Orl. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?

Yon island carrions,15 desperate of their bones,

Ill-favour’dly become the morning field:

Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,16

And our air shakes them passing scornfully:

Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar’d host,

And their executors, the knavish crows,

Fly o’er them, all impatient for their hour.

Description cannot suit itself in words

To demonstrate the life of such a battle

In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,

And give their fasting horses provender,

And after fight with them?

Con.

On, to the field!

Come, come, away!

The sun is high, and we outwear the day.

Exeunt, R.H.

Flourish of trumpets.

Scene III.—THE ENGLISH POSITION AT AGINCOURT.

The English Army drawn up for battle;(E) Gloster, Bedford, Exeter, Salisbury, Erpingham, and Westmoreland.

Glo. (R.C.) Where is the king?

Bed. (L.C.) The king himself is rode to view their battle.17

West. (L.) Of fighting men they have full threescore thousand.

Exe. (L.C.) There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh.

Erp. It is fearful odds.

If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,

Then, joyfully,—my noble lord of Bedford,—

Crosses to L.

My dear lord Gloster,—and my good lord Exeter,—

Warriors all, adieu!

Crosses back to R.

West. O that we now had here

But one ten thousand of those men in England

That do no work to-day!(F)

Enter King Henry, attended.(G) U.E.L.H.

K. Hen. (C.)

What’s he that wishes so?

My cousin Westmoreland?—No, my fair cousin:

If we are mark’d to die, we are enough

To do our country loss; and if to live,

The fewer men, the greater share of honour.

I pray thee, wish not one man more.

Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,

That he who hath no stomach to this fight.

Let him depart; his passport shall be made,

And crowns for convoy put into his purse:

We would not die in that man’s company,

That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is call’d—the feast of Crispian:(H)

He, that outlives this day, and comes safe home,

Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d,

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 friends,18

And say—to-morrow is Saint Crispian:

Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,

And say, those wounds I had on Crispin’s day.

Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,

But he’ll remember with advantages19

What feats he did that day: Then shall our names,

Familiar in their mouths as household words,—

Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,—(I)

Be in their flowing cups freshly remember’d.

This story shall the good man teach his son;

And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by,

From this day to the ending20 of the world,

But we in it shall be remembered.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;

For he to-day that sheds his blood with me

Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile,

This day shall gentle his condition:21

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here;

And hold their manhoods cheap while any speaks

That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Enter Gower, hastily, U.E.L.H.

Gow. (R.C.) My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed:

The French are bravely in their battles set,22

And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. Hen. (C.) All things are ready, if our minds be so.

West. Perish the man whose mind is backward now!

K. Hen. Thou dost not wish more help from England, cousin?

West. (L.) Would you and I alone, my liege,

Without more help, might fight this battle out!

Trumpet sounds without, L.H.

Enter Montjoy, and attendants, U.E.L.H.

Mont. uncovers and kneels. Once more I come to know of thee, King Harry,

If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,

Before thy most assured overthrow.

K. Hen. (C.) Who hath sent thee now?

Mont.

The Constable of France.

K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back:

Bid them achieve me,23 and then sell my bones.

Good Heaven! Why should they mock poor fellows thus?

The man, that once did sell the lion’s skin

While the beast liv’d, was kill’d with hunting him.

Let me speak proudly:—Tell the Constable,

We are but warriors for the working-day:24

Our gayness and our guilt25 are all besmirch’d

With rainy marching in the painful field,

And time hath worn us into slovenry.

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

And my poor soldiers tell me—yet ere night

They’ll be in fresher robes; or they will pluck

The gay new coats o’er the French soldiers’ heads,

And turn them out of service.

Come thou no more for ransom, gentle herald:

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

Which if they have as I will leave ’em to them,

Shall yield them little, tell the Constable.

Mont. I shall, King Harry. Rises from his knee. And so, fare thee well:

Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

Exit with Attendants, U.E.L.H.

K. Hen. Now, soldiers, march away:—

And how thou pleasest, Heaven, dispose the day!(K)

Trumpet March.

Exeunt L.H.

Scene IV.—ANOTHER PART OF THE FIELD OF BATTLE.

Alarums. Enter Dauphin, Orleans, Bourbon, Constable, Rambures, and Others, hastily, and in confusion, L.H.

Dau. (C.) All is confounded, all!

Reproach and everlasting shame

Sits mocking in our plumes.

Alarums, L.

