Then Should the Warlike Harry, like himselfe,
Affume the Port of Mars, and at his heeles
(Leafht in, like Hounds) Should Famine, Sword, and Fire
Crouch for employment. But pardon, Gentles all:
The flat vnrayfed Spirits, that hath dar`d,
On this unworthy Scaffold, to bring forth
So great an Obiect. Can this Cock-Pit hold
The vastic fields of France? Or max
Within this Woodden O, the very Caskes
That did affright the Ayre at Agincourt?
O pardon fince a crooked Figure may
Atteft in little place a Million,
And let vs, Cyphers to this great Accompt,
On your imaginarie Forces worke.
Suppofe within the Girdle of these Walls
Are now confin'd two mightie Monarchies,
Whofe high, up-reared, and abutting Fronts,
The perillous narrow Ocean parts afunder.
Peece out our imperfections with your thoughts:
Into a thousand parts diuide one Man,
And make imaginarie Puiffance.
Thinke when we talke of Horfes, that you fee them,
Printing their prowd Hoofes i'th receiving Earth:
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our Kings,
Carry them here and there: Iumping o're Times;
Turning th' accomplishment of many yeeres
Into an Howre-glaffe: for the which supplie,
Admit me Chorus to this Historie;
Who Prologue-like, your humble patience pray,
Gently to heare, kindly to iudge our Play.