All language subtitles for Henry.V.1989.1080p.BluRay.x264.YIFY

Oh, 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.

Then should the warlike Harry,
like himself,

assume the port of Mars...

and at his heels,
leashed in like hounds,

should famine, sword and fire
crouch for employment.

But pardon, gentles all,

the flat, unraised spirits...

that have dared
on this unworthy scaffold...

to bring forth so great an object.

Can this cockpit hold
the vasty fields of France

or may we cram
within this wooden "o"...

the very casques that did affright
the air at Agincourt?

Oh, pardon.

Let us, ciphers to this great account,

on your imaginary forces work.

For it is your thoughts
that now must deck our kings,

carry them here, there,
jumping o'er times,

turning the accomplishment of
many years into an hourglass.

For the which supply,
admit me, chorus, to this history,

who, prologue-like,

your humble patience pray...

gently to hear,

kindly to judge...

our play!

My lord, I'll tell you.

That self bill is urged,
which, in the 11th year...

of the last king's reign was
like to have passed against us.

But how, my lord,
shall we resist it now?

It must be thought on.

If it pass against us, we lose the
better half of our possession.

But what prevention?

The king is full of grace
and fair regard.

And a true lover of the holy church.

The courses of his youth
promised it not.

Since his addiction
was to courses vain,

his hours filled up
with riots, banquets,

sports and never noted
in him any study.

But, my good lord,
how now for the mitigation...

of this bill urged by the commons?

Doth his majesty incline to it or no?

He seems... indifferent,

or rather swaying more upon our part.

For I have made an offer
to his majesty,

as touching France.

Where is my gracious
lord of Canterbury?

God and his angels guard your sacred
throne and make you long become it.

Sure we thank you.

My learned lord,
we pray you to proceed...

and justly and religiously unfold...

why the law Salic
that they have in France,

or should or should not
bar us in our claim.

And pray, take heed
how you impawn our person,

how you awake
our sleeping sword of war.

We charge you,
in the name of God, take heed.

For never two such kingdoms did
contend without much fall of blood.

Then hear me, gracious sovereign.

There is no bar to make against
your highness' claim to France...

but this, which they
produce from Pharamond.

"In terram Salicam
mulieres ne succedant."

"No woman shall succeed in Salic land."

Which Salic land
the French unjustly gloze...

to be the realm of France.

Yet their own authors
faithfully affirm...

that the land Salic lies in Germany...

between the floods of Sala and of Elbe.

Then doth it well appear
the Salic law...

was not devised
for the realm of France,

nor did the French possess
the Salic land...

until 421 years after
defunction of king Pharamond,

idly supposed the founder of this law.

King Pepin, which deposed Childeric,

did, as heir general,
being descended of Blithild,

which was the daughter
to king Clothair,

make claim and title
to the crown of France.

Hugh Capet, also, who usurped the
crown of Charles, the duke of Lorraine,

sole heir male of the true line
and stock of Charles the great,

could not keep quiet in his conscience
wearing the crown of France...

until satisfied that fair queen
Isabel, his grandmother,

was lineal of the Lady Ermengare,

daughter to Charles,
the aforesaid duke of Lorraine,

by the which marriage the line
of Charles the great...

was reunited to the crown of France.

So it is clear as is the summer sun.

All appear to hold in right
and title of the female.

So do the kings of France...

unto this day.

Howbeit, they would hold up
this Salic law...

to bar your highness
claiming from the female.

May I, with right and conscience,

make this claim?

The sin upon my head, dread sovereign.

Stand for your own.
Unwind your bloody flag.

Your brother kings
and monarchs of the earth...

do all expect that you
should rouse yourself...

as did the former lions of your blood.

Never king of England had nobles
richer and more loyal subjects...

whose hearts have left
their bodies here in England...

and lie pavilioned
in the fields of France.

Oh, let their bodies follow,
my dear liege,

with blood and sword and fire
to win your right.

In aid whereof,

we of the spirituality
will raise your highness...

such a mighty sum
as never did the clergy...

at one time bring in to
any of your ancestors.

Call in the messengers
sent from the Dauphin.

Now are we well resolved,
and by God's help and yours,

the noble sinews of our power,
France being ours,

we'll bend it to our all...

or break it all to pieces.

Now are we well prepared to know the
pleasure of our fair cousin Dauphin.

Your highness, lately sending into France
did claim some certain dukedoms...

in the right of your great
predecessor, king Edward III.

In answer of which claim,
the prince, my master,

says that you savour
too much of your youth.

He therefore sends you, meeter for
your spirit, this tun of treasure.

And in lieu of this, desires
you let those dukedoms...

that you claim hear no more of you.

This the Dauphin speaks.

What... treasure, uncle?

Tennis balls, my liege.

We are glad the Dauphin
is so pleasant with us.

His present and your pains
we thank you for.

When we have matched
our rackets to these balls,

we will in France, by God's grace,

play a set shall strike his
father's crown into the hazard.

And we understand him well,

how he comes o'er us
with our wilder days,

not measuring what use we made of them.

But tell the Dauphin
I will keep my state,

be like a king and show
my sail of greatness...

when I do rouse me
in my throne of France.

And tell the pleasant prince
this mock of his...

hath turned his balls to gun stones,

and his soul
shall stand sore charged...

for the wasteful vengeance
that shall fly with them.

For many a thousand widows
shall this his mock,

mock out of their dear husbands,

mock mothers from their sons,
mock castles down.

And some are yet ungotten and unborn...

that shall have cause
to curse the Dauphin's scorn.

So get you hence in peace,

and tell the Dauphin...

his jest will savour
but of shallow wit...

when thousands weep
more than did laugh at it.

Convey them with safe conduct.

Fare you well.

This was a merry message.

We hope to make the sender blush at it.

Therefore, my lords,
omit no happy hour...

that may give furtherance
to our expedition.

For we have now no thought
in us but France,

save those to God
that run before our business.

Therefore, let every man
now task his thought...

that this fair action
may on foot be brought.

Now all the youth of
England are on fire...

and silken dalliance
in the wardrobe lies.

For now sits expectation in the air...

and hides a sword,
from hilts unto the point,

with crowns imperial,
crowns and coronets...

promised to Harry and his followers.

Well met, Corporal Nym.

Good morrow, Lieutenant Bardolph.

What, are you and Ancient
Pistol friends yet?

For my part, I care not.

I say little,

but when time shall serve,
there shall be smiles.

But that shall be as it may.

Come, I will bestow a breakfast
to make you friends,

and we'll be all three
sworn brothers to France.

- Let it be so, good corporal.
- I will do as I may.

It is certain, corporal, that Ancient
Pistol is married to Nell quickly.

For certainly she did you wrong,
for you were betrothed to her.

How now, mine host Pistol?

Base tyke!

Callest thou me host?

Now, by this hand,
I swear I scorn the term!

Nor shall my Nell keep lodgers!

No, by my troth, not long.

For we can't lodge or board
a dozen or 14 gentlewomen...

who live honestly
by the prick of their needles,

but it shall be thought
we keep a bawdy house straight.

