Tut! I have the best armour of the world.
Would it were day!
Come now! I have the finest armor in the world. If only it were daylight!
Pssh, my armor is literally the best you'll see anywhere. When is it gonna be morning already?
i got the sickest armor ever why is it still dark out
You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.
Your armor is excellent, certainly; but let my horse receive appropriate recognition.
Sure, your armor's great and all, but my horse deserves credit here.
yeah your armor's nice but like my horse tho
It is the best horse of Europe.
It is the finest horse in Europe.
Honestly, it's the best horse on the whole continent.
best horse in all of europe idgaf
Will it never be morning?
Will morning ever come?
Is the sun ever going to come up?
when tf will it be morning
My Lord of Orleans, and my Lord High Constable, you talk of horse and
armour?
Orleans and Constable, you're going on about horses and armor?
Hold up, you two are seriously out here debating horses and armor gear?
y'all really arguing about horses and armor rn
You are as well provided of both as any prince in the world.
You're equipped with both as well as any prince in the world.
You've got just as good horses and armor as any royalty anywhere.
you got just as fire gear as any prince
What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that
treads but on four pasterns. Ch’ha! He bounds from the earth, as if his
entrails were hairs; _le cheval volant_, the Pegasus, _qui a les
narines de feu!_ When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk. He trots the
air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is
more musical than the pipe of Hermes.
What an endless night this is! I would not trade my horse with any that walks on four hooves. Whoa! He leaps from the ground as if his insides were springs; the flying horse, the Pegasus, with nostrils of fire! When I stand on him, I soar, I become a hawk. He trots through the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the lowest note of his hoof is more musical than Hermes' pipes.
This night feels like forever! I wouldn't swap my horse for any four-legged animal out there. Seriously! He jumps like he's got springs inside him—he's like Pegasus himself, spitting fire from his nose! When I climb on his back, I fly like a hawk. He prances through the air, and the ground literally sings under his hooves. Even the lowest note of his hoofbeat sounds better than a god's flute.
night will never end smh i'm not trading this horse 4 anything he literally flies like pegasus fire breathing nostrils fr i become a hawk when i ride him sounds better than the gods
He’s of the colour of the nutmeg.
He's the color of nutmeg.
He's got that nice nutmeg coloring.
he nutmeg colored tho
And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus. He is pure
air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in
him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him. He is
indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.
And he has the heat and vitality of ginger. He's a horse fit for Perseus. He's pure air and fire; the dull elements of earth and water never show in him, only in patient stillness while his rider mounts. He is truly a horse, while you can only call all other horses beasts.
And he's got that ginger spiciness too, you know? He's a horse worthy of a hero. Basically pure energy and fire—earth and water never show up in him except when he's standing still waiting for me to get on. That's when he's a real horse, while everything else is just... beast.
pure ginger spice hero level horse fr all air and fire other horses r just beasts compared
Indeed, my lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.
You're absolutely correct, my lord—that creature is beyond question the finest specimen of horseflesh.
You know what, you're right—that horse is seriously flawless and amazing.
ngl that horse is perfect tho
It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a
monarch, and his countenance enforces homage.
It is the king of saddle horses; his neigh is like a monarch's command, and his bearing demands respect.
He's literally royalty on four legs—when he neighs it sounds like a king giving orders, and his whole presence just makes you bow.
king of all horses fr neigh sounds like a royal command status is immaculate
No more, cousin.
No more, cousin.
No more, cousin.
No more, cousin.
Nay, the man hath no wit that cannot, from the rising of the lark to
the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey. It is a
theme as fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and
my horse is argument for them all. ’Tis a subject for a sovereign to
reason on, and for a sovereign’s sovereign to ride on; and for the
world, familiar to us and unknown, to lay apart their particular
functions and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise and
began thus: “Wonder of nature,”—
Look, anyone without wit can't, from sunrise to sunset, heap fitting praise on my horse. It's a subject as endless as the sea; turn sand into tongues and my horse becomes the argument for them all. He's a topic for kings to philosophize about and for kings' kings to ride; and for the world, familiar to us yet unknown, to abandon their private concerns and marvel at him. I once wrote a poem in his honor and started with: 'Wonder of nature,'—
Seriously, if you can't spend all day praising my horse, you've got no brains. It's literally an endless topic—you could make a million arguments about him. He's worthy of kings debating his merits and other kings riding him. Even strangers would drop everything to stare at him in awe. I actually wrote a poem about him once that started with 'Wonder of nature,'—
if you can't praise my horse all day you got no brain fr fr it's an infinite topic kings should debate him i even wrote him a poem started with 'wonder of nature'
I have heard a sonnet begin so to one’s mistress.
