All language subtitles for Henry.V.1944.1080p.BluRay.x265-RARBG

Sweet, juicy oranges.

O for a muse of fire,

that would ascend the brightest
heaven of invention,

a kingdom for a stage,

princes to act and monarchs
to behold a swelling scene.

Then should the warlike Harry,
like himself, assume the port of Mars.

And, at his heels, leashed in like hounds,

would famine, sword and fire
crouch for employment.

But pardon, gentles all,
the flat, unraised spirits

that hath dared on this unworthy scaffold
to bring forth so great an object.

Can this cockpit hold
the vasty fields of France?

Or may we cram,
within this wooden O,

the very casques that did
affright the air at Agincourt?

On your imaginary forces work.

Suppose, within the girdle of these walls,

are now confined
two mighty monarchies

whose high upreared
and abutting fronts

the perilous narrow ocean parts asunder.

Piece out our imperfections
with your thoughts.

Think, when we talk of horses,
that you see them

printing their proud hoofs
in the receiving earth.

For 'tis your thoughts
that now must deck our kings,

carry them here and there,
jumping o'er times,

turning the accomplishment of
many years into an hourglass -

for the which supply
admit me, Chorus, to this history,

who prologue-like,
your humble patience pray...

gently to hear,

kindly to judge our play.

My lord, I'll tell you.

That same bill is urged

which, in the eleventh year
of the last king's reign,

was likely to have been
against us passed,

but that the scambling
and unquiet times

did push it out of further question.

But how, my lord, shall we resist it now?

It must be thought on.
If it pass against us,

we lose the better half
of our possession,

for all those temporal lands
which men devout

by testament have given to the Church,

would they strip from us -
thus runs the bill.

- This would drink deep.
- 'Twould drink the cup and all.

- By what prevention?

The King is full of grace and fair regard.

And a true lover of the holy Church.

The courses of his youth promised it not,

since his addiction was to courses vain,

his companies unlettered,
rude and shallow,

his hours filled up with
banquets, riots, sports,

and never noted in him any study.

And so the prince obscured
his contemplations

under the veil of wildness,

which grew, no doubt,
like the summer grass,

fastest by night.

The breath no sooner
left his father's body

but that the wildness, mortified
in him, seemed to die too.

Sir John Falstaff...

..and all his company along with him,

he banished...

..under pain of death,
not to come near his person...

- ..by ten miles!

Yea, at that very moment,
consideration like an angel came

and whipped the offending
Adam out of him.

Never was such a sudden scholar made,

never came reformation in a flood

as in this king.

We are blessed in the change.

"We are blessed in the change"!

My good lord, how now for mitigation
of this bill urged by the Commons?

Doth his majesty incline to it, or no?

He seems indifferent, or rather
swaying more upon our part,

for I have made an offer to his majesty,

as touching France,

to give a greater sum
than ever at one time

the clergy yet did to his
predecessors part withal.

How did this offer seem
received, my lord?

Of good acceptance of his majesty,

save that there was not
time enough to hear,

as I perceived his grace
would fain have done,

of his true title to some
certain dukedoms

and generally to the crown
and seat of France,

derived from Edward,
his great-grandfather.

What was the impediment
that broke this off?

The French ambassador upon that
instant craved audience...

..and I think the hour is
come to give him hearing.

Is it four o'clock?

- It is.
- Then go we in to hear his embassy,

which I could with a ready guess declare

before the Frenchman speak a word of it.

I'll wait upon you and I long to hear it.

Where is my gracious
Lord of Canterbury?

- Not here in presence.
- Send for him, good uncle.

Shall we call in the
ambassador, my liege?

Not yet, my cousin. We would
be resolved before we hear him

of some things of weight that task
our thoughts, concerning us and France.

God and his angels
guard your sacred throne

and make you long become it.

Sure, we thank you.

My learned lord, we pray you to proceed

and justly and religiously unfold

why the Law Salic that
they have in France

or should, nor should not,
bar us in our claim.

We charge you in the name of God,

take heed how you awake
the sleeping sword of war.

For never two such kingdoms did
contend without much fall of blood,

whose guiltless drops do make
such waste in brief mortality.

Then hear me, gracious
sovereign, and you peers

that owe your lives, your faith,
your services to this imperial throne.

There is no bar to make against
Your Highness' claim to France

but this, which they
produce from Pharamond.

"In terram Salicam
mulieres ne succedant" -

No woman shall succeed in Salic land -

which Salic land the French unjustly
gloze to be the realm of France.

Yet their own authors faithfully affirm

that the land Salic lies in Germany,

between the floods of Saale and of Elbe,

where, Charles the Great,
having subdued the Saxons,

there left behind and
settled certain French

who, holding in disdain
the German women

for some dishonest
manners of their life...

..established there this law - to whit, no
female should be inheritrix in Salic land,

which is this day in
Germany called Meissen.

Then doth it well appear the Salic Law
was not devised for the realm of France.

Nor did the French
possess the Salic land

until four hundred one-and-twenty years

after defunction of King...

..Pharamond, idly supposed
the founder of this law.

King Pepin, which deposed Childeric,

did, as heir general, being descended...

..of Blithild...

- ..who was daughter to...

..King Clotaire, made claim and
title to the throne of France.

Hugh Capet also, which
usurped the crown...

Er...

..of Charles, the Duke of Lorraine,

sole heir male of the
true line and stock of...

..of Charles the Great, could not
keep quiet in his conscience,

wearing the crown of France,
till satisfied that fair...

that fair...that fair...

Queen Isabel, his grandmother,
was lineal of the Lady...of the Lady...

of the Lady...

of the Lady Ermengarde,
daughter to Charles,

the foresaid Duke of Lorraine.

So that, as clear as is
the summer's sun...

- ..all hold in right and
title of the female.

So do the kings of France unto this day,

howbeit they would
hold up this Salic Law

to bar Your Highness
claiming from the female.

May I with right and
conscience make this claim?

The sin upon my head, dread sovereign,

for in the Book of Numbers it is writ,

"When the son die, let the inheritance
descend unto the daughter."

Gracious lord, stand your own.

Look back into your mighty ancestors.

Go, my dread lord, to your
great-grandsire's tomb

from whom you claim.
Invoke his warlike spirit,

and your great-uncle's,
Edward the Black Prince.

Your brother kings and monarchs
of the earth do all expect

that you should rouse yourself
as did the former lions of your blood.

They know your grace hath
cause and means and might.

So hath Your Highness.

Never king of England had nobles
richer or more loyal subjects,

whose hearts have left their
bodies here in England

and lie pavilioned in the fields of France.

O let their bodies follow, my dear liege,

with blood and sword and
fire, to win your right.

In aid whereof, we of the spiritualty

will raise Your Highness
such a mighty sum

as never did the clergy at one time
bring in to any of your ancestors.

Call in the messengers
sent from the Dauphin.

Now are we well resolved,
and by God's help and yours,

the noble sinews of our power,

France being ours we'll
bend it to our awe

or lay these bones in an unworthy urn,

tombless, with no
remembrance over them.