- Pish!
- Pish for thee, Iceland dog!

Good Corporal Nym,

show thy valour and put up thy sword.

Will you shog off?

Pistol, I will prick your guts
a little in good terms, as I may.

That's the humour of it.

- Braggart vile!
- Ahh, hear me when I say,

he that strikes the first stroke,

I'll run him up to the hilts,
as I'm a soldier.

An oath of mickle might,

and fury shall abate.

My host Pistol!

You must come to my master,
and you, hostess!

He's very sick and would to bed.

Good Bardolph, put thy face between his
sheets and do the office of a warming pan.

Away, you rogue.

Faith, he's very ill.

By my troth,

the king has killed his heart.

Good husband, come home presently.

Come, shall I make you two friends?
We must to France together.

Why the devil should we keep
knives to cut one another's throats?

You'll pay me the eight shillings
I won of you at betting?

Base is the slave that pays.

By this sword,
he that makes the first thrust,

I'll kill him, by this sword, I will.

If ever you come of women,
come in quickly to Sir John.

He is so shaked with
a burning quotidian fever...

that it is most lamentable to behold.

Sweet men, come to him.

Poor Sir John.

A good portly man of faith.

Aye, to a cheerful look,
a pleasing eye...

and a most noble carriage.

But do I not dwindle?

My skin hangs about me
like an old lady's loose gown.

Company, villainous company
have been the spoil of me.

- Whoo!
- Hey! Hey!

I was as virtuous
as a gentleman need to be.

Virtuous enough. Swore a little.

Diced not above seven days a week.

Went to a bawdy house
not above once in the quarter.

Paid money that I borrowed,

three or four times.

Lived well and in good compass.

What? You were so fat, Sir John,

that you must indeed
be out of all compass.

Do thou amend thy face,
and I'll amend my life.

If sack and sugar be a fault,
then God help the wicked.

Mmm? If to be old and merry is a sin,

if to be fat is to be hated,

then no, my good lord,
when thou art king,

banish Pistol, banish Bardolph,
banish Nym.

But sweet Jack Falstaff,

Valiant Jack Falstaff,

and therefore more valiant
being as he is,

old Jack Falstaff,

banish not him thy Harry's company.

Banish plump Jack,
and banish all the world.

I do. I will.

But we have heard the
chimes at midnight, master Harry.

Jesus.

The days that we have seen.

I know thee not, old man.

The king hath run
bad humours on the knight.

Nym, thou hast spoke the right.

His heart is fracted
and... corroborate.

The king's a good king,

but it must be as it may.

He passes some humours and careers.

Let us condole the knight,

for, Lambkins, we will live.

The French, advised
by good intelligence...

of this most dreadful preparation,

shake in their fear...

and with pale policy seek
to divert the English purposes.

Oh, England, model
to thy inward greatness.

Like a little body with a mighty heart.

What mightst thou do
that honour would thee do...

were all thy children kind and natural?

But see, thy fault France
hath in thee found out.

A nest of hollow bosoms which he
fills with treacherous crowns...

and three corrupted men.

One, Richard Earl of Cambridge,

and the second,
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham,

and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight,
of Northumberland,

have for the gilt of France...
oh, guilt indeed...

confirmed conspiracy
with fearful France,

and by their hands
this grace of kings must die,

ere he take ship for France.

The traitors are agreed.

The king is set from London,

and the scene
is now transported, gentles,

to Southampton.

Before God, his grace is bold
to trust these traitors.

They shall be apprehended by and by.

How smooth and even
they do bear themselves,

as if allegiance in their bosoms sat
crowned with faith and constant loyalty.

The king hath note of all they intend by
interception which they dream not of.

Nay, but the man
that was his bedfellow,

whom he hath dulled and cloyed
with gracious favours...

That he should, for a foreign purse,

so sell his sovereign's life
to death and treachery.

Now sits the wind fair,
and we will aboard.

My lord of Cambridge
and my kind lord of Masham...

and you, my gentle knight,
give me your thoughts.

Think you not that
the powers we bear with us...

will cut their passage
through the force of France?

- No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.
- I doubt not that.

Never was monarch better feared
and loved than is your majesty.

True.

We therefore have great
cause of thankfulness.

Uncle of Exeter, enlarge the
man committed yesterday...

that railed against our person.

We consider it was excess of
wine that set him on,

And on his more advice we pardon him.

That's mercy, but too much security.

Let him be punished, sovereign, lest example breed
by his sufferance, more of such a kind.

Oh, let us yet be merciful.

So may your highness,
and yet punish too.

Sir, you show great mercy
if you give him life...

after the taste of much correction.

Alas, your too much love
and care of me...

are heavy orisons
against this poor wretch.

If little faults proceeding on
distemper shall not be winked at,

how shall we stretch our eye
when capital crimes, chewed,

swallowed and digested,
appear before us?

We'll yet enlarge that man,

though Cambridge, Scroop and Grey,

in their dear care
and tender preservation...

of our person would have him punished.

And now to our French causes.

- Who are the late commissioners?
- I one, my lord.

- Your highness bade me ask for it today.
- So did you me, my liege.

- And I, my lord sovereign.
- Then, Richard Earl of Cambridge, there is yours.

There yours, Lord Scroop of Masham,

and sir knight, Grey of
Northumberland, this same is yours.

Read them...

and know...

I know your worthiness.

My Lord of Westmorland,
uncle Exeter, we will aboard tonight.

Why, how now, gentlemen

what see you in those papers
that you lose so much complexion?

I do confess my fault and do
submit me to your highness' mercy.

- To which we all appeal.
- The mercy that was quick in us of late...

by your own counsel
is suppressed and killed.

You must not dare for shame
to talk of mercy!

For your own reasons turn into your bosoms
as dogs upon their masters worrying you.

See you, my princes and my noble
peers, these English monsters.

What shall I say to thee, Lord Scroop,

thou cruel, ingrateful,

savage and inhuman creature?

Thou knave thou!

Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels,
that knewest the very bottom of my soul,

that almost mightst have
coined me into gold,

which thou have practised
on me for thy use.

May it be possible that foreign hire...

could out of thee extract one spark
of evil that might annoy my finger?

'Tis so strange...

that though the truth of it stand
off as gross as black and white,

my eye will scarcely see it.

So... constant and unspotted
didst thou seem...

that this thy fall
hath left a kind of blot...

to mark the full-fraught man...

and best indued with some suspicion.

I will weep for thee.

For this revolt of thine, methinks,
is like another fall of man.

I arrest thee of high treason by the
name of Richard Earl of Cambridge.

I arrest thee of high treason by the name
of Thomas Grey, Knight of Northumberland.

I arrest thee of high treason by the
name of Henry Lord Scroop of Masham.

Hear your sentence.

You have conspired
against our royal person,

joined with an enemy
proclaimed and from his coffers...

received the golden earnest
of our death wherein.

You would have sold your king
to slaughter,

his princes and his peers to servitude,

his subjects to oppression
and contempt...

and his whole kingdom into desolation!

