7. SCENE VII. Another part of the field.
Our King is not like him in that. He never kill'd any of
It is not well done, mark you now, to take the tales out
of my mouth, ere it is made and finished. I speak but in the
figures and comparisons of it. As Alexander kill'd his friend
Cleitus, being in his ales and his cups; so also Harry Monmouth,
being in his right wits and his good judgements, turn'd away the
fat knight with the great belly doublet. He was full of jests,
and gipes, and knaveries, and mocks; I have forgot his name.
Sir John Falstaff.
That is he. I'll tell you there is good men porn at Monmouth.
Here comes his Majesty.
[Alarum. Enter King Henry and [forces; Warwick, Gloucester,
Exeter, with prisoners. Flourish.]
I was not angry since I came to France
Until this instant. Take a trumpet, herald;
Ride thou unto the horsemen on yond hill.
If they will fight with us, bid them come down,
Or void the field; they do offend our sight.
If they'll do neither, we will come to them,
And make them skirr away, as swift as stones
Enforced from the old Assyrian slings.
Besides, we'll cut the throats of those we have,
And not a man of them that we shall take
Shall taste our mercy. Go and tell them so.
Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.
His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.
How now! what means this, herald? Know'st thou not
That I have fin'd these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ransom?