France. Before Harfleur. |
| |
Alarums. Enter KING HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOUCESTER, and Soldiers, with scaling ladders. |
| K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; |
| Or close the wall up with our English dead! |
| In peace there's nothing so becomes a man |
| As modest stillness and humility: |
| But when the blast of war blows in our ears, |
| Then imitate the action of the tiger; |
| Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood, |
| Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; |
| Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; |
| Let it pry through the portage of the head |
| Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it |
| As fearfully as doth a galled rock |
| O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, |
| Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. |
| Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide, |
| Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit |
| To his full height! On, on, you noblest English! |
| Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof; |
| Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, |
| Have in these parts from morn till even fought, |
| And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument. |
| Dishonour not your mothers; now attest |
| That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you. |
| Be copy now to men of grosser blood, |
| And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, |
| Whose limbs were made in England, show us here |
| The mettle of your pasture; let us swear |
| That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not; |
| For there is none of you so mean and base |
| That hath not noble lustre in your eyes. |
| I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, |
| Straining upon the start. The game's afoot: |
| Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge |
| Cry 'God for Harry! England and Saint George!' [Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off. |
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