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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,
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 ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remember'd:

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 :

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accursed, they were not here; And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks, That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.


Sal. My sovereign lord, bestow yourself with speed: The French are bravely in their battles set, And will with all expedience charge on us.

K. Hen. 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. God's will, my liege, 'would you and I alone,
Without more help, might fight this battle out!
K. Hen. Why, now thou hast unwish'd five thou-
sand men !

Which likes me better, than to wish us one.—
You know your places: God be with you all!

Trumpet. Enter MONTJOY.

Mont. Once more I come to know of thee, King


If for thy ransom thou wilt now compound,

Before thy most assured overthrow :

For, certainly, thou art so near the gulf,

Thou needs must be englutted. Besides, in mercy,
The Constable desires thee-thou wilt mind

Thy followers of repentance; that their souls,
May make a peaceful and a sweet retire

From off these fields, where (wretches) their poor


Must lie and fester.

K. Hen.

Who hath sent thee now?

Mont. The Constable of France.

K. Hen. I pray thee, bear my former answer back; Bid them achieve me, 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 lived, was kill'd with hunting him.
A many of our bodies shall, no doubt,
Find native graves; upon the which I trust,
Shall witness live in brass of this day's work;
And those that leave their valiant bones in France,
Dying like men, though buried in your dung-hills,
They shall be famed; for there the sun shall greet

And draw their honours reeking up to heaven;
Leaving their earthly parts to choke your clime,
The smell whereof shall breed a plague in France.
Mark then a bounding valour in our English,
That, being dead, like to the bullet's grazing,
Break out into a second course of mischief,
Killing in relapse of mortality.

Let me speak proudly :-Tell the Constable,
We are but warriors for the working-day :
Our gayness, and our gilt, are all besmirch'd
With rainy marching in the painful field;
There's not a piece of feather in our host,
(Good argument, I hope, we shall not fly),
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. If they do this
(As, if God please, they shall), my ransom then
Will soon be levied. Herald, save thou thy labour
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. And so fare thee well:

Thou never shalt hear herald any more.

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Ier. Here is the number of the slaughter'd French.

(delivers a paper). K. Hen. What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?

Exe. 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. 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.
Where is the number of our English dead?

(Herald presents another paper.)
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. O God, 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 th' other?—Take it, Lord,
For it is only thine!

Exe. 'Tis wonderful!

K. Hen. Come, go we in procession to the village: And be it death proclaim'd throughout our host, To boast of this, or take the praise from God, Which is His only.

Do we all holy rites;

Let there be sung Non nobis and Te Deum.
The dead with charity enclosed in clay,

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

Where ne'er from France arrived more happy men.





AM a poor girl. I was bred in the country at a charity-school, maintained by the contributions of wealthy neighbours. The ladies, or patronesses, visited us from time to time, examined how we were taught, and saw that our clothes were clean. We lived happily enough, and were instructed to be thankful to those at whose cost we were educated. I was always the favourite of my mistress; she used to call me to read and show my copy-book to all strangers, who never dismissed me without commendation, and very seldom without a shilling.

At last the chief of our subscribers, having passed a winter in London, came down full of an opinion new and strange to the whole country. She held it little

less than criminal to teach poor girls to read and write. They who are born to poverty, she said, are born to ignorance, and will work the harder the less they know. She told her friends, that London was in confusion by the insolence of servants; that scarcely a wench was to be got for all work, since education had made such numbers of fine ladies that nobody would now accept a lower title than that of a waitingmaid, or something that might qualify her to wear laced shoes and long ruffles, and to sit at work in the parlour window. But she was resolved, for her part, to spoil no more girls; those who were to live by their hands, should neither read nor write out of her pocket; the world was bad enough already, and she would have no part in making it worse.

She was for a short time warmly opposed; but she persevered in her notions, and withdrew her subscription. Few listen without a desire of conviction to those who advise them to spare their money. Her example and her arguments gained ground daily; and in less than a year the whole parish was convinced that the nation would be ruined, if the children of the poor were taught to read and write.

Our school was now dissolved: my mistress kissed me when we parted, and told me, that, being old and helpless, she could not assist me, advised me to seek a service, and charged me not to forget what I had learned.

My reputation for scholarship, which had hitherto recommended me to favour, was, by the adherents to the new opinion, considered as a crime; and, when I offered myself to any mistress, I had no other answer than, "Sure, child, you would not work! hard work is not fit for a pen-woman; a scrubbing-brush would spoil your hand, child!"

I could not live at home; and while I was considering to what I should betake me, one of the girls, who had gone from our school to London, came down in a silk gown, and told her acquaintance how well she

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