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.

May it please Your
Majesty to give us leave

freely to render what we have in charge,

or shall we sparingly show you far off

the Dauphin's meaning
and our embassy?

We are no tyrant, but a Christian King,

therefore with frank and with uncurbed
plainness tell us the Dauphin's mind.

Thus then in few.

Your Highness lately
sending into France

did claim some certain dukedoms,

in the right of your great predecessor,
King Edward the Third.

In answer to which claim,
the Prince our master

says that you savour
too much of your youth.

He therefore sends you,
fitter for your study,

this tun of treasure,

and in lieu of this desires you
let the dukedoms that you claim

hear no more of you.

This the Dauphin speaks.

What treasure, Uncle?

Tennis balls, my liege.

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 chases.

And we understand him well, how he
comes o'er us with our wilder days,

not measuring what use
we made of them.

But tell the Dauphin
we will keep our state,

be like a king, and show
our sail of greatness

when we do rouse us
in our throne of France.

And tell the pleasant prince

this mock of his hath turned
these balls to gunstones

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.
Ay, 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 we do appeal and in whose name

tell you the Dauphin we are coming
on to venge us as we may,

and to put forth our rightful claim
in a well-hallowed cause,

so get you hence in peace.

And tell the Dauphin

his jest will savour but of shallow wit

when thousands weep
more than did laugh at it.

Convey them with safe conduct.
Fare you well.

- This was a merry message.
- We hope to make the sender blush at it.

Therefore let our proportion for
these wars be soon collected,

and all things thought upon
that may with reasonable swiftness

add more feathers to our wings,

for, God before, we'll check this
Dauphin at his father's door.

Now all the youth of England are on fire,

and silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies.

Now thrive the armourers,
and honour's thought

reigns solely in the breast of every man.

They sell the pasture
now to buy the horse,

following the mirror of all Christian kings

with winged heels, as English Mercuries.

For now sits expectation in the air

and hides a sword from
hilt unto the point

with crowns imperial,
crowns and coronets,

promised to Harry and his followers.

Linger your patience on,

for if we may, we'll not offend
one stomach with our play.

Well met, Corporal Nym.

Oh. Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

What, are Ensign Pistol
and you friends yet?

For my part, I care not. I say little.
But when time shall serve...

I will bestow a breakfast
to make you friends,

and we'll all go three
sworn brothers to France.

Let it be so, good Corporal Nym.

Well, I cannot tell.

Oh, it is certain that he
is married to Nell Quickly,

and certainly she did you wrong,
for you were betrothed to her.

Things must be as they may.

Men may sleep, they may have
their throats about them at that time.

- Some say knives have edges.
- Oh!

Well, I cannot tell.

Here comes Pistol and his wife.
Good corporal, be patient here.

How now, mine host Pistol?

Base tike...

..call'st thou me host?

Now, by this hand,
I swear I scorn the title.

Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers.

No, by my troth, not long,

for we cannot lodge or board
a dozen or fourteen gentlewomen

that live honestly by the
prick of their needles

but it will be thought we
keep a bawdy house. Straight.

O hound of Crete, thinks't
thou my spouse to get?

I have, and I will hold, my honey queen.
And there's enough. Go to.

I would prick your guts a little,
and that's the truth of it.

O well-a-day, Lady! We shall have
wilful murder and adultery committed.

Good corporal, good lieutenant,
offer nothing here.

- Pish.
- Pish for thee, Iceland dog.

Thou prick-eared cur of Iceland.

Good Corporal Nym, show thy
valour, put up thy sword.

I will cut thy throat one time
or another, in fair terms.

I can take. Now Pistol's cock is up,

and flashing fire will follow.

Hear me, hear me what I say.

He that strikes the first stroke,

I'll run him up to the hilts,
as I-I-I am a soldier.

An oath of mickle might,

and fury shall abate.

Mine host Pistol, you must come
to Sir John Falstaff, and you, hostess.

He's very sick and would to bed.

Good Bardolph, put thy nose
between his sheets

and do the office of a warming-pan.

- Away, you rogue.
- Faith, he's very ill.

By my troth, the King
hath killed his heart.

Good husband, come home presently.

Come, shall I make you two friends?

We must to France together.

Why the devil should we keep knives
to cut one another's throats?

Let floods o'erswell and
fiends for food howl on.

You'll pay me the eight shillings
I won off you at betting?

Base is the slave that pays.

Now that will I have.
That's the humour of it.

As manhood shall compound.
Push home.

By this sword, he that
makes the first thrust, I'll kill him.

By this s-s-s-sword I will.

"This s-s-s-s-sword".

And oaths must have their course.

Corporal Nym and thou wilt
be friends, be friends.

An thou wilt not, why then be
enemies of me too? Prithee, put up.

As ever you come of women,
come quickly to Sir John.

He's so shaked of a
burning contigion fever,

it's lamentable to behold.

Sweet men, come to him.

The King hath run bad
humours on the knight.

Nym, thou hast spoke the right.
His heart is fractured and corroborate.

The King is a good king,
but it must be as it may.

He passes some humours.

Let us condole the knight.

For, lambkins, we will live.

Linger your patience on

and we'll digest the abuse
of distance, force a play.

The King is set from London

and the scene is now transported,
gentles, to Southampton.

There is the playhouse now,

there must you sit,

and thence to France
shall we convey you safe

and bring you back,
charming the narrow seas

to give you gentle pass.

But here, till then,

unto Southampton
do we change our scene.

Now sits the wind fair.

Uncle of Exeter, set free
the man committed yesterday

that railed against our person.

We consider it was the heat
of wine that set him on,

and on his wiser thought we pardon him.

- That's mercy, but too much security.
- Let him be punished, sovereign,

lest example breed, by his
sufferance, more of such a kind.

O let us yet be merciful.

We doubt not now but every
rub is smoothed on our way.

Then forth, dear countrymen.

Let us deliver our puissance
into the hand of God,

putting it straight in expedition.

- Cheerly to sea.
- Hurrah!

- The signs of war advance!
- Hurrah!

No King of England,
if not King of France!

Still be kind
and eke out our performance...

with your mind.

God save thy grace, King Hal.

My royal Hal. God save
thee, my sweet boy.

My King, my Jove,
I speak to thee my heart.

I know thee not, old man.

Fall to thy prayers.

How ill white hairs become
a fool and jester.

I have long dreamed of
such a kind of man,

so surfeit-swelled,
so old and so profane.

But being awaked,
I do despise my dream.

Reply not to me with a foolish jest,

presume not that I am the thing I was.

For God doth know,
so shall the world perceive

that I have turned away my former self,

so shall I those that kept me company.

Prithee, honey sweet husband,
let me bring thee to Staines.

No, for my manly heart doth yearn.

Bardolph, be blithe.
Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins.

Boy, bristle thy courage up.

For Falstaff he is dead,

and we must yearn therefore.

Well, Sir John is gone, God be with him.

Would I were with him,
wheresome'er he is,

either in heaven or in hell.

Nay, he's not in hell.