Con.

Why, all our ranks are broke.

Dau. O perdurable shame!26—let’s stab ourselves.

Be these the wretches that we play’d at dice for?

Orl. (L.C.) Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?

Dau. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!

Let us die in honor: Once more back again.

Con. (C.) Disorder, that hath spoil’d us, friend us now!

Let us in heaps go offer up our lives

Unto these English, or else die with fame.

Dau. (R.C.) We are enough, yet living in the field,

To smother up the English in our throngs,

If any order might be thought upon.

Con. The devil take order now! I’ll to the throng:

Let life be short; else shame will be too long.

Alarums.

Exeunt L.H.

Scene V.—THE FIELD OF AGINCOURT AFTER THE BATTLE.

The bodies of the Duke of York(L) and Earl of Suffolk are borne across the stage by soldiers.

Trumpets sound.

Enter King Henry with a part of the English forces; Warwick, Bedford, Gloster, Exeter, and others, L.H.

K. Hen. (C.) I was not angry since I came to France,

Until this instant.—Take a trumpet, herald;

Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:(M)

If they will fight with us, bid them come down,

Or void the field;27 they do offend our sight:

If they’ll do neither, we will come to them;

And make them skirr away, as swift as stones

Enforced from the old Assyrian slings.

Go, and tell them so.

Exit Herald with Trumpeter, R.H.

Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.

K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour,

I saw him down; thrice up again and fighting;

From helmet to the spur, all blood he was.

Exe. In which array, (brave soldier), did he lie,

Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,

(Yoke fellow to his honour-owing wounds),

The noble Earl of Suffolk also lay.

Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,

Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep’d,

And takes him by the hand; kisses the gashes,

That bloodily did yarn upon his face;

And cries aloud:—Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!

My soul shall thine keep company to heaven:

Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast;

As in this glorious and well foughten field,

We keep together in our chivalry!

Upon these words I came, and cheer’d him up:

He smil’d me in the face, raught me his hand,28

And with a feeble gripe, says,—Dear, my lord,

Commend my service to my sovereign.

So did he turn, and over Suffolk’s neck

He threw his wounded arm, and kiss’d his lips;

And so espous’d to death, with blood he seal’d

A testament of noble-ending love.

The pretty and sweet manner of it forc’d

Those waters from me, which I would have stopp’d;

But I had not so much of man in me,

But all my mother came into mine eyes,

And gave me up to tears.

Re-enter English Herald and Trumpeter, R.H.

K. Hen.

I blame you not:

For, hearing this, I must perforce compound

With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.

Trumpet without, R.

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.

Glo. His eyes are humbler than they us’d to be.

Enter Montjoy,(N) and attendants, R.H. Montjoy uncovers and kneels.

K. Hen. How now! what means this, herald?

Com’st thou again for ransom?

Mont.

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;

To sort our nobles from our common men,

For many of our princes (woe the while!)

Lie drown’d and soak’d in mercenary blood;

(So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs

In blood of princes;) and their wounded steeds

Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage

Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,

Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great king,

To view the field in safety, and dispose

Of their dead bodies!

K. Hen.

I tell thee truly, herald,

I know not if the day be ours or no;

For yet a many of your horsemen peer

And gallop o’er the field.

Mont.

The day is yours.

K. Hen. Praised be Heaven, and not our strength, for it!—

What is this castle call’d that stands hard by?

Mont. They call it—Agincourt.

K. Hen. Then call we this—the field of Agincourt,

Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

Loud flourish of Trumpets, and shouts of the soldiers. Montjoy rises from his knee, and stands R.

Flu. (L.) Your grandfather of famous memory, an’t please your majesty, and your great uncle Edward the plack prince of Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave pattle here in France.

K. Hen. (C.) They did, Fluellen.

Flu. Your majesty says very true: if your majesties is remembered of it, the Welshman did goot service in a garden where leeks did grow, wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps;29 which, your majesty knows, to this hour is an honourable padge of the service; and I do believe, your majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint Tavy’s day.

K. Hen. I wear it for a memorable honour;

For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.

Flu. All the water in Wye cannot wash your majesty’s Welsh plood out of your pody, I can tell you that: Heaven pless it, and preserve it, as long as it pleases his grace, and his majesty too!

K. Hen. Thanks, good my countryman.

Flu. I am your majesty’s countryman, I care not who know it: I will confess it to all the ’orld: I need not to be ashamed of your majesty, praised be Heaven, so long as your majesty is an honest man.

