Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

Автор книги: William Shakespeare

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3.1 Alarum. Enter King Harry ⌈and the English army, with⌉ scaling ladders

KING HARRY

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, conjure 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 the brass cannon, let the brow o‘erwhelm it

As fearfully as doth a gallèd rock

O’erhang 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 called 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!’

Alarum, and chambers go off. Exeunt

3.2 Enter Nim, Bardolph, Ensign Pistol, and Boy

BARDOLPH On, on, on, on, oh! To the breach, to the breach!

NIM Pray thee corporal, stay. The knocks are too hot, and for mine own part I have not a case of lives. The humour of it is too hot, that is the very plainsong of it. 6

PISTOL

’The plainsong’ is most just, for humours do abound.

Knocks go and come, God’s vassals drop and die,

⌈sings⌉ And sword and shield

In bloody field

Doth win immortal fame.

BOY Would I were in an alehouse in London. I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety.

PISTOL ⌈sings⌉ And I.

If wishes would prevail with me

My purpose should not fail with me

But thither would I hie.

BOY ⌈sings⌉ As duly

But not as truly

As bird doth sing on bough.

Enter Captain Fluellen and beats them in

FLUELLEN God’s plud! Up to the breaches, you dogs! Avaunt, you cullions!

PISTOL

Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould.

Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage,

Abate thy rage, great duke. Good bawcock, bate

Thy rage. Use lenity, sweet chuck.

NIM These be good humours! ⌈Fluellen begins to beat Nim⌉ Your honour runs bad humours.

Exeunt all but ⌈the Boy⌉

BOY As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three, but all they three, though they should serve me, could not be man to me, for indeed three such antics do not amount to a man. For Bardolph, he is white-livered and red-faced—by the means whereof a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue and a quiet sword—by the means whereof a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nim, he hath heard that men of few words are the best men, and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a should be thought a coward. But his few bad words are matched with as few good deeds—for a never broke any man’s head but his own, and that was against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal anything, and call it ‘purchase’. Bardolph stole a lute case, bore it twelve leagues, and sold it for three halfpence. Nim and Bardolph are sworn brothers in filching, and in Calais they stole a fire shovel. I knew by that piece of service the men would carry coals. They would have me as familiar with men’s pockets as their gloves or their handkerchiefs—which makes much against my manhood, if I should take from another’s pocket to put into mine, for it is plain pocketing up of wrongs. I must leave them, and seek some better service. Their villainy goes against my weak stomach, and therefore I must cast it up. Exit

3.3 Enter Captain Gower ⌈and Captain Fluellen, meeting⌉

GOWER Captain Fluellen, you must come presently to the mines. The Duke of Gloucester would speak with you.

FLUELLEN 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 the war. The concavities of it is not sufficient. For look you, th’thversary, you may discuss unto the Duke, look you, is digt himself, four yard under, the countermines. By Cheshu, I think a will plow up all, if there is not better directions.

GOWER 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.

FLUELLEN It is Captain MacMorris, is it not?

GOWER I think it be.

FLUELLEN 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.

Enter Captain MacMorris and Captain Jamy

GOWER Here a comes, and the Scots captain, Captain Jamy, with him.

FLUELLEN Captain Jamy is a marvellous falorous gentleman, that is certain, and of great expedition and knowledge in th’anciant wars, upon my particular knowledge of his directions. By Cheshu, he will maintain his argument as well as any military man in the world, in the disciplines of the pristine wars of the Romans.

JAMY I say gud day, Captain Fluellen.

FLUELLEN Good e’en to your worship, good Captain James.

GOWER How now, Captain MacMorris, have you quit the mines? Have the pioneers given o’er?

MACMORRIS By Chrish law, ‘tish ill done. The work ish give over, the trumpet sound the retreat. By my hand I swear, and my father’s soul, the work ish ill done, it ish give over. I would have blowed up the town, so Chrish save me law, in an hour. O ’tish ill done, ‘tish ill done, by my hand ’tish ill done.

