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Exe. Despatch us with all speed, lest that our
king Come here himself to question our delay; For he is footed in this land already. Fr. King. You shall be soon despatch'd, with fair
conditions: A night is but small breath, and little pause, To answer matters of this
Chor. Thus with imagin’d wing our swift scene
flies, In motion of no less celerity Than that of thought. Suppose, that you have seen The well-appointed king at Hampton pier Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet With silken streamers the
Phæbus fanning. Play with your fancies; and in them behold, Upon the hempen tackle, shipboys climbing: Hear the shrill whistle, which doth order give To sounds confus'd: behold the threaden sails, Born with the invisible and creeping wind, Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, Breasting the lofty surge: 0, do but think, You stand upon the rivage 26, and behold A city on the inconstant billows dancing ; For so appears this fleet majestical, Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy; And leave your England, as dead midnight, still, Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, Either past, or not arriv'd to, pith and puissance : For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd With one appearing hair, that will not follow These cullid and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege:
[Alarum; and chambers go off. And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind,
The same. Before Harfleur.
Alarums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, BEDFORD,
GLOSTER, and Soldiers, with scaling ladders.
Then lend the eye a terrible aspéct;
not; For there is none of you so mean and base, That hath not noble lustre 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!
[Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off
Forces pass over; then enter Nym, BARDOLPH,
PISTOL, and Boy.
Bard. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach!
Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. Pist. The plain-song is most just; for humours do
abound; Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die;
And sword and shield,
In bloody field,
Doth win immortal fame.
If wishes would prevail with me,
But thither would I hie. Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing on bough.