K. Hen. Heaven keep me so!—Our herald go with him:

Bring me just notice of the numbers dead

On both our parts.—

Exeunt Montjoy and attendants, with English Herald, R.H.

Call yonder fellow hither.

Points to Williams, who is standing in the ranks up the stage, L.

Exe. Soldier, you must come to the king.

K. Hen. (C.) Soldier, why wear’st thou that glove in thy cap?

Will. kneels R. An’t please your majesty, ’tis the gage of one that I should fight withal, if he be alive.

Rises from his knee.

K. Hen. An Englishman?

Will. An’t please your majesty, a rascal that swaggered with me last night; who, if ’a live, and ever dare to challenge this glove, I have sworn to take him a box o’ the ear: or, if I can see my glove in his cap (which he swore, as he was a soldier, he would wear, if alive,) I will strike it out soundly.

K. Hen. What think you, Captain Fluellen? is it fit this soldier keep his oath?

Flu. (L.) He is a craven and a villain else, an’t please your majesty, in my conscience.

K. Hen. It may be his enemy is a gentleman of great sort,30 quite from the answer of his degree.31

Flu. Though he be as goot a gentleman as the tevil is, as Lucifer and Belzebub himself, it is necessary, look your grace, that he keep his vow and his oath.

K. Hen. Then keep thy vow, sirrah, when thou meet’st the fellow.

Will. So I will, my liege, as I live.

K. Hen. Who servest thou under?

Will. Under Captain Gower, my liege.

Flu. Gower is a goot captain, and is good knowledge and literature in the wars.

K. Hen. Call him hither to me, soldier.

Will. I will, my liege.

Exit, R.H.

K. Hen. Here, Fluellen; wear thou this favour for me, and stick it in thy cap: When Alençon and myself were down together,(O) I plucked this glove from his helm: if any man challenge this, he is a friend to Alençon and an enemy to our person; if thou encounter any such, apprehend him, an thou dost love me.

Flu. Your grace does me as great honours as can be desired in the hearts of his subjects: I would fain see the man, that has but two legs, that shall find himself aggriefed at this glove, that is all.

K. Hen. Knowest thou Gower?

Flu. He is my dear friend, an please you.

K. Hen. Pray thee, go seek him, and bring him to my tent.

Flu. (L.) I will fetch him.

Crosses to R., and exit R.H.

K. Hen. (L.C.) My lord of Warwick,—and my brother Gloster,

Both advance to the King.

Follow Fluellen closely at the heels:

The glove which I have given him for a favour

May haply purchase him a box o’ the ear;

It is the soldier’s; I, by bargain, should

Wear it myself. Follow, good cousin Warwick:

Warwick crosses to R.

If that the soldier strike him (as, I judge,

By his blunt bearing, he will keep his word,)

Some sudden mischief may arise of it;

For I do know Fluellen valiant,

And, touch’d with choler, hot as gunpowder,

And quickly will return an injury:

Follow, Gloster crosses to R. and see there be no harm between them.—

Warwick and Gloster exeunt R.H.

Go you with me, Uncle of Exeter.

Exeunt Omnes, L.H.

Trumpets sound.

Scene VI.—BEFORE KING HENRY’S PAVILION.

Enter Gower and Williams, R.H.

Will. I warrant it is to knight you, captain.

Enter Fluellen, R.H.

Flu. Heaven’s will and pleasure, captain, I peseech you now, come apace to the king: there is more goot toward you peradventure than is in your knowledge to dream of.

Will. Sir, know you this glove?

Flu. (C.) Know the glove! I know, the glove is a glove.

Will. (R.C.) I know this; and thus I challenge it.

Strikes him.

Flu. ’Sblud, an arrant traitor as any’s in the universal ’orld, or in France, or in England!

Gow. (L.C.) How now, sir! you villain!

Will. Do you think I’ll be forsworn?

Flu. Stand away, Captain Gower; I will give treason his payment in plows, I warrant you.

Will. I am no traitor.

Flu. That’s a lie in thy throat.—I charge you in his majesty’s name, apprehend him: he’s a friend of the duke Alençon’s.

Enter Warwick and Gloster,(P) R.H.

Glos. crosses to C. How now, how now! what’s the matter?