FLUELLEN Captain MacMorris, I beseech you now, will you vouchsafe me, look you, a few disputations with you, as partly touching or concerning the disciplines of the war, the Roman wars, in the way of argument, look you, and friendly communication? Partly to satisfy my opinion and partly for the satisfaction, look you, of my mind. As touching the direction of the military discipline, that is the point.

JAMY It sall be vary gud, gud feith, gud captains bath, and I sall quite you with gud leve, as I may pick occasion. That sall I, marry.

MACMORRIS It is no time to discourse, so Chrish save me. The day is hot, and the weather and the wars and the King and the dukes. It is no time to discourse. The town is besieched. An the trumpet call us to the breach, and we talk and, be Chrish, do nothing, ‘tis shame for us all. So God sa’ me, ’tis shame to stand still, it is shame by my hand. And there is throats to be cut, and works to be done, and there ish nothing done, so Chrish sa’ me law.

JAMY By the mess, ere these eyes of mine take themselves to slumber, ay’ll de gud service, or I’ll lig i‘th’ grund for it. Ay owe Got a death, and I’ll pay’t as valorously as I may, that sall I suirely do, that is the brief and the long. Marry, I wad full fain heard some question ’tween you twae.

FLUELLEN Captain MacMorris, I think, look you, under your correction, there is not many of your nation—

MACMORRIS Of my nation? What ish my nation? Ish a villain and a bastard and a knave and a rascal? What ish my nation? Who talks of my nation?

FLUELLEN 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 disciplines of war and in the derivation of my birth, and in other particularities.

MACMORRIS I do not know you so good a man as myself. So Chrish save me, I will cut off your head.

GOWER Gentlemen both, you will mistake each other.

JAMY Ah, that’s a foul fault.

A parley is sounded

GOWER The town sounds a parley.

FLUELLEN Captain MacMorris, when there is more better opportunity to be required, look you, I will be so bold as to tell you I know the disciplines of war. And there is an end.

Exit

[Flourish.] Enter King Harry and all his train before the gates

KING HARRY

How yet resolves the Governor of the town?

This is the latest parle we will admit.

Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves,

Or like to men proud of destruction

Defy us to our worst. For as I am a soldier,

A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,

If I begin the batt‘ry once again

I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur

Till in her ashes she lie buried.

The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,

And the fleshed soldier, rough and hard of heart,

In liberty of bloody hand shall range

With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass

Your fresh fair virgins and your flow’ring infants.

What is it then to me if impious war

Arrayed in flames like to the prince of fiends

Do with his smirched complexion all fell feats

Enlinked to waste and desolation?

What is’t to me, when you yourselves are cause,

If your pure maidens fall into the hand

Of hot and forcing violation?

What rein can hold licentious wickedness

When down the hill he holds his fierce career?

We may as bootless spend our vain command

Upon th‘enragèd soldiers in their spoil

As send precepts to the leviathan

To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,

Take pity of your town and of your people

Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command,

Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace

O’erblows the filthy and contagious clouds

Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy.

If not—why, in a moment look to see

The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand

Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;

Your fathers taken by the silver beards,

And their most reverend heads dashed to the walls;

Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,

Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused

Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry

At Herod’s bloody-hunting slaughtermen.

What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid?

Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroyed?

Enter Governor [on the wall]

GOVERNOR

Our expectation hath this day an end.

The Dauphin, whom of succours we entreated,

Returns us that his powers are yet not ready

To raise so great a siege. Therefore, dread King,

We yield our town and lives to thy soft mercy.

Enter our gates, dispose of us and ours,

For we no longer are defensible.

KING HARRY

Open your gates.

[Exit Governor]

Come, Uncle Exeter,

Go you and enter Harfleur. There remain,

And fortify it strongly ’gainst the French.