Get you therefore hence, poor
miserable wretches, to your death,

the taste whereof God of his mercy
give you patience to endure...

and true repentance
of all your dear offences.

Bear them hence.

Now, Lords, for France,

the enterprise whereof shall
be to you, as us, like glorious,

since God so graciously hath brought to light
this dangerous treason lurking in our way.

Cheerly to sea.

The signs of war advance.

No king of England
if not king of France.

Prithee, honey-sweet husband,
let me bring thee to Staines.

No, for my manly heart doth yearn.

Bardolph, be blithe.

Nym, rouse thy vaunting veins.

Boy, bristle thy courage up.

For Falstaff is dead,

and we must yearn therefore.

Would I were with him, wheresome'er
he is, either in heaven or in hell.

Nay, sure, he's not in hell.

He's in Arthur's bosom, if ever
a man went to Arthur's bosom.

He made a finer end and went away
an it had been any Christian child.

He parted even
just between 12:00 and 1:00,

even at the turning of the tide.

For after I saw him
fumble with the sheets...

and play with flowers and
smile upon his finger's ends,

I knew there was but one way.

For his nose was as sharp as a pen,

and he babbled of green fields.

"How now, Sir John," quoth I.

"What, man? Be of good cheer."

So he cried out, "God, God,

"God,"

Three or four times.

Now I, to comfort him, bid him
he should not think of God.

I hoped there was no need to trouble
himself with any such thoughts yet.

He bade me put
more clothes on his feet.

I put my hand under the bed
and felt them,

and they were as cold as any stone.

Then I felt to his knees,

and so upward... and upward,

and all was as...

cold as any stone.

- They say he cried out for sack.
- That he did.

And of women. No, that he did not.

Yeah, that he did.

He said they were... devils incarnate.

He could never abide carnation.
It was a colour he never liked.

He said once the devil
would have him about women.

Well, he did in some sort...
handle women.

But then he was rheumatic and
talked of the whore of Babylon.

Do you not remember he saw a flea
stick upon Bardolph's nose?

He said it was a black soul
burning in hell.

Well, the fuel is gone
that maintained that fire.

That's all the riches
I got in his service.

Shall we shog?

The king will be gone from Southampton.

Farewell, hostess.

I cannot kiss.

That's the humour of it.

But...

Adieu.

Let housewifery appear.

Keep close.

I thee command.

Farewell.

Adieu.

Follow, follow.

For who is he whose chin is but
enriched with one appearing hair...

that will not follow these
culled and choice-drawn cavaliers...

to France?

Thus comes the English...
with full power upon us,

and more than carefully it us concerns
to answer royally in our defences.

Therefore, the dukes of Berri...

and of Bretagne,

of Brabant and of Orleans
shall make forth.

And you, prince Dauphin...

My most redoubted father,

it is most meet we arm us
against the foe.

For peace itself
should not so dull a kingdom,

but the defences, musters,
preparations should be maintained,

assembled and collected,
as were a war in expectation.

Therefore, I say 'tis meet
we all go forth to view...

the sick and feeble parts of France.

And let us do it with no show of fear!

No, with no more than if we heard
that England were busied with,

uh, a Whitsun morris dance.

For, my good liege, she is so idly
kinged by a vain, giddy, shallow,

humorous youth,
that fear attends her not.

O peace, prince dauphin.

You're too much mistaken in this king.

Question, your grace,
the late ambassadors.

With what great state
he heard their embassy,

how well supplied
with noble counsellors,

how modest in exception
and withal how terrible...

in constant resolution.

Well, 'tis not so,
my lord high constable.

Though we think it so, 'tis no matter.

In matters of defence, 'tis best to weigh
the enemy more mighty than he seems.

Think we king Harry strong.

And, princes, look you
strongly armed to meet him.

For he is bred
out of that bloody strain...

that haunted us in our familiar paths.

Witness our too-much memorable shame...

when Cressy Battle
fatally was struck...

and all our princes captived...

by the hand of that black name,

Edward,

black prince of Wales.

This is a stem
of that victorious stalk.

And let us fear
the native mightiness...

and fate of him.

Ambassadors from Harry, king of England,
do crave admittance to your majesty.

Go and bring them.

You see, this chase
is hotly followed, friends.

Good my sovereign,
take up the English short,

and let them know of what a
monarchy you are the head.

Self-love, my liege, is not so vile
a sin as self-neglecting.

From our brother England?

From him, and thus
he greets your majesty.

He wills you, in the
name of God almighty,

that you divest yourself
and lay apart...

the borrowed glories
that by gift of heaven,

by law of nature and of nations,

belongs to him and to his heirs.

Namely, the crown.

Willing you overlook this pedigree.

And when you find him evenly derived...

from his most famed of famous
ancestors, Edward the III,

he bids you then resign your crown
and kingdom, indirectly held from him,

the native and true challenger.

Or else what follows?

Bloody constraint.

For if you hide the crown,
even in your hearts,

there will he rake for it.

Therefore, in fierce
tempest is he coming,

in thunder and in earthquake,
like a Jove,

that if requiring fail, he will compel.

This is his claim,
his threatening and my message.

Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,

to whom expressly I bring greeting to.

For the Dauphin,

I stand here for him.

What to him from England?

Scorn and defiance,

slight regard, contempt...

and anything that might not
misbecome the mighty sender,

doth he prize you at.

Thus says my king.

Say, if my father render a fair
return, it is against my will,

for I desire nothing
but odds with England.

And to that end, as matching
to his youth and vanity,

I did present him with the Paris balls!

He'll make your Paris Louvre
shake for it.

And be assured
you'll find a difference,

as we, his subjects,
have in wonder found,

between the promise of his greener
days and these he masters now.

Tomorrow...

shall you know our mind at full.

Thus with imagined wing
our swift scene flies,

in motion of no less celerity
than that of thought!

Work, work your thoughts, and
in them see a siege!

Behold the ordinance
on their carriages,

with fatal mouths gaping
on girded Harflew.

Suppose the ambassador
from the French comes back,

tells Harry that the king does
offer him Katherine, his daughter,

and with her to dowry, some
petty and unprofitable dukedoms.

The offer likes him not.

And the nimble gunner with linstock
now the devilish cannon touches,

and down goes all before them!

Once more unto the breach,
dear friends!

Once more, or close the wall up
with our English dead!

In peace there's nothing so becomes a
man as modest stillness and humility.

But when the blast of war
blows in our ears,

then imitate the action of the tiger!

Stiffen the sinews,
summon up the blood,

disguise fair nature
with hard-favored rage.

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect.

Let it pry through the portage of
the head like the brass cannon.

Let the brow o'erwhelm it as
fearfully as doth a galled rock...

o'erhang and jetty his confounded base,

swilled with the wild
and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth
and stretch the nostril wide,

hold hard the breath and bend up
every spirit to his full height!

On, on, you noblest England!

Dishonour not your mothers.

Now attest that those whom you
called fathers did beget you.

And you, good yeoman, whose
limbs were made in England,

show us here the mettle
of your pasture.

