Now entertain conjecture of a time
4.0.21791When creeping murmur and the poring dark
4.0.31792Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
4.0.41793From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
4.0.51794The hum of either army stilly sounds,
4.0.61795That the fixed sentinels almost receive
4.0.71796The secret whispers of each other's watch.
4.0.81797Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
4.0.91798Each battle sees the other's umbered face.
4.0.101799Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
4.0.111800Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents,
4.0.151804The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,
4.0.161805And the third hour of drowsy morning named.
4.0.171806Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
4.0.201809And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night,
4.0.211810Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp
4.0.221811So tediously away. The poor condemnèd English,
4.0.231812Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
4.0.251814The morning's danger; and their gesture sad,
4.0.261815Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
4.0.281817So many horrid ghosts. Oh, now, who will behold
4.0.301819Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
4.0.311820Let him cry "Praise and glory on his head!"
4.0.321821For forth he goes and visits all his host,
4.0.331822Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,
4.0.341823And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
4.0.401829With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty,
4.0.411830That every wretch, pining and pale before,
4.0.421831Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
4.0.451834Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all
4.0.481837And so our scene must to the battle fly,
4.0.491838Where -- oh, for pity! -- we shall much disgrace
4.0.501839With four or five most vile and ragged foils
4.0.531842Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.