Speeches (Lines) for Sir Thomas Erpingham in "History of Henry V"

Total: 5
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# Act / Scene Speech text
1 IV / 1
  • Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better,
    Since I may say 'Now lie I l...
  • Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better,
    Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.'
  • Henry V. Gloucester, 'tis true that we are in great danger;
    The greater therefore should our courage be.
    Good morrow, brother Bedford. God Almighty!
    There is some soul of goodness in things evil,
    Would men observingly distil it out.
    For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers,
    Which is both healthful and good husbandry:
    Besides, they are our outward consciences,
    And preachers to us all, admonishing
    That we should dress us fairly for our end.
    Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
    And make a moral of the devil himself.
    [Enter ERPINGHAM]
    Good morrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:
    A good soft pillow for that good white head
    Were better than a churlish turf of France.

    Sir Thomas Erpingham. Not so, my liege: this lodging likes me better,
    Since I may say 'Now lie I like a king.'

2 IV / 1
  • Shall I attend your grace?
  • Shall I attend your grace?
  • Duke of Gloucester. We shall, my liege.

    Sir Thomas Erpingham. Shall I attend your grace?

3 IV / 1
  • The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
  • The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!
  • Henry V. No, my good knight;
    Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
    I and my bosom must debate awhile,
    And then I would no other company.

    Sir Thomas Erpingham. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!

4 IV / 1
  • My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
    Seek through your camp to fin...
  • My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
    Seek through your camp to find you.
  • Henry V. Indeed, the French may lay twenty French crowns to
    one, they will beat us; for they bear them on their
    shoulders: but it is no English treason to cut
    French crowns, and to-morrow the king himself will
    be a clipper.
    [Exeunt soldiers]
    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. O hard condition,
    Twin-born with greatness, subject to the breath
    Of every fool, whose sense no more can feel
    But his own wringing! What infinite heart's-ease
    Must kings neglect, that private men enjoy!
    And what have kings, that privates have not too,
    Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
    And what art thou, thou idle ceremony?
    What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
    Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
    What are thy rents? what are thy comings in?
    O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
    What is thy soul of adoration?
    Art thou aught else but place, degree and form,
    Creating awe and fear in other men?
    Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
    Than they in fearing.
    What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet,
    But poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness,
    And bid thy ceremony give thee cure!
    Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out
    With titles blown from adulation?
    Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
    Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,
    Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
    That play'st 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 fill'd and vacant mind
    Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
    Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
    But, like a lackey, from the rise to 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 with toil and nights with sleep,
    Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
    The slave, a member of the country's peace,
    Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots
    What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace,
    Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

    Sir Thomas Erpingham. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence,
    Seek through your camp to find you.

5 IV / 1
  • I shall do't, my lord.
  • I shall do't, my lord.
  • Henry V. Good old knight,
    Collect them all together at my tent:
    I'll be before thee.

    Sir Thomas Erpingham. I shall do't, my lord.

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© Copyright 2017-2022 Shakespeare Network - Maximianno Cobra - All rights reserved.