Use mercy to them all. For us, dear uncle,

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.

[The gates are opened.] Flourish, and they enter the town

3.4 Enter Princess Catherine and Alice, an old gentlewoman

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

ALICE Un peu, madame.

CATHERINE Je te prie, m‘enseignez. Il faut que j’apprenne à parler. Comment appelez-vous la main en anglais?

ALICE La main? Elle est appelée de hand.

CATHERINE De hand. Et les doigts?

ALICE Les doigts? Ma foi, j‘oublie les doigts, mais je me souviendrai. Les doigts—je pense qu’ils sont appelés de fingres. Oui, de fingres.

CATHERINE La main, de hand; les doigts, de fingres. Je pense que je suis la bonne écolière; j‘ai gagné deux mots d’anglais vitement. Comment appelez-vous les ongles? ALICE Les ongles? Nous les appelons de nails.

CATHERINE De nails. Écoutez—dites-moi si je parle bien: de hand, de fingres, et de nails.

ALICE C’est bien dit, madame. Il est fort bon anglais.

CATHERINE Dites-moi l’anglais pour le bras.

ALICE De arma, madame.

CATHERINE Et le coude?

ALICE D’elbow.

CATHERINE D‘elbow. Je m’en fais la repetition de tous les mots que vous m’avez appris dès a present.

ALICE Il est trop difficile, madame, comme je pense.

CATHERINE Excusez-moi, Alice. Écoutez: d‘hand, de fingre, de nails, d’arma, de bilbow.

ALICE D’elbow, madame.

CATHERINE O Seigneur Dieu, je m‘en oublie! D’elbow. Comment appelez-vous le col?

ALICE De nick, madame.

CATHERINE De nick. Et le menton?

ALICE De chin.

CATHERINE De sin. Le col, de nick; le menton, de sin.

ALICE Oui. Sauf votre honneur, en vérité vous prononcez les mots aussi droit que les natifs d’Angleterre.

CATHERINE Je ne doute point d’apprendre, par la grace de Dieu, et en peu de temps.

ALICE N’avez-vous y déjà oublié ce que je vous ai enseigné?

CATHERINE Non, et je réciterai à vous promptement: d’hand, de fingre, de mailès—

ALICE De nails, madame.

CATHERINE De nails, de arma, de ilbow—

ALICE Sauf votre honneur, d’elbow.

CATHERINE Ainsi dis-je. D’elbow, de nick, et de sin. Comment appelez-vous les pieds et la robe?

ALICE De foot, madame, et de cown.

CATHERINE De foot et de cown? O Seigneur Dieu! Ils sont les mots 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 une autre fois ma leçon ensemble. D‘hand, de fingre, de nails, d’arma, d’elbow, de nick, de sin, de foot, de cown.

ALICE Excellent, madame!

CATHERINE C’est assez pour une fois. Allons-nous à diner.

Exeunt

3.5 Enter King Charles the Sixth of France, the Dauphin, the Constable, the Duke of ⌈Bourbon⌉, and others

KING CHARLES

‘Tis certain he hath passed the River Somme.

CONSTABLE

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.

DAUPHIN

O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us,

The emptying of our fathers’ luxury,

Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,

Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds

And over-look their grafters?

⌈BOURBON⌉

Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!

Mort de ma vie, if they march along

Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom

To buy a slobb’ry and a dirty farm

In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.

CONSTABLE

Dieu de batailles! Where have they this mettle?

Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull,

On whom as in despite the sun looks pale,

Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,

A drench for sur-reined jades—their barley-broth—

Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?

And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,

Seem frosty? O for honour of our land

Let us not hang like roping icicles

Upon our houses’ thatch, whiles a more frosty people

Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields—

‘Poor’ may we call them, in their native lords.

DAUPHIN 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.

⌈BOURBON⌉

They bid us, ‘To the English dancing-schools,

And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos’—

Saying our grace is only in our heels,

And that we are most lofty runaways.