He's in Arthur's bosom, if ever
man went to Arthur's bosom.

He made a finer end and went away
an it had been any christom child.

He parted e'en just
betwixt twelve and one,

e'en at the turning of the tide.

When I saw him fumble with the sheets,

play with flowers, smile
upon his finger ends,

I knew there was no way but one.

For his nose was as sharp as a pen.

And he babbled of green fields.

"How now, Sir John?" quoth I.
"What, man, be of good cheer."

So he cried out, "Gone, gone, gone,"
three or four times.

Now I, to comfort him,
bid him he should not think on God.

I hoped there was no need to trouble
himself with any such thoughts yet.

So he bade me lay more
clothes on his feet.

I put my hand in the bed and felt them.

They were as cold as any stone.

Then I felt to his knees

and they were as cold as any stone.

And so...upwards...and upwards...

and all was cold as any stone.

They say he cried out for sack.

Ay, he did that.

- And for women.
- Ay.

- That he did not.
- Ay, that he did.

And he said they were devils incarnate.

He said once the devil would
have him about women.

He did in some sort,
indeed, handle women,

but then he was rheumatic.
He spoke of the Whore of Babylon.

Do you not remember, he saw a
flea stand on Bardolph's nose

and said it was a black soul
burning in hell-fire?

Well, the fuel is gone
that maintained that fire.

That's all the riches I got in his service.

Shall we go? The King will
be gone from Southampton.

Come, let us away.

My love, give me thy lips.

Look to my chattels and my movables.

Go, clear thy crystals.

Yoke-fellows in arms, let us to France.

Like horse-leeches my boys,
to suck, to suck, the very blood to suck.

Touch her soft lips, and part.

Farewell, hostess.

I cannot kiss, that's the
humour of it, but...adieu.

Let housewifery appear.
Keep close, I thee command.

Farewell, farewell, divine Zenocrate.

Is it not passing brave to be a king
and ride in triumph through Persepolis?

Thus, with imagined wing,
our scene flies swift as that of thought.

Suppose that you have seen
the well-appointed King at Hampton Pier

embark his royalty and his brave fleet.

Play on your fancies, and in them behold

upon the hempen tackle
ship-boys climbing.

Hear the shrill whistle, which doth
order give to sounds confused.

Behold the threaden sails, borne with
the invisible and creeping wind,

draw the huge vessels
through the furrowed seas,

breasting the lofty surge.

O do but think you stand upon the shore,

and then behold a city on the
inconstant billows dancing,

holding due course to Harfleur.

Follow, follow, and leave your England,
as dead midnight still,

guarded with grandsires,
babies and old women.

For who is he, whose chin is but enriched
with one appearing hair,

that will not follow these culled
and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?

The French,
advised by good intelligence

of this most dreadful preparation,

shake in their fear,

and with pale policy,
seek to divert the English purposes.

Thus comes the English
with full power upon us.

And more than carefully it us concerns

to answer royally in our defences.

Therefore you Dukes of Berri...

and of Bourbon,

Lord Constable and Orléans,

shall make forth.

And you, Prince Dauphin,

with all swift dispatch

to line and new-repair our towns of war

with men of...courage

and with means...defendant.

My most redoubted father,

it is most meet we arm us 'gainst the foe,

and let us do it with no show of fear,
no, with no more than if we heard

that England were busied with
a Whitsun morris dance.

For, my good liege, she is so idly kinged,

so guided by a shallow, humorous youth,
that fear attends her not.

O peace, Prince Dauphin.

You are too much mistaken in this king.

Question, your grace,
our late ambassadors

with what great state
he heard their embassy,

how well supplied with aged counsellors,

how terrible in constant resolution.

Well, 'tis not so,
my Lord High Constable.

But though we think it so, it is no matter.

In cases of defence, 'tis best to weigh
the enemy more mighty than he seems.

And he is bred out of that bloody strain

that haunted us in our familiar paths,

when Crécy battle fatally was struck,

and all our princes captive by
the hand of that black name,

Edward, Black Prince of Wales.

This is a stem of that victorious stock,

and let us fear the native mightiness...

and fate of him.

Ambassadors from Harry,
King of England,

do crave admittance to Your Majesty.

We'll give them present audience.
Go and bring them.

Good my sovereign,
take up the English short,

and let them know of what a
monarchy you are the head.

Self-love, my liege, is not so
vile a sin as self-neglecting.

From our brother England?

From him, and thus he
greets Your Majesty.

He wills you, in the
name of God Almighty,

that you divest yourself and lay apart

the borrowed glories that by gift of
heaven, by law of nature and of nations,

'longs to him and to his heirs,

namely the crown.

Willing you over-look this pedigree,

and when you find him evenly derived

from his most famed of famous
ancestors, Edward the Third,

he bids you then resign
your crown and kingdom,

indirectly held from him,

the native and true challenger.

If not, what follows?

Bloody constraint.

For if you hide the crown even in
your hearts, there will he rake for it.

Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,

in thunder and in earthquake like a Jove,

that if requiring fail, he will compel.

This is his claim, his threatening,
and my message...

unless the Dauphin be in presence here,

to whom expressly I bring greeting too.

For us, we will consider of this further.

Tomorrow shall you bear our full intent
back to our brother England.

For the Dauphin, I stand here for him.

What to him from England?

Scorn and defiance,
slight regard, contempt,

and anything that may not misbecome
the mighty sender, doth he prize you at.

Thus says my King.

And if your father's highness do not,
in grant of all demands at large,

sweeten the bitter mock
you sent his majesty,

he'll make your Paris Louvre shake for it.

Tomorrow shall you know our...
mind at full.

Dispatch us with all speed,

lest that our king come here
himself to question our delay.

Work, work your thoughts,

and therein see a siege!

Behold the ordnance on their carriages,

with fatal mouths
gaping on girded Harfleur.

Once more...unto the breach,
dear friends, once more,

or close the wall up
with our English dead.

In peace there's nothing
so becomes a man

as modest stillness and humility.

But when the blast of war
blows in our ears,

then imitate the action of the tiger.

Stiffen the sinews,
summon up the blood,

disguise fair nature
with hard-favoured rage.

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect,

let it pry through the portage
of the head like a brass cannon.

Let the brow o'erwhelm it
as fearfully as doth a galled rock

o'er hang and jutty his confounded base,

swilled with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth and
stretch the nostril wide,

hold hard the breath and bend up
every spirit to his full height.

On, on, you noblest English, whose blood
is fet from fathers of war-proof,

fathers that like so many Alexanders

have in these parts
from morn till even fought,

and sheathed their swords
for lack of argument.

Dishonour not your mothers.

Now attest that those whom you
call fathers did beget you.

Be copy now to men of grosser blood

and teach them how to war.

And you, good yeomen,
whose limbs were made in England,

show us here the mettle of your pasture.

Let us swear that you are
worth your breeding,

which I doubt not, for there is
none of you so mean and base

that hath not noble lustre in your eyes.

I see you stand like greyhounds
in the slips, straining upon the start.

