'Tis certain.
Every man that dies ill, the ill upon his own head.
The king is not to answer it.
I do not desire he should answer for me.
Yet I determine to fight lustily for him.
I myself heard the king say he would not be ransomed.
Aye, he said so to make us fight cheerfully.
But when our throats are cut, he may be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser.
If I live to see it, I'll never trust his word after.
You pay him then!
You'll never trust his word after?
Come. 'tis a foolish saying.
Your reproof is something too round.
I should be angry with you if time were convenient.
Let it be a quarrel between us, if you live!
Be friends, you English fools! Be friends!
We have French quarrels enough!
Upon the king.
Let us our lives, our souls, our debts,
our careful wives, our children...
and our sins lay on the king.
We must bear all.
Oh, hard condition.
Twin-born with greatness,
subject to the breath of every fool.
What infinite heart's ease must kings neglect...
that private men enjoy?
And what have kings that privates have not too...
save ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?
What drinks thou oft instead of homage sweet but poison flattery?
Oh, be sick, great greatness, and bid thy ceremony give thee cure.
Canst thou, when thou commandest the beggar's knee,
command the health of it?
No, thou proud dream,
that playest so subtly with a king's repose.
I am a king that find thee,
and I know...
'tis not the balm, the scepter and the ball,
the sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
the intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
the farced title running fore the king,
the throne he sits on...
nor the tide of pomp...
that beats upon the high shore of this world.
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
not all these, laid in bed majestical,
can sleep so soundly...
as the wretched slave,
Who, with a body filled and vacant mind, gets him to rest,
crammed with distressful bread,
never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
but like a lackey, from the rise to the set...
sweats in the eye of Phoebus...
and all night sleeps...
in Elysium.
Next day after dawn, doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse...
and follows so the ever-running year...
with profitable labor to his grave.
And but for ceremony...
such a wretch,
winding up days of toil...
and nights with sleep...
had the forehand and vantage...
of a king.
My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
seek through the camp to find you.
Good old knight,
Collect them all together at my tent.
I'll be before thee.
O God of battles, steel my soldiers' hearts.
Possess them not with fear.
Take from them now their sense of reckoning...
if the opposed numbers pluck their hearts from them.
Not today, o God, oh, not today.
Think not upon the fault my father made encompassing the crown.
I Richard's body have interred new...
and on it have bestowed more contrite tears...
than from it issued forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay...
who twice a day their withered hands...
hold up toward heaven to pardon blood.
And I have built two chantries...
where the sad and solemn priests sing still for Richard's soul.
More will I do...
though all that I can do...
is nothing worth...
since my penitence comes, after all,
imploring pardon.
My liege! My brother Gloucester's voice.
I know thy errand.
I will go with thee.
The day, my friends,
and all things...
stay...
for me.
Hark how our steeds for present service neigh.
Mount them and make incision in their hides...
that their hot blood may spin in English eyes.
Do but behold yon poor and starved band.
Your fair show shall suck away their souls,
leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of france?
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones, ill-favoredly become the morning field.
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.
A very little little let us do, and all is done.
Then let the trumpets sound the tucket sonance and the note to mount...
for our approach will so much dare the field...
that England shall crouch down in fear... and yield!
Where is the king?
The king himself has rode to view their battle.
Of fighting men, they have full threescore thousand.
That's five to one. Besides, they are all fresh.
'Tis a fearful odds.
Oh, that we now had here but one ten thousand of those men in England...
That do no work today.
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 honor.
God's will, I pray thee, wish not one man more.
Rather, proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
that he which hath no stomach to 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 at tiptoe when this day is named...
and rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall see this day and live old age...
will yearly, on the vigil, feast his neighbors...
and say, "tomorrow is Saint Crispin's."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars...
and say, "these wounds I had on Crispin's day."
Old men forget,
yet 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 a good man teach his son.
Crispin Crispian shall ne'er 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.
For he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.
Be he ne'er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition.
And gentlemen in England now abed...
shall think themselves accursed they were not here...
and hold their manhoods cheap...
whiles any speaks that fought with us...
upon Saint Cispin's day!
My sovereign lord! Bestow yourself with speed!
The French are bravely in their battle set...
and will with all expedience march upon 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, coz?
God's will, my liege.