Let us swear that you are worth
your breeding, which I doubt not!

For there is none of you so mean and base
that hath not noble luster in your eyes!

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!"

God for harry,
England and Saint George!

Up to the breach, you dogs!

Avaunt, you cullions!

Captain Fluellen, you must
come presently to the mines.

The duke of Gloucester
would speak with you.

Tell the duke it is not so good
to come to the mines.

For look you, the mines is not
according to the disciplines of war.

By Cheshu, I think he will blow up all,

if there is not better direction.

The duke of Gloucester,
to whom the order...

of the siege is given, is altogether
directed by an Irishman.

It's Captain Macmorris, is it not?

- I think it be.
- By Cheshu, he is an ass in the world.

He has no more directions...

in the true disciplines of the
wars than is a puppy dog.

Here he comes, and the Scots
captain, Captain Jamy, with him.

Oh, no, Captain Jamy is a marvellous,
valorous gentleman, that is certain.

I say... good day, Captain Fluellen.

Good day to your worship,
good Captain James.

How now, Captain Macmorris?
Have you quit the mines?

By Christ, la.

The workish give over.

The trumpets sound the retreat.

By my hand, 'tis ill done.

Captain Macmorris, I beseech you now,

a few disputations as partly
touching the disciplines of the war,

partly to satisfy my opinion...

and partly for
the satisfaction of my mind,

as touching the direction of the
military discipline. That is the point.

It is no time to discourse,
so Christ save me.

The town is besieged, and the
trumpet calls us to the breach.

We talk, and, by Christ, do nothing.

By the mass, ere these eyes of mine
take themselves to slumber,

I'll do good service, or I'll
lie in the ground for it.

Captain Macmorris, I think, look you,

under your correction, there
are not many of your nation.

What is my nation?

Who talks of my nation is a villain...

and a bastard and a knave and a rascal?

Look you, if you take the matter otherwise
than it is meant, Captain Macmorris,

peradventure I shall think
you do not use me...

with that affability as in discretion
you ought to use me, now look you,

being as good a man as yourself.

I do not know you
so good a man as myself.

So Christ save me,
I will cut off your head!

How yet resolves
the governor of the town?

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, if I
begin the battery once again,

I will not leave
the half-achieved Harflew...

till in her ashes she lie buried.

Therefore, you men of Harflew,

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 their silvered beards...

and their most reverend heads
dashed to the walls,

your naked infants
spitted upon pikes...

whiles the mad mothers
with their howls confused...

do break the clouds!

What say you?

Will you yield and this avoid?

Or, guilty in defence,

be thus destroyed?

The Dauphin, of whose
succour we entreated,

returns us that his powers are not
yet ready to raise so great a siege.

Therefore, dread king,

enter our gates,
dispose of us and ours,

for we no longer are defensible.

Go you and enter Harflew.

There remain and fortify it
strongly against the French.

Use... mercy to them all.

For us, dear uncle,
the winter coming on...

and sickness growing upon our soldiers,

we will retire to Calais.

Tonight... in Harflew
will we be your guest.

Tomorrow... for the march
are we addressed.

Alice.

Alice, you've been in England

and you speak the language well.

A bit, madame.

I beg you, teach me.

I need to learn to speak it.

How do you call a hand in English?

The hand? It's called "the hand".

"The hand."

And the fingers?

The fingers? My, I've
forgotten the fingers.

But I'll remember. The fingers?

I think those are called "the fingres".

The hand: "the hand".
The fingers: "the fingres".

I think I'm a good pupil.

I've learned two English
words very quickly.

- How would you call the nails?
- The nails?

We call those "the nails".

"The nails".

Listen. Tell me if I speak it correctly.

"The hand, the fingres" and "the nails".

That's well said, madame.
You're good at English.

Tell me the English word for the arms.

- "Th'arm", madame.
- And the elbow?

"Th'elbow".

"Th'elbow".

I'll practice all words that you've taught me now.

I think it's very difficult, madame.

Excuse me, Alice. Listen:
"The hand, the fingres,"

- "the nails, the arma, the bilbow."
- "Th'elbow", madame.

Oh, Lord God, I've forgotten. "Th'elbow".

How do you call the neck, madame?

"The nick", madame.

- "The nick."
- Mmm.

- And the chin?
- "The chin".

"The chin".

The neck: "The nick".

The chin: "The chin".

Yes, except your honour, in truth

you also pronounce the words correctly
like a true English native.

I don't doubt that I'll learn it, by
the grace of God, and quickly too.

Haven't you already forgotten what I taught you?

No, I'll recite it to you promptly:

"The hand, the fingres."

- "The mails"?
- "The nails", madame.

"The nails, madame."

- "The arma, de bolbow."
- But your honour, "th'elbow".

That's what I said. "Th'elbow, the nick".

And "the chin".

How do you call the feet and the gown?

The "foot" (fuck), madame, and the "coun" (cunt).

- "Foot" and the "coun"?
- Mmm.

Oh Lord God!

Those are bad words to make a mistake with.

Coarse, and imprudent for use by ladies.

I don't want to pronounce those words in front
of the lords of France or the whole world.

The "foot" and the "coun".

Nonetheless, I'll recite
my lesson once again.

"The hand, the fingres,"

"the nails, the arma, the..."

"The nick, the chin, the
foot and the coun!"

'Tis certain...
He hath passed the river Somme.

And if he be not fought withal,
my lord, let us not live in France.

Normans. But bastard Normans!

Norman... bastards!

Where have they this mettle? Is not
their climate foggy, raw and dull?

- O, for honour of our land.
- By faith and honour,

our madams mock at us and
plainly say our mettle is bred out!

And they will give their bodies
to the lust of English youth...

to new-store France
with bastard warriors!

Where is Montjoy, the herald?

Speed him hence.

Let him greet England
with our sharp defiance.

Up, princes,

and with spirit of honour edged
more sharper than your swords,

hie to the field.

Bar Harry England,

that sweeps through our land...

with pennons painted
in the blood of Harflew.

Go down upon him.
You have power enough.

And in a captive chariot into
Rouen bring him our prisoner.

This becomes the great.

Sorry am I his numbers are so few,

his soldiers sick and famished
in their march.

For I am sure when he
shall see our army,

he'll drop his heart
into the sink of fear...

and, for achievement,
offer us his ransom.

Therefore, lord constable,
haste on Montjoy.

Prince Dauphin,
you shall stay with us in Rouen.

Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

Be patient, for you
shall remain with us!

Now forth, lord constable
and princes all,

and quickly bring us word
of England's fall.

Come. Come in.

Captain Fluellen?

Come you from the bridge?
Is the duke of Exeter safe?

He is not...
God be praised and blessed...

any hurt in the world, but keeps the bridge
most valiantly, with excellent discipline.

Captain! I thee beseech
to do me favours.

The duke of Exeter doth love thee well.

Aye, I praise God, and I have
merited some love at his hands.

Bardolph, a soldier firm
and sound of heart...

and buxom valour,

hath by cruel fate and giddy
fortune's furious, fickle wheel...

