Act 2 — Scene II.—FRANCE. A ROOM IN THE FRENCH KING’S PALACE.
Reading edition
Trumpets sound.
Enter the French King,15 attended; the Dauphin, the Duke of Burgundy, the Constable, and Others,(E) L.H.
Fr. King. (C.) Thus come the English with full power upon us; And more than carefully it us concerns16 To answer royally in our defences. Therefore the Dukes of Berry and of Bretagne, Of Brabant and of Orleans, shall make forth,— And you, Prince Dauphin,—with all swift despatch, To line and new repair our towns of war With men of courage and with means defendant.
Dau. (R.C.) 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 king’d, Her sceptre so fantastically borne By a vain, giddy, shallow, humorous youth, That fear attends her not.
Con. (L.C.) O peace, prince Dauphin You are too much mistaken in this king: With what great state he heard our embassy, How well supplied with noble counsellors, How modest in exception,17 and withal How terrible in constant resolution, And you shall find his vanities fore-spent Were but the outside of the Roman Brutus, Covering discretion with a coat of folly.
Dau. 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: So the proportions of defence are fill’d.
Fr. King. Think we King Harry strong; And, princes, look you strongly arm to meet him. The kindred of him hath been flesh’d upon us; And he is bred out of that bloody strain18 That haunted us19 in our familiar paths: Witness our too much memorable shame When Cressy battle fatally was struck, And all our princes captiv’d by the hand Of that black name, Edward, black prince of Wales; Whiles that his mountain sire,—on mountain standing, Up in the air, crown’d with the golden sun,—20 Saw his heroical seed, and smil’d to see him Mangle the work of nature, and deface The patterns that by Heaven and by French fathers Had twenty years been made. This is a stem Of that victorious stock; and let us fear The native mightiness and fate of him.21
Enter Montjoy,22 L.H., and kneels C. to the King.
Mont. Ambassadors from Henry King of England Do crave admittance to your majesty.
Fr. King. We’ll give them present audience. Montjoy rises from his knee. Go, and bring them. Exeunt Montjoy, and certain Lords, L.H. You see this chase is hotly follow’d, friends.
Dau. Turn head, and stop pursuit; for coward dogs Most spend their mouths,23 when what they seem to threaten Runs far before 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.
French King takes his seat on Throne, R.
Re-enter Montjoy, Lords, with Exeter and Train, L.H.
Fr. King. From our brother England?
Exe. (L.C.) From him; and thus he greets your majesty. He wills you, in the awful name of Heaven, That you divest yourself, and lay apart The borrow’d glories, that, by gift of heaven, By law of nature and of nations, ’long To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown, And all wide-stretched honours that pertain, By custom and the ordinance of times Unto the crown of France. That you may know ’Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim, Pick’d from the worm-holes of long-vanish’d days, Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak’d, He sends you this most memorable line,24 Gives a paper to Montjoy, who delivers it kneeling to the King. In every branch truly demonstrative; Willing you overlook this pedigree: And when you find him evenly deriv’d From his most fam’d of famous ancestors, Edward the Third, he bids you then resign Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held From him the native and true challenger.
Fr. King. Or else what follows?
Exe. 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 threat’ning, and my message; Unless the Dauphin be in presence here, To whom expressly I bring greeting too.
Fr. King. For us, we will consider of this further: To-morrow shall you bear our full intent Back to our brother England.
Montjoy rises, and retires to R.
Dau. R. of throne. For the Dauphin, I stand here for him: What to him from England?
Exe. Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt, And any thing that may not misbecome The mighty sender, doth he prize you at. Thus says my king: an if your father’s highness Do not, in grant of all demands at large, Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty, He’ll call you to so hot an answer for it, That caves and womby vaultages of France Shall chide your trespass,25 and return your mock In second accent of his ordnance.
Dau. Say, if my father render fair reply, It is against my will; for I desire Nothing but odds with England: to that end, As matching to his youth and vanity, I did present him with those Paris balls.
Exe. He’ll make your Paris Louvre shake for it: And, be assur’d, you’ll find a difference Between the promise of his greener days And these he masters now: now he weighs time, Even to the utmost grain: which you shall read26 In your own losses, if he stay in France.
Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full.
Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already.
Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch’d with fair conditions: Montjoy crosses to the English party. A night is but small breath and little pause To answer matters of this consequence.
English party exit, with Montjoy and others, L.H. French Lords group round the King.
Trumpets sound.
END OF ACT SECOND.
HISTORICAL NOTES TO CHORUS—ACT SECOND.
Enter Chorus.
Chor. Thus with imagin’d wing our swift scene flies, In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen The well-appointed king1 at Hampton pier Embark his royalty;2 and his brave fleet With silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning: Play with your fancies; and in them behold Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give To sounds confus’d; behold the threaden sails, Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow’d sea, Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think You stand upon the rivage,3 and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy;4 And leave your England, as dead midnight still, Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, Either past, or not arriv’d to, pith and puissance; For who is he, whose chin is but enrich’d With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cull’d and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; Behold the ordnance on their carriages, With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back; Tells Harry—that the king doth offer him Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms. The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner With linstock5 now the devilish cannon touches,
Alarums, and cannon shot off.
And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind.
Exit.