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O ceremony, fhew me but thy worth:

What is thy toll, O adoration?

Art thou aught elfe but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?

Wherein thou art lefs happy, being fear'd,
Than they in fearing.

What drink'st thou oft, inftead of homage fweet,
But poifon'd flatt'ry? O be fick, great Greatness,
And bid thy ceremony give thee cure.
Think'ft thou, the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?

Will it give place to flexure and low bending ?
Can't thou, when thou command'ft the beggar's knee,
Command the health of it? no, thou proud dream,
That play'ft fo fubtly with a King's repofe;
I am a King, that find thee; and I know,
"Tis not the balm, the fcepter and the ball,
The fword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The enter-tiffued robe of gold and pearl,
The farfed title running 'fore the King,
The throne he fits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high fhoar of this world;
No, not all these thrice-gorgeous ceremonies,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,.
Can fleep fo foundly as the wretched flave;
Who, with a body fill'd, and vacant mind,
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread ;
Never fees horrid night, the child of hell:
But, like a lacquey, from the rife to fet,
Sweats in the eye of Phebus; and all night
Sleeps in Elyfium; next day, after dawn,
Doth rife, and help Hyperion to his horse;
And follows fo the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave:
And (but for ceremony) fuch a wretch,

Emendation. What are thy Rents? What are thy Comings-in?' What is thy Worth? What is thy Toll?- (i. e. the Duties, and Impofts, thou receiveft;) All here is confonant, and agreeable to a fenfible Exclamation,

Mr. Warburton.

Winding

Winding up days with toil, and nights with fleep,
Hath the fore-hand and vantage of a King:
The flave, a member of the country's peace,
Enjoys it; but in grofs brain little wots,

What watch the King keeps to maintain the peace;
Whose hours the peafant beft advantages.

Enter Erpingham.

Erp. My lord, your Nobles, jealous of your abfence,. Seek through your camp to find you.

K. Henry. Good old Knight,

Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.

Erp. I fhall do't, my lord.

[Exit.

K. Henry. O God of battles! fteel my foldiers

hearts;

Poffefs them not with fear; take from them now (21)
The fenfe of reck'ning; left th' oppofed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them.

Not to day, O Lord,
O not to day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compaffing the crown.
I Richard's body have interred new,

And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears,
Than from it iffu'd forced drops of blood.
Five hundred Poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
Tow'rd heaven to pardon blood; and I have built
Two chauntries, where the fad and folemn priests.
Sing till for Richard's foul. More will I do;
Tho' all that I can do, is nothing worth,

(12) take from them now The Senfe of reck'ning of th' oppofed Numbers: Pluck their hearts from them.] Thus the firft folio reads and points this Paffage. The Poet might intend, "Take from "them the Senfe of reckoning thofe oppofed Numbers; which

might pluck their Courage from them." But the relative not-bring exprefs'd, the Sense is very obscure; and the following Verb feems a Petition, in the Imperative Mood. The Aight Correction I have given, makes it clear and cafie.

Since that my penitence comes after call, (22)
Imploring pardon.

Glou. My Liege.

Enter Gloucefter.

K. Henry. My brother Glo' fter's voice?
I know thy errand, I will go with thee:
The day, my friends, and all things ftay for me.

[Exeunt

SCENE changes to the French Camp.

Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and Beaumont.

Orl. THE Sun doth gild our armour ; up, my lords.

Dau. Montez Cheval: my horfe, valet,

lacquay: ha!
Orl. O brave fpirit!

Dau. Via!

- les eaux & la terre.

Orl. Rien puis! le air & feu.
Dau. Ciel! Coufin Orleans.

Enter Conftable.

Now, my lord Conftable!

Con. Hark, how our Steeds for present service neigh Dau. Mount them, and make incifion in their hides, That their hot blood may fpin in English eyes,

(22) Since that my Penitence comes after all,

Imploring pardon.]. We muft obferve, that Henry IV. had com mitted an Injustice, of which he and his Son reap'd the Fruits. But Juftice and right Reafon tell us, that they, who share the Profits of Iniquity, fhall fhare likewife in the Punishment. Scripture again tells us, that, when Men have finn'd, the Grace of God gives frequent Invitations to Repentance; which, in Scripture-language, are ftyled Calls. Thefe, if they - have been carelessly dallied with, and neglected, are at length irrecoverably withdrawn; and then Repentance comes too late. This, I hope, will fufficiently vouch for my Emendation, and explain what the Poet would make the King fay. Mr. Warburton.

And

And daunt them with fuperfluous courage: ha !

Ram. What, will you have them weep our Horfes blood?

How fhall we then behold their natural tears?

Enter a Messenger.

Me The English are embattel'd, you French Peers. Con. To horfe! you gallant Princes, ftrait to horfe! Do but behold yon poor aud ftarved band,

And your fair fhew fhall fuck away their fouls;
Leaving them but the fhales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their fickly veins
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain ;
That our French gallants fhall to day draw out,
And fheath for lack of fport. Let's but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis pofitive 'gainst all exception, lords,
That our fuperfluous lacqueys and our peasants,
Who in unneceffary action fwarm

About our fquares of battle, were enow
To purge this field of fuch a hilding foe
Tho' we, upon this mountain's bafis by,
Took ftand for idle fpeculation:

But that our honours must not. What's to fay
A very little, little, let us do;

And all is done. Then let the trumpets found
The tucket-fonuance, and the note to mount:
For our approach fhall fo much dare the field,
That England fhall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Grandpree.

Grand. Why do you ftay fo long, my lords of France?
Yon Ifland carrions, defp'rate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air fhakes them paffing fcornfully.
Big Mars feems bankrupt in their beggar'd hoft,
And faintly through a rusty bever peeps.
The horsemen fit like fixed candlesticks,

With torch-ftaves in their hand; and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hips:
The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes;
And in their pale dull mouths the jymold bitt
Lies foul with chaw'd grafs, ftill and motionless:
And their executors, the knavish Crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot fuit it self in words,
To demonftrate the life of fuch a battle,
In life fo livelefs as it fhews it felf..

Con. They've faid their prayers, and they ftay for
death.

Dau. Shall we go fend them dinners and fresh futes, And give their fafting Horfes provender,

And, after, fight with them?

Con. I ftay but for my guard: on, to the field;
I will the banner from a trumpet take,

And use it for my hafte. Come, come, away!
The fun is high, and we out-wear the day. [Exeunt.

SCENE, the English CAM P.

Enter Gloucefter, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all the Hoft; Salisbury and Weftmorland.

Glou.

HERE is the King?

WHI

Bed. The King himself is rode to view their battle.

Weft. Of fighting men they have full threefcore thou-fand.

Exc. There's five to one; befides, they all are fresh. Sal. God's arm ftrike with us, 'tis a fearful odds!. God be wi' you, Princes all; I'll to my charge. If we no more meet till we meet in heav'n, Then joyfully, my noble lord of Bedford, My dear lord Glofter, and my good lord Exeter, And my kind kinfman, warriors all,. adieu!

Bed:

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