The game's afoot. Follow your spirit,

and upon this charge cry, "God for Harry,
England and Saint George!"

God for Harry, England
and Saint George!

God for Harry, England
and Saint George!

God for Harry, England
and Saint George!

On, on! To the breach! To the...

Pray thee corporal, stay.
The knocks are too hot.

Ah, knocks, they come and go,

God's vassals drop and die,

and sword and shield, in bloody field,
both win immortal fame.

'Tis honour, and that's the truth of it.

Would I were in an alehouse in London.

I'd give all my fame for a
pot of ale, and safety.

God's plud! Up to the breach, you dogs!

Avaunt, you cullions!

Ah!

Ah! Be merciful, great duke,
to men of mould.

Ah! Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage!

The nimble gunner
with linstock

now the devilish cannon touches.

And down goes all before it!

Captain Fluellen!

Captain Fluellen, you must
come presently to the mines.

The Duke of Gloucester
would speak with you.

To the mines?

Tell you the duke it is not
so good to come to the mines.

For look you, the mines is not
according to the disciplines of war.

The concavities of it is not sufficient.

For look you, the adversary, you may
discuss unto the duke, look you,

is digt himself four yards
under the countermines.

I think he will blow up all
if there is not better directions.

The Duke of Gloucester,
to whom the order of the siege is given,

is altogether directed by an Irishman,
a very valiant gentleman, i'faith.

- Mm. It is Captain Macmorris, is it not?
- I think it be.

By Cheshu, he is an ass, as in the world.
I will verify as much in his beard.

He has no more directions in the true
disciplines of the wars, look you,

of the Roman disciplines,
than is a puppy dog.

- Here he comes..
- Bah!

And the Scots captain,
Captain Jamy, with him.

Ah! Captain Jamy is a marvellous,
valorous gentleman, that is certain,

of great expedition and
knowledge in the ancient wars.

I say good day, Captain Fluellen.

Good e'en to your worship,
good Captain James.

Good day. Put it there.

Captain Jamy is a marvellous,
valorous gentleman, that is certain.

How now, Captain Macmorris,
have you quit the mines?

Have the pioneers given o'er?

O, by the saints,
'tis ill done.

The work is give over,
the trumpet sound the retreat.

By my hand, I swear,
and by my father's soul, 'tis ill done.

The work is give over.

I would have blowed up the town,
so God save me, in an hour.

Ah, 'tis ill done.

By my hand, 'tis ill done.

Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now,

will you vouchsafe me, look you,
a few disputations with you?

Partly to satisfy my opinion

and partly for the satisfaction,
look you, of my mind.

As touching the direction of the military
disciplines, that is the point.

It shall be very good, good faith,
good captains both.

And I would fain hear some
discourse between you twain.

This is no time to discourse,
so God save me.

No, the day is hot, and the weather and
the wars and the King and the dukes.

This is no time to discourse.

The town is beseeched.

Ay, the trumpet call us into the breach

and we talk and, by the Holy, do nothing!

'Tis a shame for us all, so God save me.

'Tis a shame to stand still.

'Tis a shame by my hand.

And there is throats to be cut,
and work to be done,

and nothing is done, save me, God.

By the mess, ere these eyes o' mine
take themselves to slumber,

I'll do good service, or I'll lie i'
the ground for it, ay, or go to death.

And I'll pay it as valorously as I may.

That shall I surely do.
That is the brief and the long of it.

Mm?

Captain Macmorris, I think, look
you, under your correction,

there is not many...of your nation.

Of my nation?

What is my nation?

Is a villain and bastard
and a knave and a rascal?

What is my nation?

Who talks of my nation?

Look you,

if you take the matter otherwise
than is meant, Captain Macmorris,

peradventure I shall think
you do not use me with that affability

as in discretion you ought
to use me, look you,

being as good a man as yourself,
both in the discipline of war

and in the derivation of my birth,
and other particularities.

I do not know you
as good a man as myself,

so God save me, and I
will cut off your head!

Gentlemen both, you will
mistake each other.

That's a foul fault.

- The town sounds a parley!
- Hooray!

How yet resolves the
governor of the town?

This is the latest parley we'll admit.

Our expectation hath this day an end.

The Dauphin, of whom
succour we entreated,

returns us word his powers are
not yet ready to raise so great a siege.

Therefore, dread King, we yield
our town and lives to your soft mercy.

Enter our gates,

dispose of us and ours,

for we no longer are defensible.

Open your gates.

Come, brother Gloucester.
Go you and enter Harfleur.

There remain and fortify it
strongly against the French.

Use mercy to them all.

For us, dear brother,

the winter coming on and sickness
growing upon our soldiers,

we will retire to Calais.

Tonight in Harfleur will we be your guest.

Tomorrow for the march
are we addressed.

Alice, tu as été en Angleterre,
et tu parles bien le langage.

Ooh, un peu, madame.

Je te prie, m'enseignez.

Il faut que j'apprenne à parler.

Comment appelez-vous
"la main" en anglais?

La main? Elle est appelée "ze hand".

De hand. Et "les doigts"?

Les doigts? Ma foi, j'oublie les doigts,
mais je me souviendrai.

Les doigts. Ah, je pense
qu'ils sont appelés "ze fingres".

Oui. Ze fingeurs.

La main, de hand. Les doigts, de fingers.

Je pense que je suis la bonne écolier.

Je gagne deux mots d'anglais vitement.

- Comment appelez-vous "les ongles"?
- Les ongles.

Nous les appelons "the nails".

De nails. Ecoutez.
Dites-moi si je parle bien.

De hand. De fingers. De nails.

Ah, c'est bien dit, madame.
Il est fort bon anglais.

- Dites-moi l'anglais pour "le bras".
- "Ze arm", madame.

- Et "le coude"?
- "The elbow".

De elbow.

Je m'en fais la répétition
de tous les mots

que vous m'avez appris dès à présent.

Ca c'est trop difficile, madame,
comme je pense.

Excusez-moi, Alice. Ecoutez. De hand,
de fingers, de nails, de arm, de bilbow.

Sauf votre honneur, de "elbow".

O Seigneur Dieu, je m'en oublie.
De elbow.

- Comment appelez-vous "le col"?
- "The nick".

De nick. Et "le menton"?

- "The chin".
- De sin.

Le col, de nick. Le menton, de sin.

Sauf votre honneur, en vérité
vous prononcez les mots

aussi droit que les natifs d'Angleterre.

Je ne doute point d'apprendre,
par la grâce de Dieu, et un peu de temps.

N'avez-vous pas déjà oublié
ce que je vous ai enseigné?

Non. Je réciterai à vous promptement.

- De hand, de fingers, de mails...
- The nails, madame.

De nails. De arm. De bilbows.

- Sauf votre honneur, de elbow.
- Ainsi dis-je. De elbow.

De nick et de sin.

Comment appelez-vous
"le pied" et "la robe"?

"The foot" et "cown".

O Seigneur Dieu! Ils sont les most
de son mauvais, corruptible, gros,

et impudique, et non pour
les dames d'honneur d'user.