Flu. My lord of Gloster, here is (praised be Heaven for it!) a most contagious treason come to light, look you, as you shall desire in a summer’s day. Here is his majesty.

Enter King Henry, Exeter, and others, U.E.L.H.

K. Hen. coming down centre. How now! what’s the matter?

Flu. (L.H.) My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look your grace, has struck the glove which your majesty is take out of the helmet of Alençon.

Will. (R.C.) My liege, this was my glove; here is the fellow of it; and he that I gave it to in change promised to wear it in his cap: I promised to strike him, if he did: I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word.

Flu. Your majesty hear now (saving your majesty’s manhood) what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lowsy knave it is: I hope, your majesty is pear me testimony, and witness, and avouchments, that this is the glove of Alençon, that your majesty is give me, in your conscience, now.

K. Hen. Give me thy glove, soldier: Look, here is the fellow of it. ’Twas I, indeed, thou promised’st to strike; and thou hast given me most bitter terms.

Williams falls on his knee.

Flu. An please your majesty, let his neck answer for it, if there is any martial law in the ’orld.

K. Hen. How can’st thou make me satisfaction?

Will. All offences, my liege, come from the heart: never came any from mine, that might offend your majesty.

K. Hen. It was ourself thou didst abuse.

Will. Your majesty came not like yourself: you appeared to me but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your lowliness; and what your highness suffered under that shape, I beseech you, take it for your own fault, and not mine: for had you been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech your highness, pardon me.

K. Hen. Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,

And give it to this fellow.—(Williams rises.) Keep it, fellow;

And wear it for an honour in thy cap

Till I do challenge it.—Give him the crowns:—

And, captain, you must needs be friends with him.

The King goes up the stage with Exeter, Bedford, and Gloster.

Flu. By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough in his pelly.—Hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you to serve Heaven, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the petter for you.

Will. I will none of your money.

Flu. It is with a goot will; I can tell you, it will serve you to mend your shoes: Come, wherefore should you be so pashful? your shoes is not so goot: ’tis a goot silling, I warrant you, or I will change it.

Exit Williams, R.H.

Enter English Herald, R.H.

K. Hen. coming down C. Now, herald, are the dead number’d?

Herald uncovers, kneels, and delivers papers. The King gives one paper to Exeter.

K. Hen. (C.) What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?

Exe. (L.C.) Charles duke of Orleans, nephew to the king;

John duke of Bourbon, and lord Bouciqualt:

Of other lords and barons, knights and ’squires,

Full fifteen hundred, besides common men.

K. Hen. (C.) This note doth tell me of ten thousand French

That in the field lie slain: of princes, in this number,

And nobles bearing banners, there lie dead

One hundred twenty-six: added to these,

Of knights, esquires, and gallant gentlemen,

Eight thousand and four hundred; of the which,

Five hundred were but yesterday dubb’d knights:32

So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,

There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries:33

The rest are—princes, barons, lords, knights, ’squires,

And gentlemen of blood and quality.

Here was a royal fellowship of death!——(Q)

What is the number of our English dead?

Exe. (L.C.) Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk,

Sir Richard Ketley, Davy Gam, esquire:

None else of name; and of all other men

But five and twenty.

K. Hen. O Heaven, thy arm was here;

And not to us, but to thy arm alone,

Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem,

But in plain shock and even play of battle,

Was ever known so great and little loss

On one part and on the other?—Take it, Heaven,

For it is only thine!

Returns papers to Herald, who rises and stands L.

Exe.

’Tis wonderful!

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village:

And be it death proclaimed through our host

To boast of this, or take that praise from Heaven

Which is his only.

Flu. (R.C.) Is it not lawful, and please your majesty, to tell how many is killed?

K. Hen. up the stage C. Yes, captain; but with this acknowledgment,

That Heaven fought for us.

Flu. Yes, my conscience, he did us great goot.

K. Hen. Do we all holy rites:(R)

The curtains of the Royal Pavilion are drawn aside, and discover an Altar and Priests.

Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum;

The dead with charity enclos’d in clay:

We’ll then to Calais; and to England then;

Where ne’er from France arriv’d more happy men.

Organ music; all kneel, and join in Song of Thanksgiving.

END OF ACT FOUR.

HISTORICAL NOTES TO ACT FOURTH.


