Internet Shakespeare Editions

About this text

  • Title: Henry V (Folio 1, 1623)
  • Editor: James Mardock
  • ISBN: 978-1-55058-409-7

    Copyright James Mardock. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Author: William Shakespeare
    Editor: James Mardock
    Peer Reviewed

    Henry V (Folio 1, 1623)

    Actus Tertius.
    1790Now entertaine coniecture of a time,
    When creeping Murmure and the poring Darke
    Fills the wide Vessell of the Vniuerse.
    From Camp to Camp, through the foule Womb of Night
    The Humme of eyther Army stilly sounds;
    1795That the fixt Centinels almost receiue
    The secret Whispers of each others Watch.
    Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
    Each Battaile sees the others vmber'd face.
    Steed threatens Steed, in high and boastfull Neighs
    1800Piercing the Nights dull Eare: and from the Tents,
    The Armourers accomplishing the Knights,
    With busie Hammers closing Riuets vp,
    Giue dreadfull note of preparation.
    The Countrey Cocks doe crow, the Clocks doe towle:
    1805And the third howre of drowsie Morning nam'd,
    Prowd of their Numbers, and secure in Soule,
    The confident and ouer-lustie French,
    Doe the low-rated English play at Dice;
    And chide the creeple-tardy-gated Night,
    1810Who like a foule and ougly Witch doth limpe
    So tediously away. The poore condemned English,
    Like Sacrifices, by their watchfull Fires
    Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
    The Mornings danger: and their gesture sad,
    1815Inuesting lanke-leane Cheekes, and Warre-worne Coats,
    Presented them vnto the gazing Moone
    So many horride Ghosts. O now, who will behold
    The Royall Captaine of this ruin'd Band
    Walking from Watch to Watch, from Tent to Tent;
    1820Let him cry, Prayse and Glory on his head:
    For forth he goes, and visits all his Hoast,
    Bids them good morrow with a modest Smyle,
    And calls them Brothers, Friends, and Countreymen.
    Vpon his Royall Face there is no note,
    1825How dread an Army hath enrounded him;
    Nor doth he dedicate one iot of Colour
    Vnto the wearie and all-watched Night:
    But freshly lookes, and ouer-beares Attaint,
    With chearefull semblance, and sweet Maiestie:
    1830That euery Wretch, pining and pale before,
    Beholding him, plucks comfort from his Lookes.
    A Largesse vniuersall, like the Sunne,
    His liberall Eye doth giue to euery one,
    Thawing cold feare, that meane and gentle all
    1835Behold, as may vnworthinesse define.
    A little touch of Harry in the Night,
    And so our Scene must to the Battaile flye:
    Where, O for pitty, we shall much disgrace,
    With foure or fiue most vile and ragged foyles,
    1840(Right ill dispos'd, in brawle ridiculous)
    The Name of Agincourt: Yet sit and see,
    Minding true things, by what their Mock'ries bee.