ACT III. 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 With silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning. Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow! Work, work, your thoughts, and therein see a siege: Behold the ordnance 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 The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner [Exit. SCENE I. The same. Before Harfleur. Alarums. Enter King HENRY, EXETER, BEDFORD, GLOSTER, 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! But when the blast of war blows in our ears, Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head 28, O'erhang and jutty his confounded base 29, That those, whom you call'd fathers, did beget you! And teach them how to war!-And you, good yeo men, 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, SCENE II. The same. Forces pass over; then enter NYM, BARDOLPH, PISTOL, and Boy. Bard. On, on, on, on, on! to the breach, to the breach! Nym. 'Pray thee, corporal, stay; the knocks are too hot; and, for mine own part, I have not a case of lives: the humour of it is too hot, that is the very plain-song of it. Pist. The plain-song is most just; for humours do abound; Knocks go and come; God's vassals drop and die; And sword and shield, In bloody field, Doth win immortal fame. Boy. 'Would I were in an alehouse in London! I would give all my fame for a pot of ale, and safety. Pist. And I: If wishes would prevail with me, Boy. As duly, but not as truly, as bird doth sing on bough. Enter FLUELlen. Flu. Got's plood!-Up to the preaches, you rascals! will you not up to the preaches? [Driving them forward. Pist. Be merciful, great duke, to men of mould 30! Abate thy rage, abate thy manly rage! Abate thy rage, great duke! Good bawcock, bate thy rage! use lenity, sweet chuck! Nym. These be good humours!-your honour wins bad humours. [Exeunt NYM, PISTOL, and BARDOLPH, fol lowed by FLUELLen. Boy. As young as I am, I have observed these three swashers. I am boy to them all three: but all they three, though they would serve me, could not be man to me; for, indeed, three such anticks do not amount to a man. For Bardolph,-he is whiteliver'd, and red-faced; by the means whereof, 'a faces it out, but fights not. For Pistol, he hath a killing tongue, and a quiet sword; by the means whereof 'a breaks words, and keeps whole weapons. For Nym, he hath heard, that men of few words are the best men; and therefore he scorns to say his prayers, lest a' should be thought a coward: but his few bad words are match'd with as few good deeds; for 'a never broke any man's head but his own; and that was against a post, when he was drunk. They will steal any thing, and call it,-purchase. Bar |