Enter Chorus. |
| Chor. O! for a Muse of fire, that would ascend |
| The brightest heaven of invention; |
| A kingdom for a stage, princes to act |
| And monarchs to behold the swelling scene. |
| Then should the war-like Harry, like himself, |
| Assume the port of Mars; and at his heels, |
| Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire |
| Crouch for employment. But pardon, gentles all, |
| The flat unraised spirits that hath dar'd |
| On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth |
| So great an object: can this cockpit hold |
| The vasty fields of France? or may we cram |
| Within this wooden O the very casques |
| That did affright the air at Agincourt? |
| O, pardon! since a crooked figure may |
| Attest in little place a million; |
| And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, |
| On your imaginary forces work. |
| Suppose within the girdle of these walls |
| Are now confin'd two mighty monarchies, |
| Whose high upreared and abutting fronts |
| The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: |
| Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts: |
| Into a thousand parts divide one man, |
| And make imaginary puissance; |
| Think when we talk of horses that you see them |
| Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth; |
| For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, |
| Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times, |
| Turning the accomplishment of many years |
| Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, |
| Admit me Chorus to this history; |
| Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, |
| Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. [Exit. |
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