Enter Chorus.

Now entertain conjecture of a time,

When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,
Fills the wide veffel of the universe.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army ftilly founds;

That the fixt centinels almost receive

The fecret whispers of each other's watch.
Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames
Each battel fees the other's umber'd face.

Steed threatens fteed, in high and boaftful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With bufie hammers clofing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll;
And (the third hour of droufie morning nam'd)
Proud of their numbers and fecure in foul,
The confident and over-lufty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy gated night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp

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

Sit patiently, and inly ruminate

The morning's danger: and their gesture fad,
Invefting lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
Prefented them unto the gazing moon

So many horrid ghofts. Who now beholds
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 vifits all his hoft,
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

But freshly looks and over-bears attaint,
With chearful femblance and fweet majefty:
That ev'ry wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
A largefs univerfal, like the fun,

His lib'ral eye doth give to ev'ry one,
Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle, all
Behold, (as may unworthiness define) (29)
A little touch of Harry in the night.
And fo our fcene muft to the battel fly:
Where, O for pity! we shall much disgrace,
With four or five moft vile and ragged foils,
(Right ill difpos'd, in brawl ridiculous)
The name of Agincourt. Yet fit and fee,
Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.

[Exit.

(29) Fear; that mean and gentle all Behold, (as may, &c.] As this flood, it was a moft perplex'd and nonfenfical Paffage and could not be intelligible, but as I have corrected it. The Poet, first, expatiates on the real Influence that Harry's Eye had on his Camp: and then addreffing himself to every Degree of his Audience, he tells them, he'll fhew (as well as his unworthy Pen and Powers can defcribe it) a little Touch, or Sketch of this Hero in the Night a faint Refemblance of that Chearfulness and Resolution which this brave Prince exprefs'd in himself, and inspired in his Followers. The Poet has in the like manner before, in the Prologue to this Play, addrefs'd himself to the Spectators.

-Pardon, Gentles all,

The flat unraifed Spirit, that hath dar'd
On this unworthy Scaffold to bring forth
So great an Object.

And likewise in one of the preceding Chorus's.

and the Scene

Is now tranfported, Gentles, to Southampton.

So we find him too, in the Epilogue to this Play, again modeftly speaking of his own Inability.

Thus far with rough and all-unable Pen

Our bending Author hath purfued the Story, &c.

ACT

ACT IV.

SCENE, the English Camp, at Agincourt.
Enter King Henry, Bedford and Gloucefter.

G

King HENRY.

Lou'fter, 'tis true, that we are in great danger;
The greater therefore fhou'd our courage be.
Good morrow, brother Bedford: God Al-
mighty!

There is fome foul of goodness in things evil, Would men obfervingly diftil it out.

For our bad neighbour makes us early stirrers;
Which is both healthful, and good husbandry.
Befides, they are our outward consciences,
And preachers to us all; admonishing,
That we fhould dress us fairly for our end.
Thus may we gather honey from the weed,
And make a moral of the devil himself.

Enter Erpingham.

Good inorrow, old Sir Thomas Erpingham:
A good foft pillow for that good white head
Were better than a churlifh turf of France.

Erping. Not fo, my Liege; this lodging likes me bet

Since I may fay, now lye I like a King.

[ter;

K. Henry. 'Tis good for men to love their prefent pain

Upon example; fo the fpirit is eafed:

And when the mind is quicken'd, out of doubt,
The organs, though defunct and dead before,
Break up their drowfie grave, and newly move
With cafted flough and fresh legerity.

Lend me thy cloak, Sir Thomas: brothers both,

Commend

Commend me to the Princes in our camp:
Do my good morrow to them, and anon
Defire them all to my pavillion.
Glou. We fhall, my Liege.

Erping. Shall I attend your grace?
K. Henry. No, my good knight;

Go with my brothers to my lords of England:
I and my bofom muft debate a while,
And then I would no other company.

Erping. The Lord in heaven bless thee, noble Harry!

[Exeunt. K. Henry. God-a-mercy, old heart, thou speak'it chear

fully.

Pift. Qui va là?

K. Henry. A friend.

Enter Pistol.

Pift. Discuss unto me, art thou officer,
Or art thou base, common and popular?
K. Henry. I am a gentleman of a company.
Pift. Trail'ft thou the puiffant pike?
K. Henry. Even fo: what are you?

Pift. As good a gentleman as the Emperor.
K. Henry. Then you are a better than the King.
Pift. The King's a bawcock, and a heart of gold,
A lad of life, an imp of fame,

Of parents good, of fift most valiant:

I kifs his dirty fhoe, and from my heart-ftring
I love the lovely bully. What's thy name?

K. Henry. Harry le Roy.

Pift. Le Roy! a Cornish name: art thou of Cornish

crew?

K. Henry. No, I am a Welshman.

Pift. Know'st thou Fluellen?

K. Henry. Yes.

Pift. Tell him, I'll knock his leek about his pate,

Upon St. David's day.

K. Henry. Do not you wear your dagger in your cap that day, left he knock that about yours.

Pift. Art thou his friend? 3

K. Henry.

K. Henry. And his kinfman too.

Pift. The Figo for thee then!

K. Henry. I thank you: God be with you.
Pift. My name is Pistol call'd.

K. Henry. It forts well with your fierceness.

[Exit.

[Manet King Henry.

Enter Fluellen, and Gower, feverally.

Gow. Captain Fluellen.

Flu. So, in the name of Jefu Chrift, fpeak fewer; it is the greatest admiration in the univerfal world, when the true and auncient prerogatifes and laws of the wars is not kept: if you would take the pains but to examine the wars of Pompey the great, you fhall find, I warrant you, that there is no tiddle taddle, nor pibble pabble, in Pompey's camp: I warrant you, you fhall find the ceremonies of the wars, and the cares of it, and the forms of it, and the fobrieties of it, and the modefty of it to be otherwise.

Gow. Why the enemy is loud, you hear him all night.

Flu. If the enemy is an afs and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, is it meet, think you, that we should also, look you, be an Afs and a fool, and a prating coxcomb, in your own confcience now?

Gow. I will fpeak lower.

Flu. I pray you, and befeech you, that you will.

[Exeunt. K. Henry. Though it appear a little out of fashion, There is much care and valour in this Welshman.

Enter three Soldiers, John Bates, Alexander Court, and Michael Williams.

Court. Brother John Bates, is not that the morning which breaks yonder?

Bates. I think it be, but we have no great caufe to defire the approach of day.

Williams. We fee yonder the beginning of the day, but, I think, we shall never fee the end of it. there?

I

Who goes

K, Henry.