My liege, here is a villain and a traitor, that, look
your Grace, has struck the glove which your Majesty is take out
of the helmet of Alencon.
My liege, this was my glove: here is the fellow of it;
and he that I gave it to in change promis'd to wear it in his
cap; I promis'd 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 hear now, saving your Majesty's manhood,
what an arrant, rascally, beggarly, lousy knave it is; I hope
your Majesty is pear me testimony and witness, and will
avouchment, that this is the glove of Alencon that your Majesty
is give me; in your conscience, now.
Give me thy glove, soldier; look, here is the fellow of
'Twas I, indeed, thou promised'st to strike,
And thou hast given me most bitter terms.
An please your Majesty, let his neck answer for it, if
there is any martial law in the world.
Your Majesty came not like yourself: you appear'd to me
but as a common man; witness the night, your garments, your
lowliness; and what your Highness suffer'd under that shape I
beseech you take it for your own fault, and not mine; for had you
been as I took you for, I made no offence; therefore, I beseech
your Highness pardon me.
Here, uncle Exeter, fill this glove with crowns,
And give it to this fellow. Keep it, fellow;
And wear it for an honour in thy cap
Till I do challenge it. Give him the crowns;
And, Captain, you must needs be friends with him.
By this day and this light, the fellow has mettle enough
in his belly: hold, there is twelve pence for you; and I pray you
to serve God, and keep you out of prawls, and prabbles, and
quarrels, and dissensions, and, I warrant you, it is the better
It is with a good will; I can tell you it will serve you
to mend your shoes. Come, wherefore should you be so pashful?
Your shoes is not so good. 'Tis a good silling, I warrant you, or
I will change it.
What prisoners of good sort are taken, uncle?
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.
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.
So that, in these ten thousand they have lost,
There are but sixteen hundred mercenaries;
The rest are princes, barons, lords, knights, squires,
And gentlemen of blood and quality.
The names of those their nobles that lie dead:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;
Jaques of Chatillon, Admiral of France;
The master of the cross-bows, Lord Rambures;
Great Master of France, the brave Sir Guichard Dolphin;
John Duke of Alencon; Antony Duke of Brabant,
The brother to the Duke of Burgundy;
And Edward Duke of Bar. Of lusty earls,
Grandpre and Roussi, Fauconbridge and Foix,
Beaumont and Marle, Vaudemont and Lestrake.
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 Kikely, 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 los
On one part and on th' other? Take it, God,
For it is none but thine.
Come, go we in procession to the village;
And be it death proclaimed through our host
To boast of this or take that praise from God
Which is his only.
Is it not lawful, an please your Majesty, to tell how
many is kill'd?
Yes, Captain; but with this acknowledgment,
That God fought for us.
Yes, my conscience, he did us great good.
Do we all holy rites:
Let there be sung 'Non nobis' and 'Te Deum';
The dead with charity enclos'd in clay-
And then to Calais; and to England then;
Where ne'er from France arriv'd more happy men.