I've heard sonnets begin that way—addressed to someone's lover.
Yeah, I've heard guys open poems like that when they're gushing about their girlfriends.
lol that's how ppl start love poems
Then did they imitate that which I compos’d to my courser, for my horse
is my mistress.
Then they were imitating what I wrote to my horse, because my horse is my lover.
Well then they copied me, because my horse IS my lover.
then they copied me bc my horse is literally my girl
Your mistress bears well.
Your lover carries you very well.
Well, your girlfriend certainly gets you around nicely.
your girl carries you well tho
Me well; which is the prescript praise and perfection of a good and
particular mistress.
Carries me well; which is the essential quality and perfection of a good and true lover.
She carries me perfectly, which is exactly what a real lover should do.
carrying me well = perfect lover energy
The horse speech is one of Shakespeare's finest comic set pieces and one of his subtlest character portraits simultaneously. The Dauphin is not merely talking about a horse; he is talking about himself. Every quality he ascribes to the horse — supernatural lightness, unearthly fire, divinity, the compulsion of homage — is a quality he wishes people attributed to him. His father has kept him from the battlefield. The Constable and Orleans are politely contemptuous. The horse speech is overcompensation of the most elaborate kind: if I cannot be celebrated as a warrior, I will celebrate a creature I own as a demigod, and through that association become associated with divinity. The fact that it fails to impress anyone — Orleans gently tells him to stop, the Constable barely conceals his contempt — is the play's comment on the Dauphin's entire arc.
Nay, for methought yesterday your mistress shrewdly shook your back.
No, because yesterday your lover shook you roughly off her back.
Except yesterday your girlfriend literally threw you off hard.
but ur girl bucked u off yesterday tho
So perhaps did yours.
Perhaps yours did as well.
Maybe yours did the same.
maybe urs did 2
Mine was not bridled.
Mine didn't have a bridle on.
Yeah well mine wasn't even wearing a bridle.
nah mine wasn't even bridled
O then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a kern of
Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait strossers.
So probably she was old and gentle; and you rode her like an Irish foot soldier, your fancy French pants off, in your tight breeches instead.
So she was probably just old and calm, and you rode her like some rough Irish fighter, stripped down to just your tight pants with your French fancy-pants off.
so she's old and gentle and u rode her like irish trash no fancy pants just tight ones
You have good judgment in horsemanship.
You understand horsemanship well.
You've got some solid knowledge about horses.
you know horses tho
Be warn’d by me, then; they that ride so and ride not warily, fall into
foul bogs. I had rather have my horse to my mistress.
Take my advice: riders who go that way and don't ride carefully fall into mud and filth. I'd rather have my horse as my lover.
Take it from me: if you ride like that and aren't careful, you'll end up in the swamp covered in mud. That's why I'll stick with my horse as my lover.
be careful riding or fall in bogs fr i'm keeping my horse as my gf tho
I had as lief have my mistress a jade.
I'd just as soon have my lover be a worn-out horse.
I'd be just as happy if my lover was a broken-down old nag.
id rather have a worn out horse as gf
I tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears his own hair.
Listen, Constable, my lover has her own hair.
Look, Constable, my girlfriend's got her own hair, you know?
yo my horse has her own hair
I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a sow to my mistress.
I could make just as true a claim if I had a pig as my lover.
I could say the exact same thing if my lover was a pig.
i could say the same about a pig
“_Le chien est retourné à son propre vomissement, et la truie lavée au
bourbier_.” Thou mak’st use of anything.
"The dog has returned to his own vomit, and the pig, washed, to the mud." You turn anything to your purpose.
"The dog went back to his own puke, and the pig after a wash went right back to the mud." You twist everything to fit your argument.
dogs go back to their puke pigs go back to mud after washing you use anything as an excuse
Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress, or any such proverb so
little kin to the purpose.