Je ne voudrais prononcer ces mots

devant les seigneurs de
France pour tout le monde.

Foh! De foot et de cown.

Néanmoins, je réciterai encore
une fois ma leçon ensemble.

De hand, de fingers, de nails,

de arm, de elbow, de nick,
de sin, de foot et de cown.

Ooh, madame, c'est excellent!

C'est assez pour une fois.
Allons-nous à dîner.

'Tis certain he hath passed
the River Somme.

And if he be not fought withal, my
lord, let us not live in France.

Let us quit all and give our
vineyards to a barbarous people.

Normans, but dastard Normans.
Norman bastards.

- Mort de ma vie.

If they march along unfought withal,
then I will sell my dukedom

to buy a slobbery and dirty farm
in that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

Dieu de batailles!
Where have they this mettle?

Is not the climate foggy, raw and dull

on whom as in despite the sun looks pale,
killing their fruit with frowns?

And shall our quick blood,
spirited with wine, seem frosty?

By faith and honour,
our madams mock at us

and plainly say our mettle is bred out

and they will give their bodies
to the lust of English youth,

to new-store France
with bastard warriors.

Where is Mountjoy the herald?

Speed him hence.

Let him greet England
with our sharp defiance.

Up, princes, and with
spirit of honour edged

bar Harry England,
that sweeps through our land

with pennons painted in
the blood of Harfleur.

Go down upon him,
you have power enough,

and in a captive chariot into Rouen
bring him our prisoner.

This becomes the great.

Sorry am I his numbers are so few,

his soldiers sick and
famished in their march.

For I am sure when he
shall see our army

he'll drop his heart
into the sink of fear

and, for achievement,
offer us his ransom.

Therefore, Lord Constable,
haste on Mountjoy.

Prince Dauphin, you shall
stay with us in Rouen.

- Not so, I do beseech Your Majesty.
- Be patient, for you shall remain with us.

Now forth, Lord Constable,
and princes all,

and quickly bring us
word of England's fall.

You know me by my habit.

Well then, I know thee.
What shall I know of thee?

- My master's mind.
- Unfold it.

Thus says my king,
"Say thou to Harry of England,

"though we seemed dead,
we did but slumber.

"Tell him we could have
rebuked him at Harfleur,

"but we thought not good to bruise
an injury till it were full ripe.

"Now we speak upon our cue,
and our voice is imperial.

"England shall repent his folly,
see his weakness,

"and admire our sufferance.

"Bid him therefore
consider of his ransom,

"which must proportion the losses we have
borne, the subjects we have lost,

"the disgrace we have digested.

"For our losses, his
exchequer is too poor.

"For the effusion of our blood,

"the muster of his kingdom
too faint a number.

"And for our disgrace, his own
person kneeling at our feet

"but a weak and worthless satisfaction.

"To this add defiance,
and tell him for conclusion

"he hath betrayed his followers,
whose condemnation is pronounced."

So far my King and master,
so much my office.

- What is thy name? I know thy quality.
- Mountjoy.

Thou dost thy office fairly.

Turn thee back and tell thy
king I do not seek him now,

but could be willing to march on
to Calais without impeachment.

For to say the sooth, my people
are with sickness much enfeebled,

my numbers lessened.

Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am.

My ransom is this frail
and worthless body,

my army but a weak and sickly guard.

Yet, God before,
tell him we will come on,

though France herself and such another
neighbour is stood in our way.

If we may pass, we will.

If we be hindered, we shall your tawny
ground with your red blood discolour.

And so, Mountjoy, fare you well.

We would not seek a battle as we are,

nor as we are we say we will not shun it.

So tell your master.

I shall deliver so.

- There's for thy labour, Mountjoy.
- Thanks to Your Highness.

- March to the bridge.
- The bridge!

It now draws toward night.

Beyond the river we'll encamp ourselves.

And on the morrow
bid them march away.

Now entertain
conjecture of a time

when creeping murmur
and the poring dark

fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp,
through the foul womb of night,

the hum of either army stilly sounds,

that the fixed sentinels almost receive

the secret whispers
of each other's watch.

Fire answers fire,

and through their paly flames

each battle sees
the other's umbered face.

Steed threatens steed,
in high and boastful neighs

piercing the night's dull ear.

And from the tents the armourers,
accomplishing the knights,

with busy hammers closing rivets up,

give dreadful note of preparation.

Proud of their numbers
and secure in soul,

the confident and over-lusty French
do the low-rated English play at dice,

and chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,

who like a foul and ugly witch
doth limp so tediously away.

Tut, I have the best armour of the world.

Would it were day.

You have an excellent armour,
but let my horse have his due.

It is the best horse of Europe.

Hm.

Will it never be morning?

My Lord of Orléans,
my Lord High Constable,

you talk of horse and armour?

You are as well provided of both
as any prince in the world.

What a long night is this.

I will not change my horse
for any that treads on four hooves.

Ah ha! He bounds from the earth.

When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk.

He trots the air, the earth
sings when he touches it.

He is of the colour of nutmeg
and of the heat of the ginger.

He is pure air and fire,

and all other jades you may call beasts.

It is indeed, my lord, a most
absolute and excellent...horse.

It is the prince of palfreys.

His neigh is like the
bidding of a monarch

- and his countenance enforces homage.
- No more, cousin.

Nay, cousin, the man hath no wit

that cannot from the rising of the lark
to the lodging of the lamb

vary deserved praise on my palfrey.

I once writ a sonnet in his
praise, and began thus -

"Wonder of nature..."

Ahem. I have heard a sonnet
begin so to one's mistress.

Then did they imitate
that which I composed to my courser,

for my horse is my mistress.

Methought yesterday your mistress
shrewdly shook your back.

My Lord Constable, the armour
that I see in your tent tonight,

are those stars or suns upon it?

- Stars, my lord.
- Some of them will fall tomorrow, I hope.

That may be.

Will it never be day?

I will trot tomorrow a mile and my way
shall be paved with English faces.

Who will go hazard with me
for 20 prisoners?

'Tis midnight.

I'll go arm myself.

The Dauphin longs for morning.

Hm.

He longs to eat the English.

I think he will eat all he kills.

Ho-ho, he never did harm that I heard of.

Nor will do none tomorrow.
He'll keep that good name still.

I know him to be valiant.

I was told that by one that
knows him better than you.

- What's he?
- Marry, he told me so himself.

And he said he cared not who knew it.

My Lord High Constable, the English
lie within 1500 paces of your tents.

Who hath measured the ground?

The Lord Grandpré.

A valiant and most expert gentleman.

Would it were day.

Alas, poor Harry of England.

He longs not for the dawning as we do.

Huh. What a wretched and peevish
fellow is this King of England,

to mope with his fat-brained followers
so far out of his knowledge.

If the English had any
apprehension, they would run away.

That they lack, for if their heads
had any intellectual armour

they could never wear
such heavy headpieces.

That island of England
breeds very valiant creatures.

Their mastiffs are
of unmatchable courage.

Foolish curs, that run winking
into the mouth of a Russian bear

and have their heads crushed
like rotten apples.