You and I alone, without more help, could fight this royal battle.
You know your places!
God be with you all!
Once more I come to know of thee, if for they ransom,
thou wilt now compound before thy most assured overthrow.
Who hast sent thee now? The constable of France.
I pray thee bear my former answer back.
Bid them achieve me and then sell my bones!
Good god, why should they mock poor fellows thus?
Let me speak proudly.
Tell the constable we are but warriors for the working day.
Our gayness and our gilt are all besmirched...
with rainy marching in the painful field,
but by the mass, our hearts are in the trim.
Herald, save thou thy labor.
Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald.
They shall have none, I swear,
but these my joints!
Which, if they have as I shall leave of them,
shall yield them little.
Tell the constable.
I shall, king Harry.
And so fare thee well.
Thou never shalt hear herald anymore.
My lord, most humbly on my knee,
I beg the leading of the vaward.
Take it, brave York.
Now, soldiers, march away,
and how thou pleasest, God,
dispose the day.
And so our scene must to the battle fly...
where, oh, for pity we shall much disgrace...
with four or five most vile and ragged foils...
right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous...
the name of Agincourt.
Ready!
Fire!
Why, all our ranks are broke.
O perdurable shame!
Shame and eternal shame.
Nothing but shame.
Let us die in arms. Once more back again.
We are enough yet living in the field to smother up the English in our throngs...
if any order might be thought upon.
The devil take order now!
I'll to the throng!
Let life be short! Else shame will be too long!
Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen!
Yet all's not done!
Yet keep the French the field!
Kill the boys and the luggage.
'Tis expressly against the law of arms.
'Tis as errant a piece of knavery, mark you now,
as can be offered.
In your conscience, now, is it not?
'Tis certain there's not a boy left alive.
I was not angry since I came to France!
Until this instant!
Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
What means this, herald? Huh? Com'st thou again for ransom?
No! Great king!
I come to thee for charitable license...
that we may wander o'er this bloody field to book our dead...
and then to bury them.
To sort our nobles from our common men.
For many of our princes... woe the while...
Lie drowned and soaked in mercenary blood.
O, give us leave, great king, to view the field in safety...
and to dispose of their dead bodies.
I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no.
The day is yours.
Praised be god...
and not our strength for it.
What is this castle called...
that stands hard by?
They call it Agincourt.
Then call we this...
the field of Agincourt...
fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
Your grandfather of famous memory,
an't please your majesty,
and your great-uncle, Edward, the black prince of Wales,
as I have read in the Chronicles,
fought a most brave battle here in France.
They did, Fluellen.
Y-your majesty says very true.
If your majesty is remembered of it,
the Welshmen did good service in a garden where leeks did grow,
wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps, which, as your majesty know,
to this hour is an honorable badge of service.
And I do believe your majesty takes no scorn...
to wear the leek upon St. Davy's day.
I wear it for a memorable honor,
for I am Welsh, you know, good my countryman.
All the water in Wye...
cannot wash your majesty's Welsh blood out of your body, I can tell you that.
God bless it and preserve it, so long as it pleases his grace...
and his majesty too.
Thanks, good my countryman. By jeshu, I am your majesty's countryman!
I care not who know it. I shall confess it to all the world!
And I need not be ashamed of your majesty, praised be god,
so long as your majesty is an honest man.
God keep me so.
Doth fortune play the housewife with me now?
News I have that my Nell is dead.
Tsk!
Old do I wax,
and from my weary limbs honor is cudgeled.
Well,
bawd I'll turn...
and something lean to cutpurse of quick hand.
To England will I steal,
and there I'll... steal.
herald, are the dead numbered?
Here is the number of the slaughtered French.
This note doth tell me of...
10,000 French...
that in the field lie slain.
Of princes in this number, 126.
Added to these, of knights, esquires and gallant gentlemen,
eight thousand and four hundred...
of the which five hundred...
were but yesterday dubbed knights.
Here was a royal fellowship of death.
Where is the number of our English dead?
"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.
'Tis wonderful.
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, an't please your majesty,
to tell how many is killed?
Aye, captain,
but with this acknowledgement:
That God fought...
for us.
Yes, my conscience.
He did us great good.
Do we all holy rites.
Let there be sung non nobisandte deum.
The dead with charity enclosed in clay.
