You'll remember in the last act of Henry V when King Henry is speaking with Catherine of Valois. He tries to woo her in English and in broken French. It's really almost a touching scene. However, stepping back from the language of it all, I put myself in Catherine's place and shortened this scene to:
Henry: I own your country.
Catherine: What?
Henry: So we should get married.
Catherine: But I don't know you.
Henry: And we can have half-French, half-English babies. FRENGLISH BABIES!
Catherine: (To Alice) Seriously, what is he saying?
Henry: I know I'm ugly. And I can't talk good. And I get mad over tennis balls. And I smell. And I trick people into fighting me and steal their gloves. And I drink straight from the milk carton. And I hog the remote. But hey, you're a looker.
Catherine: (To Alice) You've got to be kidding me.
Henry: Just marry me, eh?
Catherine: Does my dad say I have to?
Henry: (Smiling) Yup.
Catherine: Eh... fine.
Henry: Awesome! Now you have to kiss me!
Catherine: Whoa whoa whoa! I never agreed to this!
Enter the King and Queen of France
King of France: Go off, daughter! Go off and have Frenglish babies!
Queen Isabel: Frenglish babies!
Henry: Frenglish boy babies!
All except Catherine: HOORAY!
... Is that how the scene kind of felt for all of you?
My good beef with Henry
I think he's selling himself short in this scene when he calls himself ugly and says that he can't talk in the prettiest way. Which is why the scene is a little adorable to me. If I don't look at it from Catherine's standpoint. (:
Henry can't talk in beautiful verse?
Let's go back to Act III when he's leading his army to invade France. I think his speech was absolutely beautiful. I got chills, here! Maybe even got misty-eyed at the part where he's calling forth the pride of England. (Tell anyone, and I'll deny it):
"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:
...On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof,
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
...Now attest
That those whom you called fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. 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!"
Show us here the mettle of your pasture! Let us swear that you are worth our breeding!
Doesn't that make your hairs kind of stand up? I say, "Give yourself more credit, Henry!" He has a gift for speech. Not necessarily for patience and empathy, though. So heaven help Catherine and God save the King.
