In Shakespeare’s time there was no English army in any proper sense, but only occasional levies. His illustration of English military method, such as it then was, is to be found in Falstaff’s immortal exploits as a recruiting officer. It is common knowledge that there was a very ancient tradition of compulsory service in time of war within the realm, but the operation of the principle was rough and inefficient. We may believe if we like that Falstaff knew his business when he chose; it is certain that the way he does choose is not only to be a corruptible and corrupt officer, but to sell exemptions shamelessly. By his own confession he ‘misused the king’s press damnably’ and ‘got in exchange of a hundred and fifty soldiers three hundred and odd pounds.’ If we consider him with a cold military eye—which is the last thing Shakespeare intended—it is clear that he deserved to be shot. We gather from the great recruiting scene in the third act of the second part of ‘King Henry IV.’ that officers chose their own subalterns and raised their own men with a pretty uncontrolled discretion. One would like to quote the whole scene, but paper is scarce, and it is better for the reader to enjoy it in the full text. Doubtless it is a caricature, but I would not wager any great odds on the exaggeration being gross. The impudence of taking ‘three pound to free Mouldy and Bullcalf’ and then magnifying the quality of the scarecrows who are left is as delightful as any of Shakespeare’s humours. ‘Care I for the limb, the thewes, the stature, bulk, and big assemblance of a man! Give me the spirit, Master Shallow. Here’s Wart; you see what a ragged appearance it is.... O, give me the spare men, and spare me the great ones. Put me a caliver[7] into Wart’s hand, Bardolph.... Come, manage me your caliver. So: very well: go to: very good, exceeding good. O, give me always a little, lean, old, chapt, bald shot....’ We may yet hear news of Falstaff in the trenches, for there be many pretty wits at the front. There remains a question of which I have said nothing because it is too plain for discussion. Did Shakespeare think England worth fighting for? As to that, the answer is written all over his work; not only in such splendid passages as John of Gaunt utters in ‘Richard II.,’ which have quite properly been repeated many times, in print and on platforms, in the course of this year, but in the whole tone and colour of all his pictures of country life, whether the nominal scene be at Athens, or in the forest of Arden, or in Illyria. Besides, there are some questions really too impertinent to be put to any honest English gentleman, even when he is dead and immortalised these three hundred years. FOOTNOTES [1] There is apparently no real foundation for this; in fact there were serious commercial quarrels of some standing.