And then to Calais...
and to England then,
where ne'er from France arrived...
more happy men.
~ Non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ Non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ tuo da ~
~ gloriam ~~
Peace to this meeting.
Unto our brother France, health and fair time of day.
Joy and good wishes to our most fair and princely cousin Katherine.
And as a branch and member of this royalty...
by whom this great assembly is contrived,
we do salute you, duke of Burgundy.
And, princes French and peers,
health to you all.
Right joyous are we to behold your face, most worthy brother England.
Fairly met.
So are you, princes English, every one.
My duty to you both, on equal love,
great kings of France...
and England.
Since that my office hath so far prevailed,
that face to face and royal eye to eye you have congreeted...
let it not disgrace me if I demand before this royal view...
why that the naked, poor and mangled peace...
should not in this best garden of the world,
our fertile France, put up her lovely visage?
Alas,
she hath from France too long been chased,
and all her husbandry doth lie on heaps,
corrupting in its own fertility.
And as our vineyards, fallows, meads and hedges,
defective in their natures, grow to wildness,
even so our houses and ourselves, our children have lost...
or do not learn for want of time...
those sciences which should become our country,
but grow like savages, as soldiers will...
that nothing do but meditate on blood...
to swearing and stern looks, diffused attire,
and everything that seems...
unnatural.
And my speech entreats that I may know...
the let why gentle peace...
should not expel these inconveniences...
and bless us with her former qualities.
If, duke of Burgundy, you would the peace...
whose want gives growth to the imperfections which you have cited,
then you must buy that peace...
with full accord to all our just demands.
I have but with a cursorary eye...
o'erglanced the articles.
Pleaseth your grace to appoint some of your council...
to sit with us once more...
we will suddenly pass...
our accept and peremptory answer.
Brother, we shall.
Yet leave our cousin Katherine...
here with us.
She is our capital demand...
comprised within the fore-rank of our articles.
She hath good leave.
Fair Katherine, and most fair,
will you vouchsafe to teach a soldier...
terms such as will enter at a lady's ear...
and plead his love suit to her gentle heart?
Your majesty shall mock at me.
I cannot speak your England.
Oh.
Fair Katherine, if you will love me soundly with your French heart,
glad to hear you confess it brokenly with your English
Do you like me, Kate?
Pardonnez-moi. I cannot tell what is "like me."
An angel is like you, Kate, and you are like an angel.
Que dit-il? Que je suis semblable a les anges?
Qui, vraiment, sauf votre grace, ainsi dit-il.
Mon dieu.
Les langues des hommes sont pleines de tromperies.
What says she, fair one?
That the tongues of men are full of deceits?
Oui. That the tongues of the mens is be full of deceits.
That is the princess.
I'faith, my wooing is fit for thy understanding.
I know no ways to mince it in love, but directly to say, "I love you."
Then, if you urge me farther than to say, "Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit.
Give me your answer... I'faith do... and so clap hands and a bargain. How say you, lady?
Sauf votre honneur, me understand well.
Marry, if you would put me to verses or to dance for your sake, why, you undid me.
If I could win a lady at leapfrog or by vaulting into my saddle...
with my arm around my back, I should quickly leap into a wife.
I could lay on like a butcher and sit like a jackanapes, never off.
But before God, Kate, I cannot look greenly...
Nor gasp out my eloquence nor I have no cunning in protestation.
If thou canst love a fellow of this temper, Kate,
that never looks in his glass for love of anything he sees there,
let thine eye be thy cook.
I speak to thee plain soldier. If thou canst love me for this, take me.
If not, to say to thee that I shall die, 'tis true,
but for thy love, by the lord, no.
Yet I love thee too.
If thou would have such a one, take me.
And take me, take a soldier.
Take a soldier, take a king.
And what sayest thou then to my love?
Speak, my fair,
and fairly, too, I pray thee.
Is it possible that I should love the enemy of France?
No, kate.
It is not possible that you should love the enemy of France.
But in loving me, you should love the friend of France,
for I love France so well that I will not part with a village of it.
I will have it all mine.
And, Kate, when France is mine, and I am yours,
then yours is France, and you are mine.
I cannot tell what is that.
No, kate?
I will tell thee in French...
which I am sure will hang about my tongue...
like a new-married wife about her husband's neck, hardly to be shook off.