Yet I don't use my horse as my lover, or apply any proverb so irrelevant to the point.
Look, I'm not using my horse as a girlfriend, and I'm not throwing out random proverbs that don't even apply.
i don't use my horse as gf and my proverbs actually make sense
My Lord Constable, the armour that I saw in your tent tonight, are
those stars or suns upon it?
Constable, the armor I saw in your tent tonight—are those stars or suns on it?
Constable, that armor you've got in your tent—are those stars or suns decorating it?
yo that armor in ur tent stars or suns on it?
Stars, my lord.
Stars, my lord.
Stars, my lord.
Stars, my lord.
Some of them will fall tomorrow, I hope.
Some of them will be knocked off tomorrow, I hope.
I'm hoping some of those come off tomorrow.
hoping some fall off tomorrow
And yet my sky shall not want.
And my sky won't lack for them.
Yeah well, I'll still have plenty left even if some do.
i'll still have plenty tho
That may be, for you bear a many superfluously, and ’twere more honour
some were away.
That may be true, because you wear so many that it would be more honorable if some were gone.
Maybe, but let's be real—you've got way too many anyway, so losing some would actually be an upgrade.
u got too many anyway losing some would b better
Even as your horse bears your praises; who would trot as well, were
some of your brags dismounted.
Just as your horse bears your boasts well; he'd trot just fine if some of your bragging was removed.
Just like your horse would carry those boasts better if you cut down on some of the lies.
ur horse could carry ur bragging better if u talked less
Would I were able to load him with his desert! Will it never be day? I
will trot tomorrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English
faces.
I wish I could load him with what he deserves! Will it never be day? I will gallop tomorrow a mile, and my path will be paved with English faces.
I wish I could pile all his deserved praise on him! When is it ever going to be morning? Tomorrow I'm gonna ride a mile and cover the ground with English soldiers.
wish i could give him all he deserves when will it be day tomorrow im riding over english faces
I will not say so, for fear I should be fac’d out of my way. But I
would it were morning; for I would fain be about the ears of the
English.
I won't say the same, for fear I'd be blocked on my way. But I really want it to be morning; I'm eager to be fighting the English.
I'm not gonna say that because then the English would stop me. But seriously, I want morning to come because I'm dying to fight them.
im not saying that or english will stop me but i wanna fight them so bad
The game of competitive proverbs that Constable and Orleans play in the latter part of the scene is more interesting than it looks. Both men are clearly talking about the Dauphin — 'there is flattery in friendship,' 'ill will never said well,' 'a fool's bolt is soon shot.' The proverbs are a coded conversation about a man who is present in their minds if not in the scene. The game also reveals character: Orleans is quicker and lighter, the Constable more precise and cutting. Their relationship is one of the play's minor joys — two intelligent men trapped in the same hopeless situation, finding entertainment in wit.
Who will go to hazard with me for twenty prisoners?
Who will gamble with me for twenty prisoners?
Who wants to bet on capturing twenty English prisoners?
who'll bet on 20 prisoners
You must first go yourself to hazard, ere you have them.
You must first risk yourself before you have prisoners.
You gotta put yourself at risk first if you want to take anyone.
gotta risk urself first duh
’Tis midnight; I’ll go arm myself.
It's midnight; I'll go put my armor on.
It's midnight—I'm gonna go get my armor on.
it's midnight gotta gear up
The Dauphin longs for morning.
The Dauphin is eager for morning.
The Dauphin really can't wait for daylight.
dauphin wants morning so bad
He longs to eat the English.
He's hungry to fight the English.
He's dying to take on the English.
he wants to fight english ppl
I think he will eat all he kills.
I think he'll consume everyone he defeats.
I bet he'd demolish everyone he faces.
he'll destroy everyone he fights
By the white hand of my lady, he’s a gallant prince.
By the beauty of my lady, he's a gallant prince.
By my lady's beauty, he's one impressive prince.
he's a fire prince fr fr
Swear by her foot that she may tread out the oath.
Swear by her foot so she can trample on your oath.
Swear by her feet instead so she can step all over your vow.
swear by her feet so she can stomp ur oath
He is simply the most active gentleman of France.
He is simply the most active and energetic gentleman in France.
