Henry V (The Play, Historical Background and Analysis of the Character in the Play). William Hazlitt

      ACT FOURTH.

       Table of Contents

      PROLOGUE.

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      [Enter Chorus.]

      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 fix’d 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

       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 lowrated English play at dice;

       And chide the cripple tardy-gaited Night

       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,

       Presented 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,

       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 overbears attaint

       With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;

       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,

       Right ill-dispos’d in brawl ridiculous,

       The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,

       Minding true things by what their mock’ries be.

      [Exit.]