Henry V (play)

by William Shakespeare

• ''O! for a muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention; a kingdom for a stage, princes to act and monarchs to behold the swelling scene. (Chorus)

• Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting. (Dauphin, II.iv)

• "Thou mend thy face, and I will mend my life."

• Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; or close the wall up with our English dead! (King Henry, III.i)

• This is the latest parle we will admit;
  Therefore to our best mercy give yourselves,
  Or like to men proud of destruction
  Defy us to our worst; for, as I am a soldier,
  A name that in my thoughts becomes me best,
  If I begin the battery once again,
  I will not leave the half-achieved Harfleur
  Till in her ashes she lie buried.
  The gates of mercy shall be all shut up,
  And the flesh'd soldier, rough and hard of heart,
  In liberty of bloody hand shall range
  With conscience wide as hell, mowing like grass
  Your fresh fair virgins and your flow'ring infants.
  
  What is it then to me, if impious War,
  Array'd in flames like to the prince of fiends,
  Do with his smirch'd complexion all fell feats
  Enlink'd to waste and desolation?
  What is't to me, when you yourselves are cause,
  If your pure maidens fall into the hand
  Of hot and forcing violation?
  What rein can hold licentious wickedness
  When down the hill he holds his fierce career?
  We may as bootless spend our vain command
  Upon the enraged soldiers in their spoil
  As send precepts to the leviathan
  To come ashore. Therefore, you men of Harfleur,
  Take pity of your town and of your people,
  Whiles yet my soldiers are in my command,
  Whiles yet the cool and temperate wind of grace
  O'erblows the filthy and contagious clouds
  Of heady murder, spoil, and villainy.
  If not, why, in a moment look to see
  The blind and bloody soldier with foul hand
  Defile the locks of your shrill-shrieking daughters;
  Your fathers taken by the silver beards,
  And their most reverend heads dash'd to the walls;
  Your naked infants spitted upon pikes,
  Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confus'd
  Do break the clouds, as did the wives of Jewry
  At Herod's bloody-hunting slaughtermen.
  What say you? Will you yield, and this avoid,
  Or, guilty in defence, be thus destroy'd? (King Henry, III.iii)

• If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
  To do our country loss; and if to live,
  The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
  God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
  By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
  Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
  It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
  Such outward things dwell not in my desires;
  But if it be a sin to covet honour,
  I am the most offending soul alive. (King Henry, IV.iii)

• O, do not wish one more!
  Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
  That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
  Let him depart. His passport shall be made,
  And crowns for convoy put into his purse.
  We would not die in that man's company
  That fears his fellowship to die with us. (King Henry, IV.iii)

• This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
  He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
  Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
  And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
  He that shall live this day, and see old age,
  Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
  And say, "To-morrow is Saint Crispian."
  Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
  And say, "These wounds I had on Crispian's day."
  Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
  But he'll remember with advantages
  What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
  Familiar in his mouth as household words,
  Harry the King, Bedford, and Exeter,
  Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester,
  Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb'red.
  This story shall the good man teach his son;
  And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
  From this day to the ending of the world,
  But we in it shall be remembered,
  We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.
  For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
  Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
  This day shall gentle his condition;
  And gentlemen in England now a-bed
  Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
  And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
  That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day. (King Henry, IV.iii)

• A fair face will wither; a full eye will wax hollow; but a good heart, Kate, is the sun and the moon; or rather the sun and not the moon; for it shines bright and never changes, but keeps his course truly. If thou would have such a one, take me; and take me, take a soldier; take a soldier, take a king. And what say'st thou then to my love? Speak, my fair, and fairly, I pray thee. (King Henry, V.ii)

• I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot! Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry, "God for Harry! England and Saint George!"

External links

• at Wikisource
• at Wikisource