(A) The English Camp at Agincourt.] The French were about a quarter of a mile from them at Agincourt and Ruisseauville, and both armies proceeded to light their fires, and to make the usual arrangements for a bivouack. The night was very rainy, and much inconvenience is said to have been experienced in each camp from wet and cold, accompanied, among the English, by hunger and fatigue. It was passed in a manner strictly consistent with their relative situations. The French, confident in their numbers, occupied the hours not appropriated to sleep in calculating upon their success; and in full security of a complete victory, played at dice with each other for the disposal of their prisoners, an archer being valued at a blank, and the more important persons in proportion; whilst the English were engaged in preparing their weapons, and in the most solemn acts of religion.***The Chronicler in the text states, that from the great stillness which prevailed throughout the English camp, the enemy imagined they were panic-struck, and intended to decamp. Monstrelet relates that the English “were much fatigued and oppressed by cold, hunger, and other annoyances; that they made their peace with God, by confessing their sins with tears, and numbers of them taking the sacrament; for, as it was related by some prisoners, they looked for certain death on the morrow.”

(B) Enter Erpingham.] Sir Thomas Erpingham came over with Bolingbroke from Bretagne, and was one of the commissioners to receive King Richard’s abdication. In Henry the Fifth’s time Sir Thomas was warden of Dover Castle, and at the battle of Agincourt, was commander of the Archers. This venerable knight is described by Monstrelet to have grown grey with age and honour; and when orders were given for the English army to march toward the enemy, by Henry crying aloud, “Advance banners,” Sir Thomas threw his truncheon in the air as a signal to the whole field, exclaiming, “Now strike;” and loud and repeated shouts testified the readiness with which they obeyed the command.

(C) I Richard’s body have interred new;] Henry was anxious not only to repair his own misconduct, but also to make amends for those iniquities into which policy or the necessity of affairs had betrayed his father. He expressed the deepest sorrow for the fate of the unhappy Richard, did justice to the memory of that unfortunate prince, even performed his funeral obsequies with pomp and solemnity, and cherished all those who had distinguished themselves by their loyalty and attachment towards him. —Hume’s History of England.

(D) Enter Orleans.] Charles Duke of Orleans was wounded and taken prisoner at Agincourt. Henry refused all ransom for him, and he remained in captivity twenty-three years.

This prince was a celebrated poet, and some of his most beautiful verses were composed during his confinement in the Tower of London. He married Isabella of Valois, daughter of Charles VI. and Isabeau of Bavaria, eldest sister to the Princess Katharine, Queen of Henry V.

Isabella was the widow of our Richard the Second when she married the Duke of Orleans.

After the victory of Agincourt, the following anecdote is related by Remy:— “During their journey to Calais, at a place where they rested, Henry caused bread and wine to be brought to him, which he sent to the Duke of Orleans; but the French Prince would neither eat nor drink. This being reported to the King, he imagined that it arose from dissatisfaction, and, therefore, went to the duke. ‘Noble cousin,’ said Henry, ‘how are you?’ ‘Well, my lord,’ answered the duke. ‘Why, then, is it,’ added the King, ‘that you will neither eat nor drink?’ To which Orleans replied, ‘that truly he had no inclination for food.’ ‘Noble cousin,’ rejoined Henry, ‘be of good heart. I know that God gave me the victory over the French, not that I deserved it, but I fully believe that he wished to punish them; and if what I have heard is true, it is not to be wondered at, for never were there greater disorder, sensuality, sins, and vices seen than now prevail in France; which it is horrible to hear described; and if God is provoked, it is not a subject of surprise, and no one can be astonished.’ Many more conversations are said to have passed between the King and the Duke of Orleans, and the commisseration and courtesy of the former to his prisoners is mentioned by every writer in terms of just praise.”

(E) The English army, drawn up for battle;] The victory gained at Agincourt, in the year 1415, is, in a great measure, ascribed to the English Archers, and that there might be no want of arrows, Henry V. ordered the sheriffs of several counties to procure feathers from the wings of geese, plucking six from each goose. An archer of this time was clad in a cuirass, or a hauberk of chain-mail, with a salade on his head, which was a kind of bacinet. Every man had a good bow, a sheaf of arrows, and a sword. Fabian describes the archer’s dress at the battle of Agincourt. “The yeomen had their limbs at liberty, for their hose was fastened with one point, and their jackets were easy to shoot in, so that they might draw bows of great strength, and shoot arrows a yard long.” Some are described as without hats or caps, others with caps of boiled leather, or wicker work, crossed over with iron; some without shoes, and all in a very dilapidated condition. Each bore on his shoulder a long stake, sharpened at both extremities, which he was instructed to fix obliquely before him in the ground, and thus oppose a rampart of pikes to the charge of the French Cavalry.