Touching your patience, Ancient Pistol,

fortune is an excellent moral.

Fortune is Bardolph's foe
and frowns on him...

for he hath stolen a pax
and hanged must he be.

Therefore, go speak.

The duke will hear thy voice.

Speak, captain, for his life,

and I will thee requite.

Ancient Pistol, I do partly
understand your meaning.

Why, then, rejoice therefore!

'Tis not a thing to rejoice at.

Look you, if he were my brother,

I would desire the duke
to do his good pleasure...

and put him to execution.

Discipline ought to be used.

Then die and be damned...

and figo for thy friendship!

How now, Fluellen,
comest thou from the bridge?

Aye, so please your majesty.

The duke of Exeter hath very
gallantly maintained the bridge.

What men have you lost, Fluellen?

I think the duke
hath lost never a man...

but one that is like to be
executed for robbing a church.

One Bardolph, if
your majesty know the man.

His face is all bubukles and
whelks and knobs and flames of fire.

And his lips blows at his nose.

'Tis like a coal of fire...
sometimes blue, sometimes red.

But his nose is executed
and his fire's out.

Get up!

Do not, when thou art king,
hang a thief.

No,

thou shalt.

We would have all such offenders
so cut off.

And we give express charge
that in our marches...

through the country there be nothing
compelled from the villages,

nothing taken but paid for,

none of the French upbraided
or abused in disdainful language.

For when lenity and cruelty
play for a kingdom,

the gentler gamester
is the soonest winner.

Thus says my king,
"Say thou to Harry of England,

"though we seemed dead,
we did but sleep.

"Tell him we could have
rebuked him at Harflew.

"Now we speak,
and our voice is imperial.

"England shall repent his folly.

"Bid him, therefore,
consider of his ransom...

"which must proportion
the losses we have borne...

"which in weight to re-answer
his pettiness would bow under.

"To this add defiance,
and tell him, for conclusion,

"he hath betrayed his followers...

"whose condemnation is pronounced."

So far my king and master,
so much my office.

- What is thy name?
- Montjoy.

Thou dost thy office fairly.

Turn thee back, and tell
thy king I do not seek him now,

but could be willing to march on
to Calais without impeachment.

Go, therefore,
tell thy master here I am.

My ransom is this
frail and worthless trunk,

my army but a weak and sickly guard.

Yet, God before,
tell him we will come on,

though France himself and such
another neighbour stand in our way.

So, Montjoy, fare you well.

The sum of all our answer is but this:

We would not seek a battle as we are,

nor, as we are,
we say we will not shun it.

So tell your master.

I shall deliver so.

Thanks to your majesty.

I hope they will not come upon us now.

We are in god's hand, brother,
not in theirs.

March to the bridge.

It now draws towards night.

Beyond the river
we'll encamp ourselves...

and on tomorrow...

bid them march away.

Now entertain conjecture of a time...

when creeping murmur
and the poring dark...

fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp through
the foul womb of night...

the hum of either army stilly sounds...

that the fixed sentinels
almost receive...

the secret whispers
of each other's watch.

Fire answers fire,

and through their paly flames,

each battle sees
the other's umbered face.

Steed threatens steed
in high and boastful neighs,

piercing the night's dull ear.

And from the tents,

the armourers,
accomplishing the knights,

with busy hammers closing rivets up
give dreadful note of preparation.

Proud of their numbers
and secure in soul,

the confident and over-lusty French...

do the low-rated English
play at dice...

and chide the cripple,
tardy-gaited night...

who, like a foul and ugly witch,
doth limp so tediously away.

I have the best armour in the world.

Would it were day.

You have an excellent armour,
but let my horse have his due.

It is the best horse of Europe.

Will it never be morning?

My lord of Orleans
and my lord High Constable,

you talk of horse and armour?

You are as well provided of both
as any prince in the world.

I will not change my horse...

for any that treads but on four hooves.

When I bestride him, I soar.

I am a hawk, and he is
pure air and fire!

And the dull elements of earth
and water never appear in him,

but only impatient stillness
while his rider mounts him.

Indeed, my lord, it is a most
absolute and excellent horse.

My lord constable,
the armour in your tent tonight...

Are those suns or stars on it?

Stars, Montjoy.

Some of them will
fall tomorrow, I hope.

And yet my sky shall not want.

Will it never be day?

I will trot tomorrow a mile,

and my way shall be paved
with English faces.

I will not say so, for fear I
should be faced out of my way.

I'll go arm myself.

The Dauphin longs for morning.
He longs to eat the English.

I think he will eat all he kills.

- He never did harm that I heard of.
- Nor will do none tomorrow.

Would it were day.

Alas, poor Harry of England.

He longs not for the dawning as we do.

If the English had any apprehension,
they would run away.

That island of England
breeds very valiant creatures.

Now is it time to arm.

Come, shall we about it?

It is now 2 o'clock.

But let me see, by 10:00, we shall
have each a hundred Englishmen.

The poor, condemned English,

like sacrifices,

by their watchful fires
sit patiently...

and inly ruminate the morning's danger.

And their gesture sad,

investing lank, lean cheeks
and war-worn coats,

presenteth them unto the gazing moon...

so many horrid ghosts.

Oh, now,

who will behold the royal
captain of this ruined band,

walking from watch to watch,
from tent to tent?

Let him cry,
"Praise and glory on his head,"

For forth he goes
and visits all his host.

Bids them good morrow
with a modest smile...

and calls them "Brothers,
friends and countrymen".

A largesse universal, like the sun...

his liberal eye doth give to everyone,

thawing cold fear...

that mean and gentle all...

behold, as may unworthiness define,

a little touch of Harry in the night.

Good morrow, old sir Thomas Erpingham.

A good soft pillow for that good white head
were better than a churlish turf of France.

Not so, my liege.
This lodging likes me better...

since I may say,
"Now lie I like a king."

Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas.

Brothers both, commend me
to the princes in our camp.

Do my good morrow to them, and
anon desire them all to my pavilion.

We shall, my liege.

Shall I attend your grace?
No, my good knight.

I and my bosom must debate a while,

and then I would no other company.

The lord in heaven
bless thee, noble Harry.

God have mercy, old heart.

Thou speakest cheerfully.

Who goes there?

A friend.

Discuss unto me.

Art thou officer...

or art thou base, common and popular?

I am a gentleman of a company.

- Trailest thou the puissant pike?
- Even so.

What are you?
As good a gentleman as the emperor.

Ah, then you are a better
than the king.

The king's a bawcock
and a heart of gold,

a lad of life, an imp of fame,

of parents good, of fist most valiant.

I kiss his dirty shoe,

and from heart string,
I love the lovely bully.

What is thy name?

Uh, Harry Le Roy. Le Roy?

A... a Cornish name?

No, I am a Welshman.

- Knowest thou Fluellen?
- Aye.

Tell him I'll knock his leek about
his pate upon Saint Davy's day.

Well, do not wear your dagger in your cap
that day, lest he knock that about yours.

Art thou his friend?

And his kinsman too.

- The figo with thee then.
- I thank you.

God be with you.