KING CHARLES

Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence.

Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.

Up, princes, and with spirit of honour edged

More sharper than your swords, hie to the field.

Charles Delabret, High Constable of France,

You Dukes of Orléans, Bourbon, and of Berri,

Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy,

Jaques Châtillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,

Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconbridge,

Foix, Lestrelles, Boucicault, and Charolais,

High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,

For your great seats now quit you of great shames.

Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land

With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur;

Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow

Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat

The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon.

Go down upon him, you have power enough,

And in a captive chariot into Rouen

Bring him our prisoner.

CONSTABLE 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, fore achievement, offer us his ransom.

KING CHARLES

Therefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy,

And let him say to England that we send

To know what willing ransom he will give.—

Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.

DAUPHIN

Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

KING CHARLES

Be patient, for you shall remain with us.—

Now forth, Lord Constable, and princes all,

And quickly bring us word of England’s fall.

Exeunt severally

3.6 Enter Captains Gower and Fluellen, meeting

GOWER How now, Captain Fluellen, come you from the bridge?

FLUELLEN I assure you there is very excellent services committed at the bridge.

GOWER Is the Duke of Exeter safe?

FLUELLEN The Duke of Exeter is as magnanimous as Agamemnon, and a man that I love and honour with my soul and my heart and my duty and my live and my living and my uttermost power. He is not, God be praised and blessed, any hurt in the world, but keeps the bridge most valiantly, with excellent discipline. There is an ensign lieutenant there at the pridge, I think in my very conscience he is as valiant a man as Mark Antony, and he is a man of no estimation in the world, but I did see him do as gallant service.

GOWER What do you call him?

FLUELLEN He is called Ensign Pistol.

GOWER I know him not.

Enter Ensign Pistol

FLUELLEN Here is the man.

PISTOL

Captain, I thee beseech to do me favours.

The Duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

FLUELLEN Ay, I praise God, and I have merited some love at his hands.

PISTOL

Bardolph, a soldier firm and sound of heart,

Of buxom valour, hath by cruel fate

And giddy Fortune’s furious fickle wheel,

That goddess blind that stands upon the rolling

restless stone—

FLUELLEN By your patience, Ensign Pistol: Fortune is painted blind, with a muffler afore her eyes, to signify to you that Fortune is blind. And she is painted also with a wheel, to signify to you—which is the moral of it—that she is turning and inconstant and mutability and variation. And her foot, look you, is fixed upon a spherical stone, which rolls and rolls and rolls. In good truth, the poet makes a most excellent description of it; Fortune is an excellent moral.

PISTOL

Fortune is Bardolph’s foe and frowns on him,

For he hath stol’n a pax, and hangèd must a be.

A damned death—

Let gallows gape for dog, let man go free,

And let not hemp his windpipe suffocate.

But Exeter hath given the doom of death

For pax of little price.

Therefore go speak, the Duke will hear thy voice,

And let not Bardolph’s vital thread be cut

With edge of penny cord and vile reproach.

Speak, captain, for his life, and I will thee requite.

FLUELLEN Ensign Pistol, I do partly understand your meaning.

PISTOL Why then rejoice therefor.

FLUELLEN Certainly, ensign, it is not a thing to rejoice at. For if, look you, he were my brother, I would desire the Duke to use his good pleasure, and put him to executions. For discipline ought to be used.

PISTOL

Die and be damned! and fico for thy friendship.

FLUELLEN It is Well.

PISTOL The fig of Spain.

FLUELLEN Very good.

PISTOL

I say the fig within thy bowels and thy dirty maw.

Exit

FLUELLEN Captain Gower, cannot you hear it lighten and thunder?

GOWER Why, is this the ensign you told me of? I remember him now. A bawd, a cutpurse.

FLUELLEN I’ll assure you, a uttered as prave words at the pridge as you shall see in a summer’s day. But it is very well. What he has spoke to me, that is well, I warrant you, when time is serve.