Je quand sur le possession de France...
et, uh, quand vous avez la possession,
uh, de moi...
Let me see...
Uh, oh...
Donc, uh, votre est france...
et, uh, vous etes mienne.
It is as easy for me, Kate, to conquer the kingdom...
as to speak so much more French!
I will never move thee in French unless it be to laugh at me.
Sauf votre honneur, le francais que vous parlez...
Il est meilleur que I'anglais lequel je parle.
No, faith, it is not.
But tell me, Kate,
Canst thou understand thus much English?
Canst thou love me?
I cannot tell.
Well, can any of your neighbors tell, Kate? I'll ask them.
By mine honor, in true English, I swear I love thee,
by which honor I dare not swear thou lovest me.
Yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost...
withstanding the poor and untempering effect of my vis
Now beshrew my father's ambition!
He was thinking of civil wars when he got me.
Therefore was I created with a stubborn outside,
with an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies,
I fright them.
But, in faith, kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear.
My comfort is that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty,
can do no more spoil upon my face.
Thou hast me... if thou hast me... at the worst.
And thou shalt wear me... if thou wear me...
Better and better.
And, therefore, tell me, most fair Katherine,
Will you have me?
Come, your answer in broken music,
for thy voice is music,
and thy English, broken.
Therefore, queen of all, Katherine,
wilt thou have me?
That is as it shall please le roi mon pere.
Nay, it shall please him well, Kate.
It shall please him, Kate.
Then it shall also content me.
Upon that, I kiss your hand, and I call you my queen.
Laissez, mon seigneur, laissez, laissez.
Ma foi, je ne veux point que vous abaissiez votre grandeur...
En baisant la main d'une de votre seigneurie indigne serviteur.
Excusez-moi, je vous supplie, mon tres-puissant seigneur.
Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
Les dames et demoiselles pour etre baisees devant leur noces...
Il n'est pas la coutume de France.
Madame my interpreter, what says she?
That is not be the fashion for the ladies of France...
Oh, I cannot tell what Isbaiserin English.
To kiss?
Your majestyentends betterque moi.
Ah, it is not a fashion for the maids in France to kiss before they are married?
Oui, vraiment.
Oh, kate.
Nice customs curtsy to great kings.
You and I cannot be confined within the weak list of a country's fashion.
We... are the makers of manners, Kate.
Therefore, patiently...
and yielding.
You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate.
There is more eloquence in a sugar touch of them...
than in the tongues of the French council.
Here comes your father.
God save your majesty.
My royal cousin,
teach you our princess english?
I would have her learn, my fair cousin,
how perfectly I love her,
and that is good english.
We have consented to all terms of reason.
And thereupon give me your daughter.
Take her, fair son,
and from her blood raise up issue to me...
that the contending kingdoms of France and England...
whose very shores look pale with envy of each other's happiness...
may cease their hatred...
and this dear conjunction...
plant neighborhood...
and Christian-like accord in their sweet bosoms...
that never war advance...
his bleeding sword...
'twixt England and fair France.
Amen.
Now, welcome, Kate, and bear me witness all...
That here I kiss her as my sovereign queen.
God, the best maker of all marriages,
combine our hearts in one, our realms in one.
As man and wife, being two, are one in love,
so be there 'twixt our kingdoms such a spousal...
that never may ill office or fell jealousy...
which troubles oft the bed of blessed marriage...
thrust in between the paction of these kingdoms...
to make divorce of their incorporate league...
that English may as French,
French Englishmen, receive each other.
God speak this.
Amen. Amen.
Thus far, with rough and all-unable pen...
our bending author hath pursued the story...
in little room confining mighty men...
mangling by starts the full course of their glory.
Small time,
but in that small most greatly lived...
this star of England.
Fortune made his sword...
by which the world's best garden he achieved...
and of it left his son imperial lord.
Henry the sixth, in infant bands crowned king of France and England
did this king succeed...
whose state so many had the managing...
that they lost France...
and made his England bleed...
which oft our stage hath shown,
and, for their sake,
in your fair minds let this acceptance take.
~ Non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ Non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ non nobis domine, domine ~
~ non nobis domine ~
~ sed nomeni ~
~ tuo da gloriam ~
~ tuo da ~
~ gloriam ~~