You may as well say,
"That's a valiant flea

"that dare eat his breakfast
on the lip of a lion."

Just. Just. And the men
are like the mastiffs.

Give them great meals
of beef and iron and steel,

they'll eat like wolves
and fight like devils.

But these English are
shrewdly out of beef.

Hm. Then shall we find tomorrow

they've only stomachs to eat
and none to fight.

Hm. Now is it time to arm.

Come. Shall we about it?

It is now two o'clock.

But let me see - by ten, we shall
have each a hundred Englishmen.

The country cocks do crow,

the clocks do toll

and the third hour
of drowsy morning name.

The poor, condemned English,
like sacrifices,

by their watchful fires sit patiently

and inly ruminate the morning's danger.

And their gesture sad, investing
lank, lean cheeks and war-worn coats,

presenteth them unto the gazing moon

so many horrid ghosts.

O now,

who will behold the royal captain
of this ruined band

walking from watch to watch,
from tent to tent,

let him cry, "Praise and glory
on his head."

For forth he goes and visits all his host,

bids them good morrow
with a modest smile

and calls them brothers, friends
and countrymen.

A largesse universal, like the sun,

his liberal eye doth give to everyone,

thawing cold fear,
that mean and gentle all

behold, as may unworthiness define,

a little touch of Harry in the night.

Gloucester, 'tis true that
we are in great danger.

The greater therefore
should our courage be.

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham.

A good, soft pillow for
that good, white head

were better than a
churlish turf of France.

Not so, my liege.
This lodging suits me better,

since I may say, "Now lie I like a king."

Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas.

I and my bosom must debate awhile,

and then I would no other company.

The Lord in heaven bless
thee, noble Harry.

God-a-mercy, old heart.

Qui va là?

A friend.

Discuss unto me - art thou officer?

Or art thou base, common and popular?

I am a gentleman of a company.

Trail'st thou the puissant pike?

- Even so. What are you?
- As good a gentleman as the emperor.

- Then you are better than the King.
- Ah.

The King's a bawcock
and a heart-of-gold,

a lad of life, an imp of fame,

of parents good, of fist most valiant.

I kiss his dirty shoe, and from
heartstring I love the lovely bully.

- What is thy name?
- Henry le roi.

Leroi? A Cornish name.
Art thou of Cornish crew?

No, I'm a Welshman.

- Know'st thou Fluellen?
- Yes.

- Art thou his friend?
- Ay, and his kinsman, too.

Well, tell him I'll knock his leek
about his head upon Saint Davy's day.

Do not you wear your dagger in your cap
that day, lest he knock that about yours.

- A figo for thee, then.
- I thank you. God be with you.

My name is Pistol called.

It sorts well with your fierceness.

Captain Fluellen?

- Captain Fluellen?
- Shh! Shh!

In the name of Beelzebub, speak lower.

If you will take the pains but to examine
the wars of Pompey the Great,

you shall find, I warrant you,

there is no tittle-tattle nor
pibble-pabble in Pompey's camp.

I warrant you shall find the ceremonies
of the wars, and the cares of it,

and the forms of it, to be otherwise.

Why, the enemy is loud.
You can hear him all night.

If the enemy is an ass
and a fool and a prating coxcomb,

is it meet, think you,
that we should also, look you,

be an ass and a fool
and a prating coxcomb?

- Shh.
- In your own conscience now?

I will speak lower.

I pray you and beseech you that you will.

Though it appear
a little out of fashion,

there is much care and valour
in this Welshman.

Brother John Bates, be not that
the morning which breaks yonder?

I think it be. But we have no great cause
to desire the approach of day.

We see yonder the beginning of the day,

but I think we shall
never see the end of it.

Who goes there?

A friend.

Under what captain serve you?

Under...Sir Thomas Erpingham.

Oh. A good old commander
and a most kind gentleman.

I pray you, what thinks he of our estate?

Even as men wrecked upon a sand,

that look to be washed
off the next tide.

He hath not told his
thought to the King?

No. Nor it is not meet he should.

For I think the King
is but a man, as I am.

The violet smells to
him as it doth to me.

His ceremonies laid by,
in his nakedness he appears but a man.

Therefore, when he sees
reasons of fears, as we do,

his fears, without doubt,
be of the same relish as ours are.

Yet no man should find in him
any appearance of fear,

lest he, by showing it,
should dishearten his army.

He may show what outward courage he will,
but I believe, as cold a night as 'tis,

he'd wish himself in Thames
up to the neck.

So I would he were, and I by him,
at all adventures, so we were quit here.

By my troth, I will speak
my conscience of the King.

I think he would not wish himself
anywhere...but where he is.

Then I would he were here alone.

So should he be sure to be ransomed,
and a many poor men's lives saved.

Methinks...I would not die anywhere
so contented as in the King's company,

his cause being just
and his quarrel honourable.

It's more than we know.

Ay.

Or more than we should seek after.

For we know enough if we know
we are the King's subjects.

If his cause be wrong,

our obedience to the King
wipes the crime of it out of us.

But if the cause be not good,

the King himself hath a
heavy reckoning to make,

when all those legs and arms
and heads...chopped off in a battle

shall join together at the latter day,

and cry all, "We died at such a place,"

some swearing,
some crying for a surgeon,

some upon their wives
left poor behind them,

some upon the debts they owe,

some upon their children rawly left.

I'm afraid there are few die
well that die in a battle,

for how can they charitably
dispose of anything,

when blood is their argument?

Now, if these men do not die well,

it'll be a black matter
for the King that led them to it.

Ay.

So, if a son that is by his father
sent upon merchandise

do sinfully miscarry upon the sea,

the imputation of his
wickedness, by your rule,

should be imposed upon his
father, that sent him.

But this is not so.

The King is not bound to answer for
the particular endings of his soldiers,

nor the father of his son,

for they purpose not their deaths
when they purpose their services.

Every subject's duty is the King's,

but every subject's soul is his own.

'Tis certain. Every man that dies ill,
the ill's on his own head.

The King's not to answer for it.

I do not desire he should answer for me,

and yet I determine to
fight lustily for him.

I myself heard the King say
he would not be ransomed.

He said so to make
us fight cheerfully,

for when our throats are cut, he
may be ransomed and we ne'er the wiser.

If ever I live to see it,
I'll never trust his word after.

That's a perilous shot out of a pop-gun,

that a poor and private displeasure
can do against a monarch.

You may as well go about
to turn the sun to ice

with fanning in its face
with a peacock's feather.

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 the time were convenient.

Let it be a quarrel between
us, then, if you live.

- Be friends, you English fools.

We have French quarrels enough
if you could tell how to reckon.

Never trust in his word, I say.

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.

What infinite heartsease
must kings forego

that private men enjoy?

And what have kings
that privates have not too,

save ceremony?

And what art thou, thou idol ceremony,

that sufferest more of mortal griefs

than do thy worshippers?

What drink'st thou oft,
instead of homage sweet,

but poisoned flattery?

O be sick, great greatness,
and bid thy ceremony give thee cure.

