Henry V

Where is the king?

The king rode out alone to view their troops.

They have fully sixty thousand fighting men.

That’s five to one. Besides, they’re fresh.

May God’s arm strike on our side! These are frightening odds. God be with all of you, princes. I’ll go and join my men. If we don’t meet again before we meet in heaven, still we’ll meet joyfully. My noble Lord of Bedford, my dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter, and my kind kinsmen, warriors all, adieu.

Farewell, good Salisbury; and may good luck go with you.

Farewell, kind lord. Fight valiantly today. But then I do you wrong to say as much, since you are the very embodiment of bravery.

He is as full of courage as of kindness, princely in both.

Oh, if only we had with us here ten thousand of those men back home in England who aren’t working today.

Who wishes that? My cousin Westmoreland? No, my dear cousin. If we are slated to die, the fewer, the better for our country, and if we’re slated to live, the fewer men, the greater the share of honor for each of us. In God’s name, I beg you not to wish for one more man. By God, I am not selfish when it comes to money: I don’t care who eats at my expense. It doesn’t bother me when people borrow my clothing—I don’t care about these concrete things. But if it is a sin to be selfish about honor, I am the most guilty soul alive. No, my cousin, don’t wish that even one man who is now in England were here instead. By God, I wouldn’t lose as much honor as a single man more would cost me, I think—not even if it meant giving up my best hope for victory. Oh, do not wish one more! Instead, make this known throughout the army: whoever has no spirit for this fight, let him depart. He will be given safe conduct and money for his passage home. We would not want to die in the company of a man who fears to die with us. This day is called the Feast of Saint Crispian: he who lives to see this day out and comes home safe will stand tall when this day is named and raise himself up at the mention of Crispian. He who survives this day and lives to see old age shall yearly entertain his neighbors on the eve, saying, “Tomorrow is Saint Crispin’s Day.” He’ll roll up his sleeve and show his scars, saying, “I got these wounds on St. Crispin’s Day.” Old men forget. But these men will remember every detail of what they did today long after they’ve forgotten everything else. And as the wine flows, our names, familiar as household words, will be invoked again: Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester. Good men will tell their sons this story and the Feast of St. Crispin will never go by, from this day to the end of time, without our being remembered: we few, we happy few, we band of brothers—for whoever sheds his blood with me today shall be my brother. However humble his birth, this day shall grant him nobility. And men back in English now safe in their beds will curse themselves for not having been here, and think less of their own manhood when they listen to the stories of those who fought with us here on St. Crispin’s Day.

My sovereign lord, join us quickly: the French are all arrayed in battle formation and will charge us at any moment.

We’re ready if our minds are ready.

Let any man perish who isn’t ready now!

You don’t wish we had more help from England anymore, cousin?

God Almighty, my liege, I wish that you and I could fight this royal battle all alone.

There! Now you’ve unwished five thousand men, which I prefer to your wishing for one more.—You know your places. God be with you all.

Once more I come to ask you, King Harry, if you’re ready to negotiate your ransom before your certain defeat. For assuredly, you are so near the abyss that you’re bound to be swallowed up. Moreover, out of mercy, the Constable urges you to remind your men to make their peace with God and repent, so that their souls may depart sweetly and peacefully from these fields where, poor wretches, their bodies will likely fall and fester.

Who sent you this time?

The Constable of France.

Be good enough to take back the same answer I gave before. Tell them to capture me, then sell my bones. Good God! Why do they mock poor fellows this way? The man that once sold the skin of a lion while the beast still lived died hunting him. A good many of our bodies, I imagine, will end up in English soil. And on their graves, I trust, the story of this day’s work will be written in brass. And those who leave their valiant bones in France, dying like men though buried in your dunghills—they’ll be remembered, too. The sun will rise on them here and draw their glory up to heaven, leaving their mortal remains to choke your land: the smell of rotting flesh will breed a plague in France. Then will you notice the abundant valor of our Englishmen, who will embark on a second round of mischief like a ricocheting bullet, killing again as they fall to their deaths. Let me speak proudly: tell the Constable we’re only workaday soldiers. Our finery and shining metal are all rusty from long, painful marches in the rain. There’s not a strand of feather left in our whole army—a good sign, I hope, that we won’t fly away like birds—and time on the field has made us slovenly. But, by God, our hearts are in good shape. And my poor soldiers tell me that before night they’ll be in cleaner clothes. If not, they’ll pull the bright new coats of the French over their heads and send them on their way. If they do this, as they will, God willing, my ransom will soon be raised. Herald, spare yourself. Don’t come again to ask for my ransom, good messenger. I swear the only ransom will be these bones of mine. And if the French get them in the state in which I intend to leave them, they won’t be worth much use to anyone. Tell the constable that.

I shall, King Harry. And so farewell. You’ll never hear from the herald again.

I’m afraid you’ll come to me again for ransom.

My lord, most humbly on bended knee I beg you to grant me the leading of the vanguard.

Take it, brave York. Now, soldiers, advance. And you, God, bestow today’s victory however it pleases You.