[Footnote III.13: _----I must speak with him from the pridge._]

_From_ for _about_--concerning the fight that had taken place there.]

[Footnote III.14: _----bubukles,_] A corrupt word for carbuncles, or something like them.]

[Footnote III.15: _----and whelks,_] i.e., stripes, marks, discolorations.]

[Footnote III.16: _----his fire's out._] This is the last time that any sport can be made with the red face of Bardolph.]

[Footnote III.17: _----by my habit,_] That is, by his herald's coat. The person of a herald being inviolable, was distinguished in those times of formality by a peculiar dress, which is likewise yet worn on particular occasions.]

[Footnote III.18: _----admire our sufferance._] i.e., our patience, moderation.]

[Footnote III.19: _Without impeachment:_] i.e., hindrance.

_Empechement_, French.]

[Footnote III.20: _Yet, Heaven before,_] In the acting edition, the name of G.o.d is changed to Heaven. This was an expression in Shakespeare's time for _G.o.d being my guide_.]

[Footnote III.21: _Though France himself,_] i.e., though _the King of France_ himself.]

END OF ACT THIRD.

HISTORICAL NOTES TO ACT THIRD.

(A) _Come you from the bridge?_] After Henry had pa.s.sed the Somme, t.i.tus Livius a.s.serts, that the King having been informed of a river which must be crossed, over which was a bridge, and that his progress depended in a great degree upon securing possession of it, despatched some part of his forces to defend it from any attack, or from being destroyed. They found many of the enemy ready to receive them, to whom they gave battle, and after a severe conflict, they captured the bridge, and kept it.

(B) _Fortune is Bardolph's foe, and frowns on him; For he hath stol'n a pix, and hanged must 'a be._

It will be seen by the following extract from the anonymous Chronicler how minutely Shakespeare has adhered to history-- "There was brought to the King in that plain a certain English robber, who, contrary to the laws of G.o.d and the Royal Proclamation, had stolen from a church a pix of copper gilt, found in his sleeve, which he happened to mistake for gold, in which the Lord's body was kept; and in the next village where he pa.s.sed the night, by decree of the King, he was put to death on the gallows." t.i.tus Livius relates that Henry commanded his army to halt until the sacrilege was expiated. He first caused the pix to be restored to the Church, and the offender was then led, bound as a thief, through the army, and afterwards hung upon a tree, that every man might behold him.

(C) _Go, bid thy master well advise himself: If we may pa.s.s, we will; if we be hinder'd, We shall your tawny ground with your red blood Discolour:_]

My desire is, that none of you be so _unadvised_, as to be the occasion that I in my defence shall _colour_ and make _red your tawny ground_ with the effusion of Christian blood. When he (Henry) had thus answered the Herald, he gave him a great reward, and licensed him to depart.

--_Holinshed_.

_Enter CHORUS._

_Cho._ 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,[1]

That the fix'd sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other's watch:[2]

Fire answers fire;[3] and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other's umber'd face:[4]

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-l.u.s.ty[5] French Do the low-rated English play at dice;[6]

And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night, Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp So tediously away.

_Scene opens and discovers the interior of a French tent, with the DAUPHIN, the CONSTABLE, ORLEANS, and others, playing at dice._

_Dau._ Will it never be day?

_Con._ I would it were morning; for I would fain be about the ears of the English.

_Dau._ Who will go to hazard with me for twenty English prisoners?

_Orl._ The prince longs to eat the English.

_Con._ Would it were day! Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for the dawning, as we do.

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

_Con._ That island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.

_Dau._ 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.

_Con._ Just, just: give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils.

_Orl._ Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.

_Con._ Then we shall find to-morrow--they have only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm: Come, shall we about it?

_Dau._ It is now two o'clock: but, let me see,--by ten We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.

SCENE CLOSES IN.

_Cho._ The poor condemned English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently, and inly ruminate The morning's danger; and their gestures sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts.

[_Scene re-opens, discovering the English camp, with group of soldiery praying. After a pause the scene closes._

O, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruin'd 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.

Upon his royal face there is no note How dread an army hath enrounded him; Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour Unto the weary and all-watched night; But freshly looks, and overbears attaint With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks: Then, mean and gentle all, Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night: And so our scene must to the battle fly; The field of Agincourt. Yet, sit and see; Minding true things[7] by what their mockeries be.

[_Exit._

[Footnote IVc.1: _----+stilly+ sounds,_] i.e., gently, lowly.]

[Footnote IVc.2: _The secret whispers of each other's watch:_]

Holinshed says, that the distance between the two armies was but 250 paces.]

[Footnote IVc.3: _Fire answers fire;_] This circ.u.mstance is also taken from Holinshed. "But at their coming into the village, _fires_ were made by the English to give light on every side, as there likewise were in the French hoste."]