Enter Chorus. |
Chor. Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies |
In motion of no less celerity |
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen |
The well-appointed king at Hampton pier |
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet |
With silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning: |
Play with your fancies, and in them behold |
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing; |
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give |
To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden sails, |
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind, |
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd sea, |
Breasting the lofty surge. O! do but think |
You stand upon the rivage and behold |
A city on the inconstant billows dancing; |
For so appears this fleet majestical, |
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! |
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy, |
And leave your England, as dead midnight still, |
Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old women, |
Either past or not arriv'd to pith and puissance: |
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd |
With one appearing hair, that will not follow |
Those cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France? |
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege; |
Behold the ordenance on their carriages, |
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur. |
Suppose the ambassador from the French comes back; |
Tells Harry that the king doth offer him |
Katharine his daughter; and with her, to dowry, |
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms: |
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner |
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches, [Alarum; and chambers go off. |
And down goes all before them. Still be kind, |
And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit. |
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