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- $Unique_ID{SSP02767}
- $Title{King Henry V: Act IV, Prologue}
- $Author{Shakespeare, William}
- $Subject{}
- $Log{Dramatis Personae*02750.txt}
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- Portions copyright (c) CMC ReSearch, Inc., 1989
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- The Complete Works of William Shakespeare
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- KING HENRY V
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- ACT IV
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- PROLOGUE.
- . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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- {Enter Chorus.}
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- Chorus: Now entertain conjecture of a time
- When creeping murmur and the poring dark
- Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
- From camp to camp through the foul womb of night
- The hum of either army stilly sounds,
- That the fixed sentinels almost receive
- The secret whispers of each other's watch:
- Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
- Each battle sees the other's umber'd face;
- Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs 10
- Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents
- The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
- With busy hammers closing rivets up,
- Give dreadful note of preparation:
- The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
- And the third hour of drowsy morning name.
- Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
- The confident and over-lusty French
- Do the low-rated English play at dice;
- And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night 20
- Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp
- So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
- Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
- Sit patiently and inly ruminate
- The morning's danger, and their gesture sad
- Investing lank-lean; cheeks and war-worn coats
- Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
- So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold
- The royal captain of this ruin'd band
- Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 30
- Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'
- For forth he goes and visits all his host.
- Bids them good morrow with a modest smile
- And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.
- Upon his royal face there is no note
- How dread an army hath enrounded him;
- Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
- Unto the weary and all-watched night,
- But freshly looks and over-bears attaint
- With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; 40
- That every wretch, pining and pale before,
- Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:
- A largess universal like the sun
- His liberal eye doth give to every one,
- Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all,
- Behold, as may unworthiness define,
- A little touch of Harry in the night.
- And so our scene must to the battle fly;
- Where--O for pity!--we shall much disgrace
- With four or five most vile and ragged foils, 50
- Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous,
- The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,
- Minding true things by what their mockeries be.
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- [Exit.]
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