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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

consequence. [Ereunt.

ACT III.

Enter CHORUS.

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?

young

Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege:
Behold the ordnance on their carriages,
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
Suppose, the ambassador from the French comes

back;
Tells Harry—that the king doth offer him
Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry,
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
With linstock 27 now the devilish cannon touches,

[Alarum; and chambers go off. And down goes all before them. Still be kind, And eke out our performance with your mind,

[Exit.

SCENE 1.

The same. Before Harfleur.

Alarums. Enter King Henry, Exeter, BEDFORD,

GLOSTER, and Soldiers, with scaling ladders.
K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends,

once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!
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;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage:
VOL. VII.

2 C

Then lend the eye a terrible aspéct;
Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it,
As fearfully, as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base 29,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide:
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height!-On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is set from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts, from morn till even fought,
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest,
That those, whom you call’d fathers, did beget you!
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war!-And you, good yea-

men,
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 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

SCENE II.

The same.

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.
Boy. 'Would I were in an alebouse in London!
I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and
safety.
Pist. And I:

If wishes would prevail with me,
My purpose should not fail with me,

But thither would I hie. Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing on bough.

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