Honestly, he's the most energetic and bold guy in all of France.
most active guy in france lowkey
Doing is activity; and he will still be doing.
Action is activity; and he will constantly be acting.
Well, doing things is what activity is, and he'll never stop doing stuff.
he's always doing something fr
He never did harm, that I heard of.
I've never heard that he's done any harm.
I've never heard of him hurting anyone.
heard he never hurt no one
Nor will do none tomorrow. He will keep that good name still.
And he won't do any tomorrow. He'll keep up that good reputation.
And he won't tomorrow either. His reputation's gonna stay spotless.
he won't hurt no one tomorrow either reputation stays clean
I know him to be valiant.
I know him to be brave.
I know he's got courage.
i know he's brave
I was told that by one that knows him better than you.
I was told that by someone who knows him better than you do.
Yeah, someone who knows him way better than you told me that.
somebody who knows him better told me that
What’s he?
What’s he?
What’s he?
What’s he?
Marry, he told me so himself; and he said he car’d not who knew it.
Actually, he told me that himself; and he said he didn't care who knew it.
Well actually, he told me himself, and he said he didn't give a damn who found out.
he told me himself and he didnt care who knew
He needs not; it is no hidden virtue in him.
He doesn't need to keep it secret; there's nothing hidden about his bravery.
There's nothing he needs to hide—his courage isn't a secret.
his bravery ain't hidden fr
By my faith, sir, but it is; never anybody saw it but his lackey. ’Tis
a hooded valour; and when it appears, it will bate.
I promise you, that's false; not a soul has witnessed his valiance except his own attendant. It's a concealed and hooded courage; and whenever it does appear, it will shrink back.
Actually, that's total BS—the only person who's seen it is his butler. His courage is locked away; and if it ever comes out, it's gonna be disappointing.
nah only his servant's seen it it's trapped bravery when it shows it'll be weak
This scene ends Act 3 and sets up Act 4. Its function is to accumulate dramatic irony. Everything the French say in this scene will be reversed by the battle: their confident numbers, their certainty of prisoners, their pity for the English. Shakespeare gives them this night of glorious hubris precisely because he is about to show them destroyed. The technique is classical: build up the pride before the fall, and make the fall land harder. The scene is also the last we see of French aristocratic life before Agincourt — the next time we are in the French camp, it will be in the panic of defeat. This night of wit, horse poetry, and proverb games is, though no one in the scene knows it, their last evening of certainty.
“Ill will never said well.”
"Bad intent never produces good words."
"Bad intentions never create good outcomes."
evil never produces good
I will cap that proverb with “There is flattery in friendship.”
I'll respond to that saying with "There is false flattery in friendship."
I'm gonna hit you back with "Friends just tell you pretty lies."
friends be flattering tho
And I will take up that with “Give the devil his due.”
And I'll counter that with "Give credit to the devil too."
And I'm gonna answer with "You gotta give the devil his due."
gotta give the devil his due
Well plac’d. There stands your friend for the devil; have at the very
eye of that proverb with “A pox of the devil.”
That's well said. There's your friend standing in for the devil; let me strike at the heart of that saying with "A curse on the devil."
That's a good one. You're basically the devil here; so I'm gonna smash that quote with "Curse the devil."
you're the devil so curse the devil
You are the better at proverbs, by how much “A fool’s bolt is soon
shot.”
You're better at proverbs now, seeing as "A fool shoots all his arrows at once."
You're winning the proverb game since "Fools waste all their shots at once."
fools waste all their shots fast
You have shot over.
You've overshot.
Yeah, you went too far.
u went too far
’Tis not the first time you were overshot.
It's not the first time you've overshot.
That's not the first time you've gone over the top.
not ur first time going too far
My Lord High Constable, the English lie within fifteen hundred paces of
your tents.
Constable, the English are positioned within fifteen hundred paces of your tents.
Constable, the English soldiers are camped just fifteen hundred paces away from us.
english are 1500 paces away from ur tent
Who hath measur’d the ground?
Who measured the distance?
Who checked how far they are?
who measured that
The Lord Grandpré.
The Lord Grandpré.
The Lord Grandpré.
The Lord Grandpré.
A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were day! Alas, poor
Harry of England, he longs not for the dawning as we do.
A skilled and brave soldier. If only it were day! Poor Henry of England—he's not longing for morning like we are.