(F)

O that we now had here

But one ten thousand of those men in England

That do no work to day!]

A certain lord Walter Hungerford, knight, was regretting in the king’s presence that he had not, in addition to the small retinue which he had there, ten thousand of the best English Archers, who would be desirous of being with him; when the King said, Thou speaketh foolishly, for, by the God of Heaven, on whose grace I have relied, and in whom I have a firm hope of victory, I would not, even if I could, increase my number by one; for those whom I have are the people of God, whom He thinks me worthy to have at this time. Dost thou not believe the Almighty, with these his humble few, is able to conquer the haughty opposition of the French, who pride themselves on their numbers, and their own strength, as if it might be said they would do as they liked? And in my opinion, God, of his true justice, would not bring any disaster upon one of so great confidence, as neither fell out to Judas Maccabeus until he became distrustful, and thence deservedly fell into ruin. —Nicolas’s History of Agincourt.

(G) Enter King Henry, attended.] Henry rose with the earliest dawn, and immediately heard three masses. He was habited in his “cote d’armes,” containing the arms of France and England quarterly, and wore on his bacinet a very rich crown of gold and jewels, circled like an imperial crown, that is, arched over. The earliest instance of an arched crown worn by an English monarch. —Vide Planché’s History of British Costume.

King Henry had at Agincourt for his person five banners; that is, the banner of the Trinity, the banner of St. George, the banner of St. Edward, the banner of St. Edmund, and the banner of his own arms. “When the King of England had drawn up his order of battle he made a fine address to his troops, exhorting them to act well; saying, that he was come into France to recover his lawful inheritance, and that he had good and just cause to claim it; that in that quarrel they might freely and surely fight; that they should remember that they were born in the kingdom where their fathers and mothers, wives and children, now dwelt, and therefore they ought to strive to return there with great glory and fame; that the kings of England, his predecessors, had gained many noble battles and successes over the French; that on that day every one should endeavour to preserve his own person and the honor of the crown of the King of England. He moreover reminded them that the French boasted they would cut off three fingers from the right hand of every archer they should take, so that their shot should never again kill man nor horse. The army cried out loudly, saying, ‘Sir, we pray God give you a good life, and the victory over your enemies.’” —Nicolas’s History of Agincourt.

The banner of the Oriflamme is said to have been unfurled by the French for the last time at Agincourt.

(H) The feast of Crispian.] The battle of Agincourt was fought upon the 25th of October, 1415, St. Crispin’s day. The legend upon which this is founded, is as follows:— “Crispinus and Crispianus were brethren, born at Rome; from whence they travelled to Soissons in France, about the year 303, to propagate the Christian religion; but because they would not be chargeable to others for their maintenance, they exercised the trade of shoemakers; but the Governor of the town, discovering them to be Christians, ordered them to be beheaded about the year 303. From which time, the shoemakers made choice of them for their tutelar saints.” —See Hall’s Chronicle.

(I) Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster.] Although Shakespeare has adhered very closely to history in many parts of Henry V., he has deviated very much from it in the Dramatis Personæ. He makes the Duke of Bedford accompany Henry to Harfleur and Agincourt when he was Regent of England. The Earl of Exeter, or, more properly speaking, the Earl of Dorset, was left to command Harfleur; the Earl of Westmoreland, so far from quitting England, was appointed to defend the marches of Scotland, nor does it appear that the Earl of Salisbury was either at Harfleur or Agincourt. The Earl of Warwick* had returned to England ill from Harfleur. The characters introduced in the play who really were at Agincourt, are the Dukes of Gloucester and York, and Sir Thomas Erpingham.

Holinshed states that the English army consisted of 15,000, and the French of 60,000 horse and 40,000 infantry—in all, 100,000. Walsingham and Harding represent the English as but 9,000, and other authors say that the number of French amounted to 150,000. Fabian says the French were 40,000, and the English only 7,000. The battle lasted only three hours.

