Or void the field;[27] 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.
Go, and tell them so.

[_Exit HERALD with Trumpeter, R.H._

_Exe._ The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.

_K. Hen._ Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour,
I saw him down; thrice up again and fighting;
From helmet to the spur, all blood he was.

_Exe._ In which array, (brave soldier), did he lie,
Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
(Yoke fellow to his honour-owing wounds),
The noble Earl of Suffolk also lay.
Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,
Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,
And takes him by the hand; kisses the gashes,
That bloodily did yarn upon his face;
And cries aloud:--_Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!
My soul shall thine keep company to heaven:
Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast;
As in this glorious and well foughten field,
We keep together in our chivalry!_
Upon these words I came, and cheer'd him up:
He smil'd me in the face, raught me his hand,[28]
And with a feeble gripe, says,--_Dear, my lord,
Commend my service to my sovereign._
So did he turn, and over Suffolk's neck
He threw his wounded arm, and kiss'd his lips;
And so espous'd to death, with blood he seal'd
A testament of noble-ending love.
The pretty and sweet manner of it forc'd
Those waters from me, which I would have stopp'd;
But I had not so much of man in me,
But all my mother came into mine eyes,
And gave me up to tears.

[_Re-enter ENGLISH HERALD and Trumpeter, R.H._

_K. Hen._ I blame you not:
For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.

[_Trumpet without, R._

_Exe._ Here comes the herald of the French, my liege.

_Glo._ His eyes are humbler than they us'd to be.

_Enter MONTJOY,(N) and attendants, R.H. MONTJOY uncovers
and kneels._

_K. Hen._ How now! what means this, herald?
Com'st thou again for ransom?

_Mont._ No, great king:
I come to thee for charitable licence,
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 drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
(So do our vulgar drench