And these he masters now. Even to the utmost grain. Now he weighs time That you shall read In your own losses, if he stay in France. Fr. King. To-morrow shall you know our mind at full. 140 Flourish. Exe. Dispatch 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 dispatch'd with fair conditions. A night is but small breath and little pause 145 Exeunt. ACT THIRD [PROLOGUE.] Flourish. 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 5 With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. A city on the inconstant billows dancing; For so appears this fleet majestical, 15 Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! And leave your England, as dead midnight still, 19 Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, 26 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, 30 The offer likes not; and the nimble gunner SCENE I [France. Before] Harfleur. Exit. Alarum. Enter King Henry, Exeter, Bedford, Gloucester, [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 But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Let it pry through the portage of the head 5 10 Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, 15 Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 20 That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. yeomen, And you, good 25 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; D For there is none of you so mean and base, I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, 30 Cry, "God for Harry! England and Saint [Exeunt.] Alarum, and chambers go off. SCENE II [The same.] 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 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." 10 |