(K) How thou pleasest, Heaven, dispose the day.] At the battle of Agincourt, having chosen a convenient spot on which to martial his men, the king sent privately two hundred archers into a low meadow, which was on one of his flanks, where they were so well secured by a deep ditch and a marsh, that the enemy could not come near them. Then he divided his infantry into three squadrons, or battles; the van-warde, or avant-guard, composed entirely of archers; the middle-warde, of bill-men only; and the rerewarde, of bill-men and archers mixed together; the horse-men, as wings, went on the flanks of each of the battles. He also caused stakes to be made of wood about five or six feet long, headed with sharp iron; these were fixed in the ground, and the archers so placed before them that they were entirely hid from the sight of the enemy. When, therefore, the heavy cavalry of the French charged, which was done with the utmost impetuosity, under the idea of cutting down and riding over the archers, they shrunk at once behind the stakes, and the Frenchmen, unable to stop their horses, rode full upon them, so that they overthrew their riders, and caused the utmost confusion. The infantry, who were to follow up and support this charge, were so struck with amazement that they hesitated, and by this were lost, for during the panic the English archers threw back their bows, and with axes, bills, glaives, and swords, slew the French, till they met the middle-warde. The king himself, according to Speed, rode in the main battle completely armed, his shield quartering the achievements of France and England; upon his helm he wore a coronet encircled with pearls and precious stones, and after the victory, although it had been cut and bruised, he would not suffer it to be ostentatiously exhibited to the people, but ordered all his men to give the glory to God alone. His horse was one of fierce courage, and had a bridle and furniture of goldsmiths’ work, and the caparisons were most richly embroidered with the victorious ensigns of the English monarchy. Thus is he represented on his great seal, with the substitution of a knights’ cap, and the crest, for the chaplet. Elmham’s account, from which this is amplified, is more particular in some of the details; he relates, that the king appeared on a palfrey, followed by a train of led horses, ornamented with the most gorgeous trappings; his helmet was of polished steel, surmounted with a coronet sparkling with jewels, and on his surcoat, or rather jupon, were emblazoned the arms of France and England, azure, three fleurs-de-lis or, and gules, three lion’s passant guardant or. The nobles, in like manner, were decorated with their proper armorial bearings. Before him was borne the royal standard, which was ornamented with gold and splendid colours. An account of the memorable battle of Azincourt, or Agincourt, fought on the 25th of October, 1415, is thus related by Mr. Turner:— “At dawn the King of England had matins and the mass chaunted in his army. He stationed all the horses and baggage in the village, under such small guard as he could spare, having resolved to fight the battle on foot. He sagaciously perceived that his only chance of victory rested in the superiority of the personal fortitude and activity of his countrymen, and to bring them face to face, and arm to arm, with their opponents, was the simple object of his tactical dispositions. He formed his troops into three divisions, with two wings. The centre, in which he stationed himself, he planted to act against the main body of the French, and he placed the right and left divisions, with their wings, at a small distance only from himself. He so chose his ground that the village protected his rear, and hedges and briars defended his flanks. Determined to shun no danger, but to be a conspicuous example to his troops on a day when no individual exertions could be spared, he put on a neat and shining armour, with a large and brilliant helmet, and on this he placed a crown, radiant with its jewels, and he put over him a tunic adorned with the arms of France and England. He mounted his horse, and proceeded to address his troops. The French were commanded by the Constable of France, and with him were the Dukes of Orleans, Burgundy, Berry, and Alençon, the Marshal and Admiral of France, and a great assemblage of French nobility. Their force was divided into three great battalions, and continued formed till ten o’clock, not advancing to the attack. They were so numerous as to be able to draw up thirty deep, the English but four. A thousand speared horsemen skirmished from each of the horns of the enemy’s line, and it appeared crowded with balistae for the projection of stones of all sizes on Henry’s little army. Henry sent a part of his force behind the village of Agincourt, where the French had placed no men at arms. He moved from the rear of his army, unperceived, two hundred archers, to hide themselves in a meadow on the flank of the French advanced line. An old and experienced knight, Sir Thomas Erpingham, formed the rest into battle array for an attack, putting the archers in front, and the men at arms behind. The archers had each a sharp stake pointed at both ends, to use against the French horse. Sir Thomas having completed his formation, threw up his truncheon in the air, and dismounted. The English began the attack, which the French had awaited, not choosing to give the advantage as at Poictiers; but when they saw them advance, they put themselves in motion, and their cavalry charged; these were destroyed by the English archers. The French, frightened by the effect of the arrows, bent their heads to prevent them from entering the vizors of their helmets, and, pressing forward, became so wedged together as to be unable to strike. The archers threw back their bows, and, grasping their swords, battle-axes, and other weapons, cut their way to the second line. At this period the ambushed archers rushed out, and poured their impetuous and irresistable arrows into the centre of the assailed force, which fell in like manner with the first line. In short, every part successively gave way, and the English had only to kill and take prisoners.”