My name is Pistol called.

It sorts well with your fierceness.

Captain Fluellen.

In the name of Jesus Christ,
speak lower.

If you would take the pains but to
examine the wars of Pompey the great,

you shall find, I warned you, that there is no
Tiddle Taddle nor Pibble Babble in Pompey's camp.

The enemy is loud.
You hear him all night.

If the enemy is an ass and
a fool and a prating coxcomb,

is it meet that we should
also be an ass...

and a fool and a prating coxcomb
in your conscience now?

I will speak lower.

I pray you and beseech you
that you will.

Brother John Bates,

Is not that the morning
which breaks yonder?

I think it be,

but we have no great cause
to desire the approach of day.

We see yonder the beginning of the day,

but I think we shall
never see the end of it.

- Who goes there?
- A friend.

Under what captain serve ya?

Under Sir Thomas Erpingham.

A good old commander
and a most kind gentleman.

I pray ya, what thinks he
of our estate?

Even as men wrecked upon a sand...

that look to be washed off
with the next tide.

He hath not told
his thought to the king?

No, nor it is not meet he should.

I think the king is but a man as I am.

The violet smells to him
as it doth to me.

His ceremonies laid by,

in his nakedness he appears but a man.

Therefore, when he sees
reason to fear, as we do,

his fears, out of doubt,
be of the same relish as ours are.

He may show what
outward courage he will,

but I believe as
cold a night as 'tis...

that he could wish himself
in Thames up to the neck.

And so I would he were, and I by him.

At all adventures,
so we were quit here.

I think he would not wish himself
anywhere but where he is.

Then I would he were here alone.

Methinks I could not die
anywhere so contented...

as in the king's company,

his cause being just
and his quarrel honourable.

That's more than we know.

Aye, and more than
we should seek after.

We know enough if we know
we are the king's subject.

If his cause be wrong,
our obedience to the king...

wipes the crime of it out of us.

But if the cause be not good,

the king himself hath
a heavy reckoning to make.

And all those legs and arms and
heads chopped off in the battle...

will join together at
the latter day and cry all,

"we died at such a place."

Some swearing,
some crying for a surgeon,

some upon their wives
left poor behind them,

some upon the debts they owe,

some upon their children rawly left.

I'm afeared there are few die well...

that die in a battle...

for how can they charitably
dispose of anything...

when blood is their argument?

Now if these men do not die well,

it will be a black matter for
the king that led them to it.

So if a son that is by his father
sent about merchandise...

do sinfully miscarry upon the sea,

the imputation of
his wickedness, by your rule,

should be imposed upon
the father that sent him?

But this is not so.

The king is not bound to answer the
particular endings of his soldiers...

nor the father of his son,

for they purpose not their deaths
when they purpose their services.

Besides, there is no king,
be his cause never so spotless,

can try it out with
all unspotted soldiers.

Every subject's duty is the king's,

but every subject's soul is his own.

'Tis certain.

Every man that dies ill,
the ill upon his own head.

The king is not to answer it.

I do not desire
he should answer for me.

And yet I determine
to fight lustily for him.

I myself heard the king say
he would not be ransomed.

Aye, he said so
to make us fight cheerfully.

But when our throats are cut, he may
be ransomed, and we ne'er the wiser.

If I live to see it,
I'll never trust his word after.

You pay him then!

You'll never trust his word after?

Come. 'Tis a foolish saying.

Your reproof is something too round.

I should be angry with you
if time were convenient.

Let it be a quarrel between us,
if you live!

Be friends,
you English fools! Be friends!

We have French quarrels enough!

Upon the king.

Let us our lives, our souls, our debts,

our careful wives, our children...

and our sins lay on the king.

We must bear all.

Oh, hard condition.

Twin-born with greatness,

subject to the breath of every fool.

What infinite heart's ease
must kings neglect...

that private men enjoy?

And what have kings
that privates have not too...

save ceremony?

And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?

What drinks thou oft instead of
homage sweet but poison flattery?

Oh, be sick, great greatness,
and bid thy ceremony give thee cure.

Canst thou, when thou
commandest the beggar's knee,

command the health of it?

No, thou proud dream,

that playest so subtly
with a king's repose.

I am a king that find thee,

and I know...

'tis not the balm,
the sceptre and the ball,

the sword, the mace,
the crown imperial,

the intertissued robe
of gold and pearl,

the farced title running fore the king,

the throne he sits on...

nor the tide of pomp...

that beats upon the high shore
of this world.

No, not all these,
thrice-gorgeous ceremony,

not all these, laid in bed majestical,

can sleep so soundly...

as the wretched slave,

Who, with a body filled and
vacant mind, gets him to rest,

crammed with distressful bread,

never sees horrid night,
the child of hell,

but like a lackey,
from the rise to the set...

sweats in the eye of Phoebus...

and all night sleeps...

in Elysium.

Next day after dawn, doth rise
and help Hyperion to his horse...

and follows so the ever-running year...

with profitable labour to his grave.

And but for ceremony...

such a wretch,

winding up days of toil...

and nights with sleep...

had the forehand and vantage...

of a king.

My lord, your nobles,
jealous of your absence,

seek through the camp to find you.

Good old knight,

Collect them all together at my tent.

I'll be before thee.

O God of battles,
steel my soldiers' hearts.

Possess them not with fear.

Take from them now
their sense of reckoning...

if the opposed numbers
pluck their hearts from them.

Not today, o God, oh, not today.

Think not upon the fault my
father made encompassing the crown.

I Richard's body have interred new...

and on it have bestowed
more contrite tears...

than from it issued
forced drops of blood.

Five hundred poor
I have in yearly pay...

who twice a day their withered hands...

hold up toward heaven to pardon blood.

And I have built two chantries...

where the sad and solemn priests
sing still for Richard's soul.

More will I do...

though all that I can do...

is nothing worth...

since that my penitence comes, after all,

imploring pardon.

- My liege!
- My brother Gloucester's voice.

I know thy errand.

I will go with thee.

The day, my friends,

and all things...

stay...

for me.

Hark how our steeds
for present service neigh.

Mount them and make incision
in their hides...

that their hot blood
may spin in English eyes.

Do but behold
yon poor and starved band.

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.

Why do you stay so long,
my lords of France?

Yon island carrions, desperate of their
bones, ill-favoredly become the morning field.

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

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 will
so much dare the field...

that England shall crouch down
in fear... and yield!

Where is the king?

The king himself has rode
to view their battle.

Of fighting men,
they have full threescore thousand.

That's five to one.
Besides, they are all fresh.

'Tis a fearful odds.

Oh, that we now had here but one ten
thousand of those men in England...

that do no work today.

What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmorland?

No, my fair cousin.

If we are marked to die, we are
enough 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.

Rather, proclaim it,
Westmorland, 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.

This day is called
the feast of Crispian.

He that outlives this day
and comes safe home...

will stand at tiptoe
when this day is named...

and rouse him at the name of Crispian.

He that shall see this day
and live old age...

will yearly, on the vigil,
feast his neighbours...

and say, "tomorrow is Saint Crispin's."

