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Into an hour-glass; For the which supply,
Admit me chorus to this history;

Who, prologue-like, your humble patience pray
Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play.

THE CHORUS SHOWS THE ENGLISH TO BE IN GREAT DAN-
GER BEFORE THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT, THE FRENCH
EXCEEDING THEIR NUMBER AS FIVE TO ONE.

Chor. Now entertain conjecture of a time
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fix'd sentinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch:
Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face:

Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice,
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp

So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

Sit patiently, and inly ruminate

The morning's danger; and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon

So many horrid ghosts.

O, now, who will behold

The royal captain of this ruin'd band

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry, Praise and glory on his head!
For forth he goes, and visits all his host;
Bids them good morrow, with a modest smile;
And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.

Upon his royal face there is no note
How dread an army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night :
But freshly looks, and over-bears attaint
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty,
That every wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:
A largess universal, like the sun,

His liberal eye doth give to every one,
Thawing cold fear.

Then, mean and gentle all,

Behold, as may unworthiness define,

A little touch of Harry in the night:
And so our scene must to the battle fly;
Where (O for pity!) we shall much disgrace,
With four or five most vile and ragged foils,
Right ill disposed, in brawl ridiculous,
The name of Agincourt: Yet, sit and see,
Minding true things by what their mockeries be.

MONTJOY, THE HERALD OF THE FRENCH, COMES
HENRY AFTER THE BATTLE.

TO KING

Exe. Here comes the herald of the French, my liege. Glo. His eyes are humbler than they used to be.

K. Hen. How now? what means this herald? know'st

thou not

That I have fined these bones of mine for ransom?
Com'st thou again for ransom?

Mont. No, great king:

I come to thee for charitable licence,
That we may wander o'er this bloody field
To book our dead, and then to bury them;
To sort our nobles from our common men;
For many of our princes (woe the while!)
Lie drown'd and soak'd in mercenary blood;
(So do our vulgar drench their peasant limbs
In blood of princes;) and their wounded steeds
Fret fetlock deep in gore, and, with wild rage,
Yerk out their armed heels at their dead masters,
Killing them twice. O give us leave, great king,
To view the field in safety, and dispose

Of their dead bodies.

K. Hen. I tell thee truly, herald,

I know not if the day be ours or no;
For yet a many of your horsemen peer,
And gallop o'er the field.

Mont. The day is yours.

K. Hen. Praised be God, and not our strength, for it!—— What is this castle call'd that stands hard by?

Mont. They call it Agincourt.

K. Hen. Then call we this the field of Agincourt, Fought on the day of Crispin Crispianus.

FIRST PART OF KING HENRY VI.

DEAD MARCH. CORPSE OF HENRY V.

Bed. Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!

Comets, importing change of times and states,

Brandish your crystal tresses in the sky;
And with them scourge the bad revolting stars,
That have consented unto Henry's death!
Henry the Fifth, too famous to live long!
England ne'er lost a king of so much worth.

Glo. England ne'er had a king, until his time.
Virtue he had, deserving to command:

His brandish'd sword did blind men with his beams;
His arms spread wider than a dragon's wings;
His sparkling eyes, replete with wrathful fire,
More dazzled and drove back his enemies,
Than mid-day sun, fierce bent against their faces.
What should I say? his deeds exceed all speech:
He ne'er lift up his hand, but conquered.

SECOND PART OF KING HENRY VI.

QUEEN MARGARET'S CAUSELESS SUSPICIONS OF GLOSTER.
K. Hen. I muse, my lord of Gloster is not come:
'Tis not his wont to be the hindmost man,
Whate'er occasion keeps him from us now.

Q. Mar. Can you not see? or will you not observe

The strangeness of his alter'd countenance?
With what a majesty he bears himself;
How insolent of late he is become,

How proud, peremptory, and unlike himself?

We know the time, since he was mild and affable;
And, if we did but glance a far-off look,
Immediately he was upon his knee,

That all the court admired him for submission.
But, meet him now, and, be it in the morn,
When every one will give the time of day,
He knits his brow, and shows an angry eye,
And passeth by with stiff unbowed knee,
Disdaining duty that to us belongs.

Small curs are not regarded, when they grin;
But great men tremble, when the lion roars:
And Humphrey is no little man in England.
First, note, that he is near you in descent;
And should you fall, he is the next will mount.
Me seemeth then, it is no policy,-

Respecting what a rancorous mind he bears,
And his advantage following your decease,-
That he should come about your royal person,
Or be admitted to your highness' council.
By flattery hath he won the Commons' hearts;
And, when he please to make commotion,
'Tis to be fear'd, they all will follow him.

Now 't is the spring, and weeds are shallow-rooted; Suffer them now, and they'll o'ergrow the garden, And choke the herbs for want of husbandry.

The reverent care I bear unto my lord
Made me collect these dangers in the duke.
If it be fond, call it a woman's fear;

Which fear if better reasons can supplant,
I will subscribe, and say-I wrong'd the duke.
My lord of Suffolk, Buckingham, and York,
Reprove my allegation, if you can;

Or else conclude my words effectual.

WARWICK'S SUSPICIONS REGARDING GLOSTER'S DEATH.

SEE how the blood is settled in his face!

Oft have I seen a timely-parted ghost,

Of ashy semblance, meagre, pale, and bloodless,
Being all descended to the labouring heart;

Who, in the conflict that it holds with death,
Attracts the same for aidance 'gainst the enemy;
Which with the heart there cools, and ne'er returneth
To blush and beautify the cheek again.

But, see, his face is black, and full of blood;
His eye-balls farther out than when he lived.
Staring full ghastly like a strangled man:

His hair uprear'd, his nostrils stretch'd with struggling;
His hands abroad display'd, as one that grasp'd
And tugg'd for life, and was by strength subdued.
Look on the sheets, his hair, you see, is sticking
His well-proportion'd beard made rough and rugged,
Like to the summer's corn by tempest lodged.
It cannot be but he was murder'd here;
The least of all these signs were probable.

THIRD PART OF KING HENRY VI.

KING HENRY RETIRES TO A HILL FROM THE FIELD OF
BATTLE, AND THUS MORALIZES.

THIS battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the shepherd, blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.
Now sways it this way, like a mighty sea,
Forced by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that like the self-same sea,
way,
Forced to retire by fury of the wind:

Sometimes, the flood prevails; and then, the wind;

Now, one the better; then, another best;

Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror, nor conquered:
So is the equal poise of this fell war.
Here on this molehill will I sit me down.
To whom God will, there be the victory!
For Margaret, my queen, and Clifford too,
Have chid me from the battle; swearing both,
They prosper best of all when I am thence.
'Would I were dead! if God's good will were so:
For what is in this world, but grief and woe?
O God! methinks, it were a happy life,

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