(L) The Duke of York commanded the van guard of the English army, and was slain in the battle.

This personage is the same who appears in Shakespeare’s play of King Richard the Second by the title of Duke of Aumerle. His Christian name was Edward. He was the eldest son of Edmund Langley, Duke of York, who is introduced in the same play, and who was the fifth son of King Edward III. Richard, Earl of Cambridge, who appears in the second act of this play, was younger brother to this Edward, Duke of York.

(M) Ride thou unto the horsemen on yon hill:] After the battle, “there were small bodies of the French on different parts of the plain, but they were soon routed, slain, or taken.”

(N) Enter Montjoy.] He (the king) asked Montjoye to whom the victory belonged, to him or to the King of France? Montjoye replied that the victory was his, and could not be claimed by the King of France. The king said to the French and English heralds, “It is not we who have made this great slaughter, but the omnipotent God, as we believe, for a punishment of the sins of the French. The king then asked the name of the castle he saw near him. He was told it was Agincourt. Well, then, said he, since all battles should bear the name of the fortress nearest to the spot where they were fought, this battle shall from henceforth bear the ever durable name of Agincourt.” —Nicolas’s History of Agincourt.

(O) When Alençon and myself were down together.] During the battle, the Duke of Alençon most valiantly broke through the English line, and advanced, fighting, near to the king, insomuch that he wounded and struck down the Duke of York. King Henry, seeing this, stepped forth to his aid, and as he was leaning down to raise him, the Duke of Alençon gave him a blow on the helmet that struck off part of his crown. The king’s guard on this surrounded him, when, seeing he could no way escape death but by surrendering, he lifted up his arm, and said to the king, “I am the Duke of Alençon, and yield myself to you;” but as the king was holding out his hand to receive his pledge, he was put to death by the guards. —Nicolas’s History of Agincourt.

(P) Enter Warwick and Gloster.] The noble Duke of Gloucester, the king’s brother, pushing himself too vigorously on his horse into the conflict, was grievously wounded, and cast down to the earth by the blows of the French, for whose protection the king being interested, he bravely leapt against his enemies in defence of his brother, defended him with his own body, and plucked and guarded him from the raging malice of the enemy’s, sustaining perils of war scarcely possible to be borne. —Nicolas’s History of Agincourt.

(Q) Here was a royal fellowship of death!—] There is not much difficulty in forming a correct estimate of the numbers of the French slain at Agincourt, for if those writers who only state that from three to five thousand were killed, merely meant the men-at-arms and persons of superior rank, and which is exceedingly probable, we may at once adopt the calculation of Monstrelet, Elmham, &c., and estimate the whole loss on the field at from ten to eleven thousand men. It is worthy of remark how very nearly the different statements on the subject approach to each other, and which can only be explained by the fact that the dead had been carefully numbered.

Among the most illustrious persons slain were the Dukes of Brabant, Barré, and Alençon, five counts, and a still greater proportion of distinguished knights; and the Duke of Orleans, the Count of Vendôsme, who was taken by Sir John Cornwall, the Marshall Bouciqualt, and numerous other individuals of distinction, whose names are minutely recorded by Monstrelet, were made prisoners. The loss of the English army has been variously estimated. The discrepancies respecting the number slain on the part of the victors, form a striking contrast to the accuracy of the account of the loss of their enemies. The English writers vary in their statements from seventeen to one hundred, whilst the French chroniclers assert that from three hundred to sixteen hundred individuals fell on that occasion. St. Remy and Monstrelet assert that sixteen hundred were slain. —Nicolas’s History of Agincourt.

(R) Do we all holy rites:] Holinshed says, that when the king saw no appearance of enemies, he caused the retreat to be blown, and gathering his army together, gave thanks to Almighty God for so happy a victory, causing his prelates and chaplains to sing this psalm—In exitu Israel de Egypto; and commanding every man to kneel down on the ground at this verse—Non nobis domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam; which, done, he caused Te Deum and certain anthems to be sung, giving laud and praise to God, and not boasting of his own force, or any human power.