Canst thou, when thou command'st
the beggar's knee,

command the health of it?

No, thou proud dream that
play'st so subtly with a king's repose.

I am a king that find thee,

and I know 'tis not the orb and sceptre,

crown imperial, the throne he sits on,

nor the tide of pomp that
beats upon the high shore of this world.

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 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 labour to his grave.

And but for ceremony, such a wretch,

winding up days with toil
and nights with sleep,

had the forehand and vantage of a king.

My lord, your nobles,
jealous of your absence,

seek through your 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
the sense of reckoning,

lest the opposed numbers

pluck their hearts from them.

My Lord.

My Lord, the army
stays upon your presence.

I know thy errand.

I will go with thee.

The day, my friends,

and all things...stay for me.

The sun doth gild our armour!

Up, my lords!

Montez à cheval.
Ah, my horse. Varlet, lacquais.

- O, brave spirit!
- Via les eaux et la terre!

- We have wind! L'air et le feu!
- Ciel, cousin Orléans.

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

and quench them with superior courage.

The English are embattled,
you French peers.

A very little little let us do
and all is done.

Then let the trumpets sound the tucket
sonance and the note to mount.

Come, come away.
The sun is high and we outwear the day.

Where is the King?

The King himself
is rode to view their battle.

Of fighting men they have
full threescore thousand.

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

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

Well, God with you, princes all.
I'll to my charge.

If we no more meet till
we meet in heaven,

then joyfully, my noble Westmoreland,
my dear Lord Gloucester,

my good Lord Exeter and
my kind kinsmen, warriors all, adieu.

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

Farewell, kind lord.

O that we now had here
but one ten thousand

of those men in England
that do not 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 honour.

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 feast, let him depart.

His passport shall be drawn 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 a-tiptoe
when this day is named

and rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall live this day
and see old age

will yearly, on the vigil,
feast his neighbours and say,

"Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."

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 his mouth 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 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 base.

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 Crispin's Day!

- My lord, bestow yourself with speed.

The French are bravely
in their battles set

and 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, coz?

God's will, my liege, would you and I
alone could fight this battle out.

You know your places.
God be with you all!

Once more I come to
know thee, King Harry.

If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound

before thy most assured overthrow.

- Who hath 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?

The man that once did sell the
lion's skin while the beast lived,

was killed with hunting him.

A many of our bodies shall
no doubt find native graves,

upon the which, I trust, shall witness
live in brass of this day's work.

And those that leave their valiant
bones in France, dying like men,

though buried in your dunghills
they shall be famed.

For there the sun shall greet them

and draw their honours
reeking up to heaven,

leaving their earthly parts
to choke your clime,

the smell whereof
shall breed a plague in France.

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.

And time hath worn us into slovenry.

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

Hooray!

Come now no more for
ransom, gentle herald.

They shall have none, I swear,
but these my bones,

which if they have
as I will leave 'em them,

shall yield them little.
Tell the Constable.

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

Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

Now, soldiers, march away.

And how thou pleasest,
God, dispose the day.

Well have we done,
thrice-valiant countrymen!

But all's not done - yet
keep the French the field.

O everlasting shame!
Let's stab ourselves.

Be these the wretches
that we played at dice for?

Is this the king we sent to
for his ransom?

Shame on thee, Colonel, shame.
Nothing but shame. Let's die in honour.

- Once more back again.
- We are enough yet living in the field

to smother up the English
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.

Odd's blood.

Kill the boys and the luggage!

'Tis expressly against the law of arms!

'Tis as arrant 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.

The cowardly rascals that ran
from the battle ha' done this slaughter.

Here comes His Majesty.

I was not angry since I came to France...

until this instant.

Take a trumpet, herald. Ride thou
unto the horsemen on yonder hill.

If they won't fight with us,
bid them come down, or void the field.

They do offend our sight!

Here comes the herald of
the French, my liege.

His eyes are humbler
than they used to be.

God's will.

What means this, herald?

Comest thou again for ransom?

No, great King. I come to thee
for charitable licence,

that we may wander
o'er this bloody field

to book our dead and then to bury them.

The day is yours.

Praised be God, and not
our strength, for it.

What is this castle called
that stands hard by?

We call it Agincourt.

Then...call we this the field of Agincourt,

fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

Here is the number
of the slaughtered French.

This note doth tell me of ten thousand
French that in the field lie slain.

Where is the number of our English dead?

Edward, the Duke of York.
The Earl of Suffolk.

Sir Richard Ketly.

Davy Gam Esquire.

And of all other men...
but five-and-twenty score.

O God, thy arm was here.

- 'Tis wonderful.
- Come.

Go we in procession to the village.

Let there be sung
Non Nobis and Te Deum,

- the dead with charity enclosed in clay.

And then to Calais!

And to England then,

where ne'er from France
arrived more happier men.

Nay, that's right.
But why wear you your leek today?

Saint Davy's day is past.

There is occasions and causes why and
wherefore in all things, Captain Gower.

I will tell you, as my friend,
Captain Gower.

The rascally, beggarly,
lousy knave, Pistol,

which you and yourself and all the world

know to be no better than a fellow,
look you, of no merits -

he is come to me and bring me
bread and salt yesterday, look you,

and bid me eat my leek.

It was in a place where I could not breed
no contention with him,

but I will be so bold as wear it in
my cap till I see him once again.

And then I will tell him
a little piece of my desires.

Why, 'tis a gull, a fool, a rogue,

that now and then goes to the wars to
grace himself at his returning to London

under the form of a soldier.

And what such as the camp can do

among foaming bottles
and ale-washed wits

is wonderful to be thought of.

Here he comes, swelling
like a turkey-cock.

'Tis no matter for his swellings,
nor his turkey-cocks.

God bless you, Pistol,
you scurvy, lousy knave.

- God bless you.
- Hah! Art thou bedlam?

Hence! I am qualmish
at the smell of leek.

I beseech you heartily, scurvy,
lousy knave, to eat, look you, this leek.

Eugh. Not for Cadwallader
and all his goats.

There is one goat for you.
Will you be so good as eat it?

Base Trojan! Thou shalt die.

You say very true when God's will is.

I will desire you to live in the
meantime, and eat your victuals.

Come, there is sauce for it.

If you can mock a leek,
you can eat a leek.

- Bite, I pray you.
- Must I bite?

Out of doubt and out of question, too.

By this leek, I will
most horribly revenge...

I eat. I eat...

- I swear......
- Nay, pray you, throw none away.

The skin is good for
your broken coxcomb.

When you take occasions
to see leeks hereafter,

I pray you mock at 'em, that is all.

- Good.
- Ay, leeks is good.

Hold you, here is a penny
to heal your head.

- Me, a penny?
- Yes, verily.

In truth you shall take it or I have another
leek in my pocket which you shall eat.

God b'wi' you and keep you and...
heal your head.

Brrrrr!

All hell shall stir for this.

Go to. You are a
counterfeit, cowardly knave.

You thought, because he could not
speak English in the native garb,

that he therefore could not handle an
English cudgel. But you find it otherwise.