Then will he strip his sleeve
and show his scars...

and say, "these wounds
I had on Crispin'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 their mouths as household words...

Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot,
Salisbury and Gloucester...

be in their flowing cups
freshly remembered.

This story shall
a good man teach his son.

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 today 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 abed...

shall think themselves accursed
they were not here...

and hold their manhoods cheap...

whiles any speaks
that fought with us...

upon Saint Cispin's day!

My sovereign lord!
Bestow yourself with speed!

The French are bravely
in their battle set...

and will with all expedience
march upon us!

All things are ready
if our minds be so!

Perish the man whose mind
is backward now.

Thou dost not wish more help
from England, coz?

God's will, my liege.

You and I alone, without more help,
could fight this royal battle.

You know your places!

God be with you all!

Once more I come to know
of thee, if for they ransom,

thou wilt now compound before
thy most assured overthrow.

- Who hast sent thee now?
- The constable of France.

I pray thee bear my former answer back.

Bid them achieve me
and then sell my bones!

Good God, why should they
mock poor fellows thus?

Let me speak proudly.

Tell the constable we are but
warriors for the working day.

Our gayness and our gilt
are all besmirched...

with rainy marching
in the painful field,

but by the mass,
our hearts are in the trim.

Herald, save thou thy labour.

Come thou no more for ransom,
gentle herald.

They shall have none, I swear,

but these my joints!

Which, if they have
as I shall leave of them,

shall yield them little.

Tell the constable.

I shall, king Harry.

And so fare thee well.

Thou never shalt hear herald anymore.

My lord, most humbly on my knee,

I beg the leading of the vaward.

Take it, brave York.

Now, soldiers, march away,

and how thou pleasest, God,

dispose the day.

And so our scene must
to the battle fly...

where, oh, for pity
we shall much disgrace...

with four or five
most vile and ragged foils...

right ill-disposed
in brawl ridiculous...

the name of Agincourt.

Ready!

Ready!

Fire!

Why, all our ranks are broke.

O perdurable shame!

Shame and eternal shame.

Nothing but shame.

Let us die in arms.
Once more back again.

We are enough yet living in the field
to smother up the English in our throngs...

if any order might be thought upon.

The devil take order now!

I'll to the throng!

Let life be short!
Else shame will be too long!

Well have we done,
thrice-valiant countrymen!

Yet all's not done!

Yet keep the French the field!

Kill the boys and the luggage.

'Tis expressly against the law of arms.

'Tis as errant a piece
of knavery, mark you now,

as can be offered.

In your conscience, now, is it not?

'Tis certain there's
not a boy left alive.

I was not angry since I came to France!

Until this instant!

Here comes the herald
of the French, my liege.

What means this, herald?
Huh? Com'st thou again for ransom?

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 drowned and soaked
in mercenary blood.

O, give us leave, great king,
to view the field in safety...

and to dispose of their dead bodies.

I tell thee truly, herald,

I know not if the day be ours or no.

The day is yours.

Praised be god...

and not our strength for it.

What is this castle called...

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 black prince of Wales,

as I have read in the Chronicles,

fought a most brave battle
here in France.

They did, Fluellen.

Y-your majesty says very true.

If your majesty is remembered of it,

the Welshmen did good service in
a garden where leeks did grow,

wearing leeks in their Monmouth caps,
which, as your majesty know,

to this hour is
an honourable badge of service.

And I do believe your majesty
takes no scorn...

to wear the leek upon St. Davy's day.

I wear it for a memorable honour,

for I am Welsh, you know,
good my countryman.

All the water in Wye...

cannot wash your majesty's Welsh blood
out of your body, I can tell you that.

God bless it and preserve it, so long
as it pleases his grace...

and his majesty too.

- Thanks, good my countryman.
- By Jeshu, I am your majesty's countryman!

I care not who know it.
I shall confess it to all the world!

And I need not be ashamed
of your majesty, praised be god,

so long as your majesty
is an honest man.

God keep me so.

Doth fortune play
the housewife with me now?

News I have that my Nell is dead.

Old do I wax,

and from my weary limbs
honour is cudgelled.

Well,

bawd I'll turn...

and something lean
to cutpurse of quick hand.

To England will I steal,

and there I'll... steal.

Herald, are the dead numbered?

Here is the number
of the slaughtered French.

This note doth tell me of...

10,000 French...

that in the field lie slain.

Of princes in this number, 126.

Added to these, of knights,
esquires and gallant gentlemen,

eight thousand and four hundred...

of the which five hundred...

were but yesterday dubbed knights.

Here was a royal fellowship of death.

Where is the number
of our English dead?

"Edward, the duke of York,

"the earl of Suffolk,

"Sir Richard Ketly,

"Davy Gam, esquire."

None else of name...

and of all other men...

but five-and-twenty.

'Tis wonderful.

Come.

Go we in procession to the village...

and be it death proclaimed
through our host...

to boast of this...

or take that praise
from God which is his only.

Is it not lawful, an't please your
majesty, to tell how many is killed?

Aye, captain,

but with this acknowledgement:

That God fought...

for us.

Yes, my conscience.

He did us great good.

Do we all holy rites.

Let there be sung Non Nobisante Deum.

The dead with charity enclosed in clay.

And then to Calais...

and to England then,

where ne'er from France arrived...

more happy men.

♪ Non nobis Domine, Domine ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Tuo da gloriam ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine, Domine ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Tuo da gloriam ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine, Domine ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Tuo da gloriam ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Tuo da gloriam ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine, Domine ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Tuo da gloriam ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine, Domine ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Tuo da gloriam ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine, Domine ♪

♪ Non nobis Domine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Sed nomine ♪

♪ Tuo da gloriam ♪

♪ Tuo da ♪

♪ Gloriam ♪

Peace to this meeting.

Unto our brother France,
health and fair time of day.

Joy and good wishes to our most fair
and princely cousin Katherine.

And as a branch and member
of this royalty...

by whom this great assembly
is contrived,

we do salute you, duke of Burgundy.

And, princes French and peers,

health to you all.

Right joyous are we to behold your
face, most worthy brother England.

Fairly met.

So are you, princes English, every one.

My duty to you both, on equal love,

great kings of France...

and England.

Since that my office
hath so far prevailed,

that face to face and royal
eye to eye you have congreeted...

let it not disgrace me if I
demand before this royal view...

why that the naked,
poor and mangled peace...

should not in this best
garden of the world,

our fertile France,
put up her lovely visage?

Alas,

she hath from France
too long been chased,

and all her husbandry
doth lie on heaps,

corrupting in its own fertility.

And as our vineyards,
fallows, meads and hedges,

defective in their natures,
grow to wildness,

even so our houses and ourselves,
our children have lost...

or do not learn for want of time...

those sciences which
should become our country,

but grow like savages,
as soldiers will...

that nothing do
but meditate on blood...

to swearing and stern looks,
diffused attire,

and everything that seems...

unnatural.

And my speech entreats
that I may know...

the let why gentle peace...

should not expel
these inconveniences...

and bless us with her former qualities.

