7. SCENE VII. Another part of the field.
No, great King;
I come to thee for charitable license,
That we may wander o'er this bloody field
To book our dead, and then to bury them;
To sort our nobles from our common men.
For many of our princes--woe the while!--
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes; and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and with wild rage
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O, give us leave, great King,
To view the field in safety, and dispose
Of their dead bodies!
I tell thee truly, herald,
I know not if the day be ours or no;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer
And gallop o'er the field.
The day is yours.
Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!
What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?
They call it Agincourt.
Then call we this the field of Agincourt,
Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.
Your grandfather of famous memory, an't please your
Majesty, and your great-uncle Edward the Plack Prince of
Wales, as I have read in the chronicles, fought a most prave
pattle here in France.
They did, Fluellen.
Your Majesty says very true. If your Majesties is rememb'red of
it, the Welshmen did good service in garden where leeks did grow,
wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps; which, your Majesty know,
to this hour is an honourable badge of the service; and I do
believe your Majesty takes no scorn to wear the leek upon Saint
I wear it for a memorable honour;
For I am Welsh, you know, good countryman.
All the water in Wye cannot wash your Majesty's Welsh plood out
of your pody, I can tell you that. Got pless it and preserve it,
as long as it pleases His grace, and His majesty too!