Enter Chorus. |
Chor. Now all the youth of England are on fire, |
And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies; |
Now thrive the armourers, and honour's thought |
Reigns solely in the breast of every man: |
They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, |
Following the mirror of all Christian kings, |
With winged heels, as English Mercuries. |
For now sits Expectation in the air |
And hides a sword from hilts unto the point |
With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets, |
Promis'd to Harry and his followers. |
The French, advis'd by good intelligence |
Of this most dreadful preparation, |
Shake in their fear, and with pale policy |
Seek to divert the English purposes. |
O England! model to thy inward greatness, |
Like little body with a mighty heart, |
What mightst thou do, that honour would thee do, |
Were all thy children kind and natural! |
But see thy fault! France hath in thee found out |
A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills |
With treacherous crowns; and three corrupted men, |
One, Richard Earl of Cambridge, and the second, |
Henry Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, |
Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland, |
Have, for the gilt of France,—O guilt, indeed!— |
Confirm'd conspiracy with fearful France; |
And by their hands this grace of kings must die,— |
If hell and treason hold their promises,— |
Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. |
Linger your patience on; and well digest |
The abuse of distance while we force a play. |
The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed; |
The king is set from London; and the scene |
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton: |
There is the playhouse now, there must you sit: |
And thence to France shall we convey you safe, |
And bring you back, charming the narrow seas |
To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, |
We'll not offend one stomach with our play. |
But, till the king come forth and not till then, |
Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. [Exit. |
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