GOWER Why ’tis a gull, a fool, a rogue, that now and then goes to the wars, to grace himself at his return into London under the form of a soldier. And such fellows are perfect in the great commanders’ names, and they will learn you by rote where services were done—at such and such a sconce, at such a breach, at such a convoy, who came off bravely, who was shot, who disgraced, what terms the enemy stood on—and this they con perfectly in the phrase of war, which they trick up with new-tuned oaths. And what a beard of the General’s cut and a horrid suit of the camp will do among foaming bottles and ale-washed wits is wonderful to be thought on. But you must learn to know such slanders of the age, or else you may be marvellously mistook.

FLUELLEN I tell you what, Captain Gower, I do perceive he is not the man that he would gladly make show to the world he is. If I find a hole in his coat, I will tell him my mind.

A drum is heard

Hark you, the King is coming, and I must speak with him from the pridge.

Enter King Harry and his poor soldiers, with drum and colours

God pless your majesty.

KING HARRY

How now, Fluellen, com’st thou from the bridge?

FLUELLEN Ay, so please your majesty. The Duke of Exeter has very gallantly maintained the pridge. The French is gone off, look you, and there is gallant and most prave passages. Marry, th’athversary was have possession of the pridge, but he is enforced to retire, and the Duke of Exeter is master of the pridge. I can tell your majesty, the Duke is a prave man.

KING HARRY What men have you lost, Fluellen?

FLUELLEN The perdition of th’athversary hath been very great, reasonable great. Marry, for my part I think the Duke hath lost never a man, but one that is like to be executed for robbing a church, one Bardolph, if your majesty know the man. His face is all bubuncles and whelks and knobs and flames o’ fire, and his lips blows at his nose, and it is like a coal of fire, sometimes plue and sometimes red. But his nose is executed, and his fire’s out.

KING HARRY We would have all such offenders so cut off, and we here give express charge that in our marches through the country there be nothing compelled from the villages, nothing taken but paid for, none of the French upbraided or abused in disdainful language. For when lenity and cruelty play for a kingdom, the gentler gamester is the soonest winner. Tucket. Enter Montjoy

MONTJOY You know me by my habit.

KING HARRY

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

MONTJOY

My master’s mind.

KING HARRY Unfold it.

MONTJOY Thus says my King: ‘Say thou to Harry of England, though we seemed dead, we did but sleep. Advantage is a better soldier than rashness. Tell him, we could have rebuked him at Harfleur, but that 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—which in weight to re-answer, his pettiness would bow under. For our losses, his exchequer is too poor; for th’ffusion 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.

KING HARRY

What is thy name? I know thy quality.

MONTJOY Montjoy.

KING HARRY

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—

Though ’tis no wisdom to confess so much

Unto an enemy of craft and vantage—

My people are with sickness much enfeebled,

My numbers lessened, and those few I have

Almost no better than so many French;

Who when they were in health—I tell thee herald,

I thought upon one pair of English legs

Did march three Frenchmen. Yet forgive me, God,

That I do brag thus. This your air of France

Hath blown that vice in me. I must repent.

Go, therefore, tell thy master here I am;

My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,

My army but a weak and sickly guard.

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

Though France himself and such another neighbour

Stand in our way. There’s for thy labour, Montjoy.

Go bid thy master well advise himself.

If we may pass, we will; if we be hindered,

We shall your tawny ground with your red blood

Discolour. And so, Montjoy, fare you well.

The sum of all our answer is but this:

We would not seek a battle as we are,

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

So tell your master.

MONTJOY

I shall deliver so. Thanks to your highness. Exit

GLOUCESTER

I hope they will not come upon us now.

KING HARRY

We are in God’s hand, brother, not in theirs.

March to the bridge. It now draws toward night.

Beyond the river we’ll encamp ourselves,

And on tomorrow bid them march away. Exeunt