[Footnote IVc.4: _----the other's +umber'd+ face:_] _Umber'd_ means here _discoloured_ by the gleam of the fires. _Umber_ is a dark yellow earth, brought from Umbria, in Italy, which, being mixed with water, produces such a dusky yellow colour as the gleam of fire by night gives to the countenance. Shakespeare's theatrical profession probably furnished him with the epithet, as burnt umber is occasionally used by actors for colouring the face.]

[Footnote IVc.5: _----over-+l.u.s.ty+_] i.e., over-_saucy._]

[Footnote IVc.6: _Do the low-rated English play at dice;_] i.e., do play them away at dice. Holinshed says-- "The Frenchmen, in the meanwhile, as though they had been sure of victory, made great triumph; for the captains had determined before how to divide the spoil, and _the soldiers the night before had played the Englishmen at dice_."]

[Footnote IVc.7: _Minding true things_] To _mind_ is the same as to _call to remembrance_.]

ACT IV.

SCENE I.--THE ENGLISH CAMP AT AGINCOURT.(A) NIGHT.

_Enter KING HENRY and GLOSTER, U.E.L.H._

_K. Hen._ Gloster, 'tis true that we are in great danger; The greater therefore should our courage be.

_Enter BEDFORD, R.H._

Good morrow, brother Bedford.--Gracious Heaven!

There is some soul of goodness in things evil, Would men observingly distil it out; For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers, Which is both healthful and good husbandry.

Thus may we gather honey from the weed, And make a moral of the devil himself.

_Enter ERPINGHAM.(B) L.H._

Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham: A good soft pillow for that good white head Were better than a churlish turf of France.

_Erp._ Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better, Since I may say--now lie I like a king.

_K. Hen._ Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas.--Brothers both, Commend me to the princes in our camp; Do my good morrow to them; and anon Desire them all to my pavilion.

_Glo._ We shall, my liege.

[_Exeunt GLOSTER and BEDFORD, R.H._

_Erp._ Shall I attend your grace?

_K. Hen._ No, my good knight; Go with my brothers to my lords of England:

[_ERPINGHAM crosses to R._

I and my bosom must debate a while, And then I would no other company.

_Erp._ Heaven bless thee, n.o.ble Harry!

[_Exit ERPINGHAM, R.H._

_K. Hen._ Gad-a-mercy, old heart! thou speakest cheerfully.

_Enter PISTOL, L.H._

_Pist._ _Qui va la?_

_K. Hen._ A friend.

_Pist._ Discuss unto me; Art thou officer?

Or art thou base, common, and popular?[1]

_K. Hen._ I am a gentleman of a company.

_Pist._ Trail'st thou the puissant pike?

_K. Hen._ Even so. What are you?

_Pist._ As good a gentleman as the emperor.

_K. Hen._ Then you are a better than the king.[2]

_Pist._ The king's a bawc.o.c.k,[3] and a heart of gold, A lad of life, an imp of fame;[4]

Of parents good, of fist most valiant: I kiss his dirty shoe, and from my heart-strings I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?

_K. Hen._ Harry _le Roi_.

_Pist._ _Le Roi!_ a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish crew?

_K. Hen._ No, I am a Welshman.

_Pist._ Knowest thou Fluellen?

_K. Hen._ Yes.

_Pist._ Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate, Upon Saint Davy's day.

[_Crosses to R._

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

_Pist._ Art thou his friend?

_K. Hen._ And his kinsman too.

_Pist._ The _figo_ for thee, then!

_K. Hen._ I thank you: Heaven be with you!

_Pist._ My name is Pistol call'd.