Act III
Prologue
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Enter Chorus
Chorus
Thus with imagined wing our swift scene fliesIn motion of no less celerityThan that of thought. Suppose that you have seenThe well-appointed king at Hampton pierEmbark his royalty; and his brave fleetWith silken streamers the young Phoebus fanning:Play with your fancies, and in them beholdUpon the hempen tackle ship-boys climbing;Hear the shrill whistle which doth order giveTo sounds confused; 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 thinkYou stand upon the ravage and beholdA 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 women,Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance;For who is he, whose chin is but enrich'dWith one appearing hair, that will not followThese cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?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 himKatharine his daughter, and with her, to dowry,Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms.The offer likes not: and the nimble gunnerWith linstock now the devilish cannon touches,
Alarum, and chambers go off
Chorus
And down goes all before them. Still be kind,And eke out our performance with your mind.
Exit