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Henry V

Henry V Translation Act 4, Scene 2

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Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLÉANS, RAMBURES, and others

ORLÉANS

The sun doth gild our armor. Up, my lords.

ORLÉANS

The sun is shining off our armor. Get up, my lords.

DAUPHIN

Montez à cheval! My horse, varlet! Lackey! Ha!

DAUPHIN

Get on your horses! My horse, servant! Servant!

ORLÉANS

O brave spirit!

ORLÉANS

What a brave man!

DAUPHIN

Via les eaux et la terre.

DAUPHIN

Let's go, by water and earth.

ORLÉANS

Rien puis? L'air et feu?

ORLÉANS

And nothing else? Air and fire?

DAUPHIN

Cieux, cousin Orléans.

DAUPHIN

Heaven, cousin Orléans.

Enter CONSTABLE

Now, my Lord Constable?

Now, my Lord Constable?

CONSTABLE

Hark how our steeds for present service neigh.

CONSTABLE

Listen to our horses neighing. They're asking to be ridden and made useful soon.

DAUPHIN

Mount them and make incision in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes And dout them with superfluous courage. Ha!

DAUPHIN

Get on them and spur them so hard they bleed, so that their hot blood gushes into English eyes and extinguishes them with too much courage. Ha!

RAMBURES

What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?How shall we then behold their natural tears?

RAMBURES

What, you want them to weep our horses' blood? Then how will we see their own tears?

Enter MESSENGER

MESSENGER

The English are embattled, you French peers.

MESSENGER

The English are ready to fight, you French noblemen.

CONSTABLE

To horse, you gallant princes, straight to horse. Do but behold yond poor and starvèd band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands, Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins To give each naked curtal axe a stain, That our French gallants shall today draw out And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them, The vapor of our valor will o'erturn them. 'Tis positive against all exceptions, lords, That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants, Who in unnecessary action swarm About our squares of battle, were enough To purge this field of such a hilding foe, Though we upon this mountain’s basis by Took stand for idle speculation, But that our honors must not. What’s to say? A very little little let us do, And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound The tucket sonance and the note to mount, For our approach shall so much dare the field That England shall couch down in fear and yield.

CONSTABLE

Get on your horses, brave princes, straight on your horses. Just look at that poor starved troop and your good appearance will suck away their souls, making them just peels and husks of men. There is not enough work for all of us, hardly enough blood in all their sick veins to stain every short axe that our brave Frenchmen will draw today then sheathe because there's nothing left to do. Just blow on them, and the steam of our courage will defeat them. It's certain, lords, that our unnecessary servants and peasants, who swarm pointlessly around the battlefield, would be enough to clear this field of such a pathetic enemy, even if we stood at the base of this mountain watching and doing nothing. But our honor doesn't allow that. What more is there to say? Let's just do a very little, and it will all be done. So blow the trumpets to signal the troops to get on their horses and march, because our approach will be so confident that the English will hide in fear and give up.

Enter GRANDPRÉ

GRANDPRÉ

Why do you stay so long, my lords of France? Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones, Ill-favoredly become the morning field. Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose, And our air shakes them passing scornfully. Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps. The horsemen sit like fixèd candlesticks With torch staves in their hand, and their poor jades Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips, The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes, And in their pale dull mouths the gemeled bit Lies foul with chawed grass, still and motionless. And their executors, the knavish crows, Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour. Description cannot suit itself in words To demonstrate the life of such a battle In life so lifeless, as it shows itself.

GRANDPRÉ

Why are you waiting so long, lords of France? Those island-dwelling carcasses, desperate for their lives, are ugly on the battlefield this morning. Their ragged banners are badly rolled out, and the wind of our country shakes them mockingly. The big war-god Mars seems bankrupt when you look at their army of beggars and peeps weakly through a rusty helmet. The horsemen sit stiffly as candlesticks holding up torches, and their poor nags droop their heads, their skins and hips sagging, with tears dripping from their death-pale eyes, and in their pale dull mouths the jewel-covered bit is dirty with chewed grass, quiet and motionless. And their executors, the evil crows, fly over them, impatient for their time to be up. You can't describe in words, exactly as you see it, such a lifeless life prepared for battle.

CONSTABLE

They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

CONSTABLE

They have said their prayers, and they're waiting for death.

DAUPHIN

Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,And give their fasting horses provender,And after fight with them?

DAUPHIN

Should we go send them dinner and fresh suits, and give their starving horses hay, and fight them afterwards?

CONSTABLE

I stay but for my guard. On, to the field! I will the banner from a trumpet take And use it for my haste. Come, come away. The sun is high, and we outwear the day.

CONSTABLE

I'm only waiting for my guards. Let's go, to the field! I will take the banner from a trumpet and use it to hurry things up. Come on, let's go. The sun is high in the sky, and we're wasting the day.

Exeunt

Henry v
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