A really talented and brave fighter. God, I wish it was day! Poor Henry of England—he doesn't want morning to come like we do.
he's solid wish it was day poor henry doesn't want morning like we do
What a wretched and peevish fellow is this King of England, to mope
with his fat-brain’d followers so far out of his knowledge!
What a miserable and irritable ruler this King of England is, to wander around with his simple-minded followers so far from where they know their way!
This King of England is such a pathetic jerk, wandering around with his dumb followers completely lost.
henry's such a loser wandering with his dumb soldiers completely lost
If the English had any apprehension, they would run away.
If the English possessed any true understanding of their danger, they would flee this place.
If the English had any brains, they'd be running.
if english were smart theyd run
That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they
could never wear such heavy head-pieces.
That's their weakness; for if they had any intelligence in their heads, they could never carry such heavy armor.
That's exactly it; if they had any brains at all, they couldn't possibly wear such heavy metal suits.
if they had brains they couldn't wear heavy armor
That island of England breeds very valiant creatures. Their mastiffs
are of unmatchable courage.
That island of England produces very brave soldiers. Their war dogs are incredibly fierce.
England actually breeds some seriously tough fighters. Their mastiffs are absolutely vicious.
england's got brave soldiers their dogs r scary af
Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian bear and
have their heads crush’d like rotten apples! You may as well say,
that’s a valiant flea that dare eat his breakfast on the lip of a lion.
Foolish dogs, that run blindly into a Russian bear's mouth and get their heads crushed like soft apples! You might as well say a brave flea eats breakfast on a lion's lip.
Stupid dogs that charge into a bear's mouth blind and get squashed flat. It's like saying a tiny flea is brave for eating breakfast on a lion's face.
dumb dogs run into bears get crushed like apples like brave fleas eating on lions
Just, just; and the men do sympathize with the mastiffs in robustious
and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives; and then,
give them great meals of beef and iron and steel, they will eat like
wolves and fight like devils.
Exactly right. And the men are just like their dogs—rough and violent in attack, leaving their brains with their wives at home; then give them big meals of beef and iron and steel, they'll devour like wolves and fight like demons.
Exactly! The men are the same as their dogs—rough and brutal when they charge, leaving all their thinking with their wives back home. Feed them beef and metal and they'll eat like wolves and fight like devils.
men r like their dogs rude and violent left their brains home with wives feed em beef n steel they'll eat n fight like animals
Ay, but these English are shrewdly out of beef.
True, but these English are seriously running low on food.
Yeah, but honestly these English soldiers are starving.
but english are out of food fr
Then shall we find tomorrow they have only stomachs to eat and none to
fight. Now is it time to arm. Come, shall we about it?
Then tomorrow we'll find they only have appetite for eating and none for fighting. It's time to arm ourselves now. Come on, shall we begin?
Then tomorrow we'll see they're too hungry to fight—they'll just be focused on eating. Time to get our armor on. Come on, let's go.
so tomorrow they'll only eat no energy to fight let's get armored up now
It is now two o’clock; but, let me see, by ten
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen.
It's two o'clock right now; but let me think, by ten We'll each have captured a hundred Englishmen.
It's only two in the morning; but honestly, by ten o'clock We should each have a hundred English prisoners.
it's 2 am but by 10 each of us catches 100 english
The Reckoning
This is the play's great comic set piece of hubris. The French are so certain of tomorrow's outcome that they can't sleep — not from fear but from impatience. The Dauphin's horse speech is one of Shakespeare's most sustained pieces of comic excess: a grown man, the night before a battle, delivering what amounts to a five-minute love poem to his horse. The Constable and Orleans watch him with barely concealed contempt, trading proverbs that just barely avoid saying what they mean. Then the messenger arrives: the English are fifteen hundred paces away. The French respond with more mockery. The dramatic irony is total — we know what happens tomorrow. Shakespeare has given the French this night of glorious confidence to make what follows land harder.
If this happened today…
The night before the championship game, and the opposing team is in their hotel doing a coordinated social media countdown, their best player is writing a long post about how he cries when he sees his cleats, and their group chat is full of memes about 'these guys don't even eat real food.' Meanwhile the actual game starts at 9am and the scoreboard doesn't care about any of this.