Fluellen demands that he be hanged. When Williams argues that he would never have said any of those things had he known he was talking to the King, Henry likes his answer and rewards him by filling the glove with coins. Fluellen adds a shilling, which Williams at first refuses. The tally of the dead comes, proving that the English have won a crushing victory, having killed ten thousand Frenchmen and lost fewer than thirty themselves. The King praises God for having given the English victory, and gives the order the bury the dead and sail for England. (87 lines)
Enter Gower and Williams.
I warrant it is to knight you, captain.
God’s will, and his pleasure, captain, I beseech you now, come apace to the King. There is more good toward you peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of.
Sir, know you this glove?
Know the glove? I know the glove is a glove.
I know this, and thus I challenge it.
’Sblud, an arrant traitor as any’s in the universal world, or in France, or in England!
How now, sir? You villain!
Do you think I’ll be forsworn?
Stand away, Captain Gower, I will give treason his payment into plows, I warrant you.
I am no traitor.
That’s a lie in thy throat. I charge you in his Majesty’s name, apprehend him, he’s a friend of the Duke Alanson’s.
Enter Warwick and Gloucester.
How now, how now, what’s the matter?
My Lord of Warwick, here is—praised be God for it!—a most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer’s day. Here is his Majesty.
Enter King and Exeter.
How now, what’s the matter?
My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your Grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out of the helmet of Alanson.
My liege, this was my glove, here is the fellow of it; and he that I gave it to in change promis’d to wear it in his cap. I promis’d to strike him, if he did. I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word.
Your Majesty hear now, saving your Majesty’s manhood, what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is. I hope your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will avouchment, that this is the glove of Alanson that your Majesty is give me, in your conscience now.
Give me thy glove, soldier. Look, here is the fellow of it.
’Twas I indeed thou promisedst to strike,
And thou hast given me most bitter terms.
And please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any martial law in the world.
How canst thou make me satisfaction?
All offenses, my lord, come from the heart. Never came any from mine that might offend your Majesty.
It was ourself thou didst abuse.
Your Majesty came not like yourself. You appear’d to me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your Highness suffer’d under that shape, I beseech you take it for your own fault and not mine; for had you been as I took you for, I made no offense; therefore I beseech your Highness pardon me.
Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow,
And wear it for an honor in thy cap
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns;
And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.
By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his belly. Hold, there is twelvepence for you, and I pray you to serve God, and keep you out of prawls and prabbles, and quarrels and dissensions, and I warrant you it is the better for you.
I will none of your money.
It is with a good will; I can tell you it will serve you to mend your shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? Your shoes is not so good. ’Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.
Enter an English Herald.
Now, herald, are the dead numb’red?
Here is the number of the slaught’red French.
Gives a paper.
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
Charles Duke of Orléans, nephew to the King,
John Duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt:
Of other lords and barons, knights and squires,
Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.
This note doth tell me of ten thousand French
That in the field lie slain; of princes, in this number,
And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead
One hundred twenty-six; added to these,
Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,
Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which,
Five hundred were but yesterday dubb’d knights.
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France,
Jacques of Chatillion, Admiral of France,
The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures,
Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dauphin,
John Duke of Alanson, Anthony Duke of Brabant,
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy,
And Edward Duke of Bar; of lusty earls,
Grandpré and Roussi, Faulconbridge and Foix,
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrake.
Here was a royal fellowship of death!
Where is the number of our English dead?
Herald shows him another paper.
Edward the Duke of York, the Earl of Suffolk,
Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire;
None else of name; and of all other men
But five and twenty. O God, thy arm was here;
And not to us, but to thy arm alone,
Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,
But in plain shock and even play of battle,
Was ever known so great and little loss,
On one part and on th’ other? Take it, God,
For it is none but thine!
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, and please your Majesty, to tell how many is kill’d?
Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment,
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 enclos’d in clay;
And then to Callice, and to England then,
Where ne’er from France arriv’d more happy men.