And would be glad he met with some mischance, I'd have him poisoned with a pot of ale. Why, look you, I am whipped and Scourged with rods, Nettled, and stung with pismires, when I hear Of this vile politician, Bolingbroke. In Richard's time, - What do you call the place? A plague upon't! it is in Gloucestershire; 'Twas where the madcap duke his uncle kept; His uncle York; - where I first bowed my knee Unto this king of smiles, this Bolingbroke, When you and he came back from Ravenspurg. Why, what a candy deal of courtesy This fawning greyhound then did proffer me! Look, when his infant fortune came to age, And,-gentle Harry Percy, - and kind cousin, The devil take such cozeners!- done. SHAKSPEARE: King Henry IV. Or break it all to pieces: or there we'll sit, Ruling in large and ample empery, O'er France, and all her almost kingly dukedoms, Orlay these bones in an unworthy urn, Tombless, with no remembrance over them: Either our history shall, with full mouth, Speak freely of our acts; or else our grave, Like Turkish mute, shall have a tongueless mouth, Not worshipped with a waxen epitaph. Enter AMBASSADORS OF FRANCE. Now are we well prepared to know the pleasure Of our fair cousin Dauphin; for we hear Your greeting is from him, not from the king. [And as the Dauphin sends us tennis-balls,] We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us: His present, and your pains, we thank you for: When we have matched our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard: Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler, That all the courts of France will be disturbed With chaces. And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wild er days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valued this poor seat of England; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous license; as 'tis ever common, That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin, -I will keep my state; Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness, When I do rouse me in my throne of France: For that I have laid by my majesty, And plodded like a man for workingdays; But I will rise there with so full a glory, That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince, — this mock of his Hath turned his balls to gun-stones; and his soul Shall stand sore charged for the wasteful vengeance That shall fly with them: for many a thousand widows Shall this his mock mock out of their dear husbands: Mock mothers from their sons, mock castles down; And some are yet ungotten, and unborn, That shall have cause to curse the Dauphin's scorn. But this lies all within the will of God, To whom I do appeal; and in whose 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 honor. God's will! 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 outer things dwell not in my But, if it be a sin to covet honor, God's peace! I would not lose so As one man more, methinks, would share from me, For the best hope I have. O, do not Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, That he who hath no stomach to Let him depart; his passport shall 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 He that outlives this day, and comes Will stand on tip-toe when this day is named, And rouse him at the name of Crispian: He that shall live this day, and see Will yearly on the vigil feast his And say To-morrow Crispian: is Saint Then will he strip his sleeves, and And say, these wounds I had on Old men forget; yet all shall be But he'll remember, with advan- What feats he did that day: then Familiar in their mouths as house- Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, Be in their flowing cups freshly re- This story shall the good man teach And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go From this day to the ending of the But we in it shall be remembered: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he, to-day, that sheds his blood with me, Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile, accursed This day shall gentle his condition: And That fought with us upon Saint SHAKSPEARE. |