1    Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen:
2    But all's not done; yet keep the French the field.

3    The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.

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

7    In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,
8    Larding the plain; and by his bloody side,
9    Yoke-fellow to his honour-owing wounds,
10   The noble Earl of Suffolk also lies.
11   Suffolk first died: and York, all haggled over,
12   Comes to him, where in gore he lay insteep'd,
13   And takes him by the beard; kisses the gashes
14   That bloodily did spawn upon his face;
15   And cries aloud 'Tarry, dear cousin Suffolk!
16   My soul shall thine keep company to heaven;
17   Tarry, sweet soul, for mine, then fly abreast,
18   As in this glorious and well-foughten field
19   We kept together in our chivalry!'
20   Upon these words I came and cheer'd him up:
21   He smiled me in the face, raught me his hand,
22   And, with a feeble gripe, says 'Dear my lord,
23   Commend my service to me sovereign.'
24   So did he turn and over Suffolk's neck
25   He threw his wounded arm and kiss'd his lips;
26   And so espoused to death, with blood he seal'd
27   A testament of noble-ending love.
28   The pretty and sweet manner of it forced
29   Those waters from me which I would have stopp'd;
30   But I had not so much of man in me,
31   And all my mother came into mine eyes
32   And gave me up to tears.

33   I blame you not;
34   For, hearing this, I must perforce compound
35   With mistful eyes, or they will issue too.
Alarum
36   But, hark! what new alarum is this same?
37   The French have reinforced their scatter'd men:
38   Then every soldier kill his prisoners:
39   Give the word through.