Henry V

I’m sure it is to knight you, Captain.

As it is God’s will and pleasure, Captain, I entreat you to come quickly to the king. There is more good fortune in store for you than you could ever imagine.

Sir, do you recognize this glove?

Know the glove! I know the glove is a glove.

Well, I recognize this one (indicates the glove FLUELLENwears in his cap), and I hereby challenge you. (strikes him)

Good God! As absolute a traitor as any in the whole entire world—or even France or England!

What is this, you villain!

Do you think I’d break my oath?

Stand aside, Captain Gower. I’ll reward treason with blows, I promise you.

I’m not a traitor.

An infamous lie! I accuse you in the name of the king. Arrest him: he’s a friend of the duke of Alençon’s.

Now, now! What’s all this? What’s going on?

My Lord of Warwick, a most corrupt treason—God be praised for it!—has been discovered, as plain as any you’d hope to see on a summer’s day.

Here is his Majesty.

Well, now! What’s the matter?

My liege, this man is a villain and a traitor, who—see, your Grace—has struck the glove which your Majesty took from Alençon’s helmet.

My liege, this was my glove. Here is its mate, and the man I gave it to promised to wear it in his cap, and I promised to strike him if he did. I met this man with my glove in his cap, and I have been as good as my word.

Your Majesty, see here—if it won’t offend your Grace—what a complete, rascally, beggarly, lousy rat this is. I hope your Majesty will, in all good conscience, bear me out and vouch for the fact that this is the glove of Alençon and that your Majesty gave it to me.

Give me your glove, soldier: look, here is its mate. It was I, in fact, whom you promised to strike. And you spoke of me in the harshest terms.

If it pleases your Majesty, let his neck pay the price, if there is any martial law in the world.

How can you square things with me?

All offenses come from the heart, my lord, and nothing intended to offend your Majesty ever came from mine.

You abused me to my face.

Your Majesty didn’t present yourself as the king. You represented yourself as just a common man. Consider the time of night, what you were wearing, and how ordinary you looked. Anything your Highness suffered in that disguise, I beg you to see it as your own fault and not mine, because if you’d been what I took you for, there would have been no offense. Therefore, I beg your Highness, pardon me.

Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with gold coins and give it to this fellow. Keep it, my friend, and wear it as a badge of honor in your cap until I challenge it.—Give him the money.—And you, Captain, must make it up with him.

By this day and this light, the fellow is certainly brave. Here, twelve pence for you. I urge you to serve God and stay out of brawls and dust-ups and quarrels and disputes. I promise it will be better for you if you do.

I’ll have none of your money.

It’s meant in good will. I tell you, you can use it to get your shoes fixed. Come, why be so hesitant? Your shoes are in pretty bad shape. It’s a good shilling, I promise you. If not, I’ll get another one for you.

Now, herald, have the dead been counted?

Here is the count of the slaughtered French.

What prisoners of rank have been taken, uncle?

Charles duke of Orléans, nephew to the king; John duke of Bourbon, and Lord Bouciqualt: of other lords and barons, knights and squires, a full fifteen hundred, besides common men.

This paper tells me of ten thousand Frenchmen who lie dead on the battlefield. Among them are one hundred twenty-six princes and standard-bearing nobles. Add to these eight thousand four hundred knights, squires, and brave gentlemen, five hundred of whom were given the title of knight only yesterday. Among the ten thousand the French have lost only sixteen hundred are mercenaries. The rest of the dead are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires, and gentlemen of birth and rank. The names of those of their nobles that lie dead: Charles Delabreth, high constable of France; Jaques of Chatillon, admiral of France; the master of the crossbows, Lord Rambures; Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin, John duke of Alençon, Anthony duke of Brabant, the brother of the duke of Burgundy, and Edward duke of Bar. Of brave earls, Grandpré and Roussi, Fauconberg and Foix, Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrale. Here was a royal fellowship of death! Where is the number of our English dead?

Edward the duke of York, the earl of Suffolk, Sir Richard Ketly, Davy Gam, esquire. No one else of name, and only twenty-five other men. Oh, God, your power was with us. What happened here is your doing alone, not ours. When was there ever before so great a loss on one side and so little on the other, in the ordinary and equal clash of battle? Take credit, God, for it is no one’s doing but yours.

It’s unbelievable.

Come, let’s make a solemn procession to the village. And let it be proclaimed throughout our army that it shall be a hanging offense for anyone to boast of this or take from God the credit that belongs to Him alone.

If it pleases your Majesty, isn’t it permissible to mention the number of casualties?

Yes, Captain, but with this acknowledgement—that God fought for us.

Yes, I truly think He did great good.

We’ll perform all the holy rites. Let Non nobis and Te Deum be sung, and let the dead be buried properly. Then on to Calais and from there to England. There have never been more fortunate men than we to return from France.