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For now sits Expectation in the air,

And hides a sword from hilt unto the point,
With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets,
Promis'd to Harry, and his followers.
The French, advis'd by good intelligence
Of this most dreadful preparation,
Shake in their fear, and with pale policy
Seek to divert the English purposes.

O England! model to thy inward greatness,
Like little body with a mighty heart,

What might'st thou do, that honour would thee do,
Were all thy children kind and natural!

But see thy fault. France hath in thee found out
Three hollow bosoms, three corrupted men :
One, Richard earl of Cambridge; and the second,
Henry lord Scroop of Masham; and the third,
Sir Thomas Grey, knight of Northumberland:
And by their hands this grace of kings must die,
If hell and treason hold their promises,
E'en in Southampton ere he sail for France.
The sum is paid; the traitors are agreed;
The king is set from London; and the scene
Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton.

At Southampton, then, we imagine a council-chamber: several noblemen are in conversation, and among them the princes of the blood, the king's brothers, the dukes of Bedford and Gloucester, known at the court of Henry IV. as prince John and prince Humphrey,-and the king's uncle, the duke of Exeter: Bedford is the speaker we first hear:

[traitors: [Bedford.] 'Fore heaven, his grace is bold to trust these How smooth and even they do bear themselves, As if allegiance in their bosoms sat Crowned with faith and constant loyalty.

[Exeter.] They shall be apprehended by and by: The king hath note of all that they intend, By interception which they dream not of.

[Gloster.] Nay, but the man who was his closest friend, Whom he hath grac'd and cloy'd with princely favours, That he should, for a foreign purse, so sell

His sovereign's life—but see, the traitors come.

King Henry enters the chamber with many persons of his court, to whom he speaks as he comes in:

[K. Henry.] Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard. My lord of Cambridge,—you, my lord of Masham,— And you, my gentle knight, give me your thoughts; And tell me if you think the powers we have

Will cut their passage through the heart of France? [Scroop.] No doubt, my liege, if each man do his best.

[know

[K. Henry.] We doubt not that, lord Scroop; for well we
We carry not a heart with us from hence,
That grows not in a fair consent with ours;
And leave not one behind, that doth not wish
Success and conquest to attend on us.

[Cambridge.] Never was monarch better lov'd, than is
Your gracious majesty.

[K. Henry.] My lord of Cambridge,

We do not doubt you speak but as you feel.

[Grey.] Even those that were your father's enemies, Serve you with hearts of duty, and of zeal.

[K. Henry.] Therefore, Sir Thomas Grey, we are much And shall forget the office of our hand,

Sooner than quittance of desert and merit.
Uncle of Exeter,

Enlarge the man committed yesterday

That rail'd against our person: we consider

It was excess of wine that set him on,

[thankful,

And freely pardon him. What think you, lords?

Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, signify to the king that such lenity may be prejudicial, and advise him to retract his pardon: the king continues:

Alas! your too much love and care of me
Are heavy orisons 'gainst this poor wretch.
If little faults proceeding from distemper

Shall not be wink'd at, what, when capi'tal crimes
Appear before us! We'll enlarge that man,

Though Cambridge, Scroop, and Grey, in their dear
And tender preservation of our person,
[care
Would have him punish'd. Now to our French causes :
You three, I do remember, are commissioners.

[Cambridge.] We are, my liege; and you did bid us ask To-day for our commissions.

[K. Hen.] Then, Richard earl of Cambridge, there is yours;
There yours, lord Scroop of Masham; and sir knight,
Grey, of Northumberland, this same is yours:
Read them, and know, I know your worthiness.
My lord of Westmorland, and uncle Exeter,
We will aboard to-night.-Why, how now, gentlemen?
What see you in those papers, that you lose

So much complexion? look ye, how they change!
Their cheeks are paper. Why, what read you there,
That hath so chas'd your
blood?
[a pause.]

You ask for mercy!

The mercy that was quick in us but late,

By your own counsel is suppress'd and kill'd:
You must not dare for shame to talk of mercy.
See you, my princes, and my noble peers,

These English monsters! My lord Cambridge here,-
You know how apt our love was, to accord
Him all belonging to his honour; yet

This man, practis'd upon by crafty France,
Hath sworn to kill us here in Hampton; which
This knight, no less for bounty bound to us
Than Cambridge is, hath likewise sworn. But O!
What shall I say to thee, lord Scroop? thou cruel,
Ungrateful, savage, and inhuman creature!
Thou that didst bear the key of all my counsels;
That knew'st the very bottom of my soul;
That almost might'st have coin'd me into gold,

Would'st thou have practis'd on me for thy use :
May it be possible, that foreign hire

Should out of thee extract one spark of evil
That might annoy my finger?

Tis so strange,

That, though the truth of it stand off as plain
As black and white, mine eye will scarcely see it.
O, how hast thou with jealousy infected

The sweetness of affiance: show men dutiful?
Why, so didst thou: appear they grave and learned?
Why, so didst thou: seem they in life religious?
Why, so didst thou. Or are they spare in diet;
Free from gross passion or of mirth or anger;
Not working with the eye without the ear,
And but in sober'd judgement trusting neither?
Such, and so finely gifted, didst thou seem;
And thus thy fall hath left a kind of blot
To mark the best of men with some suspicion.
Ay, this revolt of thine methinks is like
Another fall of man. But hear your sentence:
You have conspir'd against our royal person;
Join'd with an enemy; and from his coffers
Receiv'd the golden earnest of our death:
Wherein you would have sold your king to slaughter,
His princes and his peers to servitude,
And his whole kingdom unto desolation.
Touching our person, seek we no revenge;
But we our kingdom's safety must so tender,
Whose ruin you three sought, that to her laws
We do deliver you. Go therefore hence,
Poor miserable wretches, to your death,
The taste whereof God of his mercy give
You patience to endure, and true repentance
Of all your dire offences. Bear them hence!

[a pause.]

[light

Now, lords, for France. Since heaven hath brought to
This dangerous treason lurking in our way,
We doubt not of a fair and prosperous war.
Cheerly to sea; the signs of war advance;
No king of England, if not king of France.

THE INVASION OF FRANCE; AND THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT; INDICATED BY THE CHORUS; AND BY SCENES SUPPOSED AT HARFLEUR; IN THE ENGLISH CAMP IN PICARDY; AND ON THE PLAINS OF AGINCOURT.

HISTORICAL MEMORANDA.

Henry V. landed at Harfleur, Aug. 24, 1415: the town capitulated on 18th September. The army was much wasted by the siege and the unusual heat of the season, and Henry not being able at that time to prosecute his enterprise, was obliged to think of returning to England. But he had dismissed his transports, which could not anchor in an open road on the enemy's coasts; and he lay under the necessity of marching by land to Calais before he could reach a place of safety. A French army, four times as numerous as that which remained to Henry, was ready to oppose him on his march; and therefore he offered to sacrifice his conquest of Harfleur for a safe passage to Calais. This being rejected, he began his march with a determination of winning that by his sword, which was refused to his entreaty; and on his way, he won the battle of Azincour or, as it is commonly called, Agincourt.

[Chorus.] Wing'd by your fancies, our swift scene shall fly 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 fanning:
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 furrowed sea,
Breasting the lofty surge: O, do but think
You stand upon the shore, and thence 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,

I

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