Act III.
Chorus.
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
The 'well-appointed king at Hampton pier
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phoebus fan-
ning:
Play with your fancies, and in them behold
Upon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden sails,
Borne with the invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrow'd
sea,
Breasting the lofty surge. O! do but think
You stand upon the rivage and behold
A city on the inconstant billows dancing;
For so appears this fleet majestical,
Holding due course to Harfleur, Follow, follow!
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,
And leave your England, as dead midnight
still,
Guarded with grandsires, babies, and old wo-
men,
Either past or not arrived to pith and puis-
sance:
For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'd
With one appearing hair, that will not follow
Those cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to
France?
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a
siege;
Behold the ordinance 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
Katharine his daughter; and with her, to
dowry,
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms:
The offer likes not: and the nimble gunner
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches,
[Alarum; and chambers go off.
And down goes all before them. Still be kind,
And eke out our performance with your mind.
[Exit.
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