And henceforth, let a Welsh correction
teach you a good English condition.

Fare ye well.

Doth fortune play the
strumpet with me now?

News have I that my Nell
lies dead in the hospital,

of the malady of France.

And there my rendezvous
is quite cut off.

Old do I wax, and from my weary
limbs honour is cudgelled.

Well...bawd I'll turn,

and something lean
to cutpurse of quick hand.

To England will I steal,

and there...I'll steal,

and patches will I get unto these scars,

and swear I got them
in these present wars.

Peace to this meeting,
wherefore we are met.

Unto our brother France
and to our sister,

health and fair time of day.

Joy and good wishes to our
most fair and princely cousin, Katherine.

And as a branch or member
of this royalty,

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.

So happy be the issue, brother England,

of this good day and
of this gracious meeting,

as we are now glad to behold your eyes -

your eyes which hitherto
have borne in them,

against the French that
met them in their bent,

the fatal balls of murdering basilisks.

The venom of such looks we fairly
hope have lost their quality,

and that this day shall change
all griefs and quarrels...into love.

To cry amen to that, thus we appear.

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 assembled,

let it not disgrace me if I demand,
before this royal view,

why that the naked,
poor and mangled peace,

dear nurse of arts, of plenties,
and of joyful births,

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.

Her vine, the merry
cheerer of the heart,

unpruned, dies.

Her hedges even-pleached,
put forth disordered twigs.

Her fallow leas, the darnel,
hemlock and rank fumitory,

doth root upon, while
that the coulter rusts

that should deracinate such savagery.

The even mead, that erst
brought sweetly forth

the freckled cowslip,
burnet and green clover,

wanting the scythe, all
uncorrected, rank,

conceives by idleness,

and nothing teems but hateful docks,

rough thistles, kecksies, burs,

losing both beauty and utility.

Even so our houses
and ourselves and children

have lost, or do not learn
for want of time,

the sciences that 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.

Which to reduce into her former
favour you are assembled.

Then, Duke of Burgundy,
you must gain that peace

with full accord to
all our just demands.

I have but with a cursory eye
o'erglanced the articles.

Pleaseth your grace to appoint some
of your council presently to sit with us.

We will suddenly pass our accept
and peremptory answer.

Brother, we shall.

Will you, fair sister,
go with the princes...

or stay here with us?

Our gracious brother, I will go with them.

Haply, a woman's voice
may do some good

when articles too nicely
urged be stood on.

Yet leave our cousin
Katherine here with us.

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.

O fair Katherine, if you will love
me soundly with your French heart,

I will be glad to hear you confess it
brokenly with your English tongue.

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 à les anges?

Oui, vraiment, sauf votre grâce,
ainsi dit-il.

O bon 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 de mens
is be full of deceits.

I' faith, Kate, I am glad
thou can speak no better English.

For if thou couldst, thou wouldst
find me such a plain king

that thou wouldst think that I had
sold my farm to buy my crown.

I know no ways to mince it in love,

but directly to say..."I love you."
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 put me to verses,
or to dance for your sake, Kate,

why, you undo me.

If I might buffet for my love,
or bound my horse for her favours,

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 have I no cunning in protestation.

If thou canst love a fellow
of this temper, Kate,

that never looks in his glass for
the love of anything he sees there,

whose face is not worth sunburning...
take me.

If not, to say to thee
that I shall die is true.

But, for thy love,

by the Lord, no.

Yet I love thee, too.

And while thou livest, dear Kate,

take a fellow of plain constancy,

for these fellows of infinite tongue

that can rhyme themselves
into ladies' favours,

they do always reason
themselves out again.

A speaker is but a prater,
a rhyme is but a ballad.

A straight back will stoop,
a black beard will turn white,

a fair face will wither,
a full eye will wax hollow,

but a good heart, Kate,
is the sun and the moon.

If thou wouldst 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, I pray thee.

Is it possible dat I should
love de enemy of France?

No, Kate, but in loving me you
would love the friend of France,

for I love France so well that I
will not part with a village of it.

And Kate, when France is mine,
and I am yours,

then yours is France, and you are mine.

I...cannot tell what is dat.

No, Kate? I will tell thee in French,
which I am sure will hang upon my tongue

like a newly married wife about her
husband's neck, hardly to be shook off.

Er... Je...

quand sur le possession de France,

et quand vous avez le
possession de moi...

Er...

donc vôtre est France
et vous êtes mienne.

I shall never move thee in French
unless it be to laugh at me.

Sauf votre honneur,
le français que vous parlez,

il est meilleur que
l'anglais que je parle.

No, i' faith, it's not, Kate.
Thy speaking of my tongue and thy thine

must needs be granted to be much alike.

But, Kate, dost thou
understand thus much English?

Canst thou...love me?

I cannot tell.

Can any of your neighbours tell, Kate?
I'll ask them.

Come, I know thou lovest me.

And at night, when you are
come into your chamber,

you will question this
gentlewoman about me,

and I know, Kate, you will to her
dispraise those parts in me

which you love with your heart.

But, good Kate,

mock me mercifully -

the rather, gentle princess,
because I love thee...cruelly.

What sayest thou,
my fair flower-de-luce?

La plus belle Katherine du monde,

mon très chère et divine déesse.

Your majesté 'ave a false French enough

to deceive de most sage
demoiselle dat is en France.

Now fie upon my false French but,

by mine honour, in true English,
I love thee, Kate.

By which honour, though I
dare not swear thou lovest me

yet my blood begins
to flatter me thou dost.

Put off your maiden blushes.

Avouch the thoughts of your heart
with the looks of an empress.

Take me by the hand and say,
"Harry of England, I am thine" -

which word thou shalt no sooner bless mine
ear withal, but I will tell thee aloud,

"England is thine, Ireland
is thine, France is thine

"and Henry Plantagenet is thine."

Therefore, queen of all, Katherine,
break thy mind to me in broken English -

wilt thou have me?

Dat is as it shall please de roi mon père.

Nay, it shall please him well, Kate.

It shall please him, Kate.

Den it shall also content me.

Upon that I kiss your hand
and call you my queen.

Laissez, mon seigneur,
laissez, laissez!

Ma foi, je ne peut
vous abbaissez votre grandeur

en baisant la main
d'une de votre indigne serviteur.

Excusez-moi, je vous supplie,
mon treis-puissant seigneur.

Oh.

- Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.
- Oh!

Les dames et demoiselles
pour être baisées devant le noces,

ce n'est pas la coutume en France.

Madam my interpreter, what says she?

That it is not the fashion
for the ladies of France...

Oh...

I cannot tell what is
"baiser" in English.

To kiss.

Votre majesté entend bettre que moi.

It is not the fashion for the maids
in France

to kiss before they are married,
would she say?

Oui, vraiment.

O Kate...

nice customs courtesy to great kings.

Dear Kate, 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.

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.

Shall Kate be my wife?

Take her, fair son,

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 never
war advance his bleeding sword

'twixt England and fair France.

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,

and for his sake, in your fair minds

let this acceptance take.