If, duke of Burgundy,
you would the peace...

whose want gives growth to the
imperfections which you have cited,

then you must buy that peace...

with full accord
to all our just demands.

I have but with a cursorary eye...

o'erglanced the articles.

Pleaseth your grace to appoint
some of your council...

to sit with us once more...

we will suddenly pass...

our accept and peremptory answer.

Brother, we shall.

Yet leave our cousin Katherine...

here with us.

She is our capital demand...

comprised within
the fore-rank of our articles.

She hath good leave.

Fair Katherine, and most fair,

will you vouchsafe
to teach a soldier...

terms such as will enter
at a lady's ear...

and plead his love suit
to her gentle heart?

Your majesty shall mock at me.

I cannot speak your England.

Oh.

Fair Katherine, if you will love me
soundly with your French heart,

I will be glad to hear you confess it
brokenly with your English

Do you like me, Kate?

Pardon me. I cannot
tell what is "like me".

An angel is like you, Kate,
and you are like an angel.

What does he say? That I resemble an angel?

Indeed, but your grace,
that's what he said.

My God.

The tongues of men are full of deceits.

What says she, fair one?

That the tongues of men
are full of deceits?

Oui. That the tongues of
the mens is be full of deceits.

That is the princess.

I'faith, my wooing is fit
for thy understanding.

I know no ways to mince it in love,
but directly to say, "I love you."

Then, if you urge me farther than to say,
"Do you in faith?" I wear out my suit.

Give me your answer... I'faith do... and so
clap hands and a bargain. How say you, lady?

Your honour, me understand well.

Marry, if you would put me to verses or
to dance for your sake, why, you undid me.

If I could win a lady at leapfrog
or by vaulting into my saddle...

with my arm around my back,
I should quickly leap into a wife.

I could lay on like a butcher and
sit like a jackanapes, never off.

But before God, Kate,
I cannot look greenly...

Nor gasp out my eloquence nor
I have no cunning in protestation.

If thou canst love a fellow
of this temper, Kate,

that never looks in his glass
for love of anything he sees there,

let thine eye be thy cook.

I speak to thee plain soldier. If thou
canst love me for this, take me.

If not, to say to thee
that I shall die, 'tis true,

but for thy love, by the lord, no.

Yet I love thee too.

If thou would have such a one, take me.

And take me, take a soldier.

Take a soldier, take a king.

And what sayest thou then to my love?

Speak, my fair,

and fairly, too, I pray thee.

Is it possible that I should
love the enemy of France?

No, Kate.

It is not possible that you should
love the enemy of France, Kate.

But in loving me, you should
love the friend of France,

for I love France so well that
I will not part with a village of it.

I will have it all mine.

And, Kate, when France
is mine, and I am yours,

then yours is France, and you are mine.

I cannot tell what is that.

No, Kate?

I will tell thee in French...

which I am sure will
hang about my tongue...

like a new-married wife about her
husband's neck, hardly to be shook off.

When I am in possession of France...

and when you are in possession of me...

Let me see...

So, uh, yours is France...

and you are mine.

It is as easy for me, Kate,
to conquer the kingdom...

as to speak so much more French!

I will never move thee in French
unless it be to laugh at me.

But your honour, the
French that you speak...

is worse than the English that I speak.

No, faith, it is not.

But tell me, Kate,

Canst thou understand
thus much English?

Canst thou love me?

I cannot tell.

Well, can any of your neighbours
tell, Kate? I'll ask them.

By mine honour, in true English,
I swear I love thee,

by which honour I dare
not swear thou lovest me.

Yet my blood begins to flatter
me that thou dost...

notwithstanding the poor and
untempering effect of my visage.

Now beshrew my father's ambition!

He was thinking of
civil wars when he got me.

Therefore was I created
with a stubborn outside,

with an aspect of iron, that
when I come to woo ladies,

I fright them.

But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax,
the better I shall appear.

My comfort is that old age,
that ill layer-up of beauty,

can do no more spoil upon my face.

Thou hast me... if thou
hast me... at the worst.

And thou shalt wear me...
if thou wear me...

better and better.

And, therefore, tell me,
most fair Katherine,

will you have me?

Come, your answer in broken music,

for thy voice is music,

and thy English, broken.

Therefore, queen of all, Katherine,

wilt thou have me?

That is as it shall please
the king, my father.

Nay.

It shall please him well, Kate.

It shall please him, Kate.

Then it shall also content me.

Upon that, I kiss your hand,
and I call you my queen.

Leave, my lord. Leave, leave!

My faith, I don't want to
lower your greatness...

by kissing the hand of one of the
unworthy servants of your lordship.

Excuse me, I beg you,
my most powerful lord.

Then I will kiss your lips, Kate.

It's not custom in France for ladies and
girls to be kissed before their weddings.

Madame my interpreter, what says she?

That is not be the fashion
for the ladies of France...

Oh, I cannot tell
what is "baiser" in English.

To kiss?

Your majesty entends better que moi.

Ah, it is not a fashion for the maids in France
to kiss before they are married, would you say?

Yes, correct.

Oh, Kate.

Nice customs curtsy to great kings.

You and I cannot be confined within
the weak list of a country's fashion.

We... are the makers of manners, Kate.

Therefore, patiently...

and yielding.

You have witchcraft in your lips, Kate.

There is more eloquence
in a sugar touch of them...

than in the tongues
of the French council.

Here comes your father.

God save your majesty.

My royal cousin,

teach you our princess English?

I would have her learn, my fair cousin,
how perfectly I love her,

and that is good English.

We have consented
to all terms of reason.

And thereupon give me your daughter.

Take her, fair son,

and from her blood
raise up issue to me...

that the contending kingdoms
of France and England...

whose very shores look pale with
envy of each other's happiness...

may cease their hatred...

and this dear conjunction...

plant neighbourhood...

and Christian-like accord
in their sweet bosoms...

that never war advance...

his bleeding sword...

'twixt England and fair France.

Amen.

Now, welcome, Kate,
and bear me witness all...

That here I kiss her
as my sovereign queen.

God, the best maker of all marriages,

combine our hearts in one,
our realms in one.

As man and wife, being two,
are one in love,

so be there 'twixt our kingdoms
such a spousal...

that never may ill office
or fell jealousy...

which troubles oft
the bed of blessed marriage...

thrust in between
the paction of these kingdoms...

to make divorce
of their incorporate league...

that English may as French,

French Englishmen, receive each other.

God speak this.

- Amen.
- Amen.

Thus far, with rough
and all-unable pen...

our bending author
hath pursued the story...

in little room confining mighty men...

mangling by starts
the full course of their glory.

Small time,

but in that small most greatly lived...

this star of England.

Fortune made his sword...

by which the world's
best garden he achieved...

and of it left his son imperial lord.

Henry the sixth, in infant bands
crowned king of France and England

did this king succeed...

whose state so many had the managing...

that they lost France...

and made his England bleed...

which oft our stage hath shown,

and, for their sake,

in your fair minds
let this acceptance take.