8. SCENE VIII. Southwark.
Is Cade the son of Henry the Fifth,
That thus you do exclaim you'll go with him?
Will he conduct you through the heart of France,
And make the meanest of you earls and dukes?
Alas, he hath no home, no place to fly to;
Nor knows he how to live but by the spoil,
Unless by robbing of your friends and us.
Were 't not a shame that whilst you live at jar
The fearful French, whom you late vanquished,
Should make a start o'er seas and vanquish you?
Methinks already in this civil broil
I see them lording it in London streets,
Crying 'Villiaco!' unto all they meet.
Better ten thousand base-born Cades miscarry
Than you should stoop unto a Frenchman's mercy.
To France, to France, and get what you have lost;
Spare England, for it is your native coast.
Henry hath money, you are strong and manly;
God on our side, doubt not of victory.
A Clifford! a Clifford! we'll follow the king and
Was ever feather so lightly blown to and fro as this
multitude? The name of Henry the Fifth hales them to an hundred
mischiefs and makes them leave me desolate. I see them lay their
heads together to surprise me. My sword make way for me, for
here is no staying.--In despite of the devils and hell, have
through the very middest of you! and heavens and honour be
that no want of resolution in me, but only my followers' base and
ignominious treasons, makes me betake me to my heels.
What, is he fled?--Go some, and follow him;
And he that brings his head unto the king
Shall have a thousand crowns for his reward.--
[Exeunt some of them.]
Follow me, soldiers; we'll devise a mean
To reconcile you all unto the king.