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What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, But poison'd flattery? O! be sick, great greatness, And bid thy ceremony give thee cure.

Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out

With titles blown from adulation?

Will it give place to flexure and low-bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,

Command the health of it? No, thou proud dream,
That play'st so subtly with a king's repose;
I am a king that find thee; and I know
'Tis not the balm, the sceptre and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farced title running 'fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world,
No, not all these, thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
Not all these, laid in bed majestical,

Can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave,
Who with a body fill'd and vacant mind
Gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread;
Never sees horrid night, the child of hell,
But, like a lackey, from the rise to set
Sweats in the eye of Phoebus, and all night
Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn,
Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse,
And follows so the ever-running year
With profitable labour to his grave:
And, but for ceremony, such a wretch,
Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep,
Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king.
The slave, a member of the country's peace,

Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots

What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages.

Enter ERPINGHAM.

Erp. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your

absence,

Seek through your camp to find you.

K. Hen.

Good old knight,

[Exit.

Collect them all together at my tent:
I'll be before thee.

Erp.

I shall do't, my lord.

K. Hen. O God of battles! steel my soldiers'

hearts;

Possess them not with fear; take from them now
The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers
Pluck their hearts from them. Not to-day, O
Lord!

O! not to-day, think not upon the fault
My father made in compassing the crown
I Richard's body have interred new,
And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears
Than from it issued forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do;
Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.

Enter GLOUCESTER.

Glou. My liege!

K. Hen. My brother Gloucester's voice! Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee:

The day, my friends, and all things stay for me. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. The French Camp.

Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES,
and others.

Orl. The sun doth gild our armour: up, my lords!

Dau. Montez à cheval! My horse! valet! lacquais! ha!

Orl. O brave spirit!

Dau. Via! les eaux et la terre!

Orl. Rien puis? l'air et le feu !
Dau. Ciel cousin Orleans.

Enter Constable.

Now, my lord constable !

Con. Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!

Dau. Mount them, and make incision in their hides,

That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout them with superfluous courage, ha! Ram. What! will you have them weep our horses' blood?

How shall we then behold their natural tears?

Enter a Messenger.

Mess. The English are embattail'd, you French peers,

Con. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!

Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands ;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtal-axe a stain,

That our French gallants shall to-day draw out, And sheathe for lack of sport: let us but blow on them,

The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm

About our squares of battle, were enow
To purge this field of such a hilding foe,
Though we upon this mountain's basis by
Took stand for idle speculation:

But that our honours must not. What's to say
A very little little let us do,

And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonance and the note to mount :
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter GRANDPRÉ.

Grand. Why do you stay so long, my lords of
France?

Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully:

Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps:
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,

With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades

Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words

To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

Con. They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

Dau. Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,

And give their fasting horses provender,

And after fight with them?

Con. I stay but for my guidon: to the field!
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day.

SCENE III. The English Camp.

[Exeunt.

Enter the English Host; GLOUCESTER, BEDFORD, EXETER, ŠALISBURY, and WESTMORELAND. Glou. Where is the king?

Bed. The king himself is rode to view their battle.

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