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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