Into a thousand parts divide one man,
And make imaginary puissance;


Think when we talk of horses that you see them
Printing their proud hoofs i' the receiving earth;
For 'tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings,
Carry them here and there, jumping o'er times,
Turning the accomplishment of many years
Into an hour-glass.


13. wooden O. The inside of the Globe Theatre was circular in shape.


King Henry. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;

Or close the wall up with our English dead!
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock




O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To his full height! On, on, you noblest English!
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof;
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought, 20
And sheath'd their swords for lack of argument.
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest

That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,




And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen, Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear


That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge

Cry 'God for Harry! England and Saint George!'

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Now entertain conjecture of a time

When creeping murmur and the poring dark
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds,

That the fix'd sentinels almost receive

The secret whispers of each other's watch:
Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames
Each battle sees the other's umber'd face:
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busy hammers closing rivets up,

Give dreadful note of preparation.


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The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, 15 And the third hour of drowsy morning name. Proud of their numbers, and secure in soul,

The confident and over-lusty French

Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp


So tediously away. The poor condemned English,

Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

Sit patiently, and inly ruminate

The morning's danger, and their gesture sad 25

Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon

So many horrid ghosts. Ŏ! now, who will behold
The royal captain of this ruin'd band

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, 30
Let him cry Praise and glory on his head!'
For forth he goes and visits all his host,

Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,

And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note
How dread an army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night:
But freshly looks and overbears attaint
With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;
That every wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.

39. overbears attaint. Effaces the marks of weariness.




Henry (to his soldiers before the battle). This day is call'd the feast of Crispian :

He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours,
And say, 'To-morrow is Saint Crispian:'
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say,These wounds I had on Crispin's day.'
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember with advantages



What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words,
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,

Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester, 15
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd.

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This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered;

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed



Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's day.

W. SHAKESPEARE (from Henry V).

1. feast of Crispian. October 25th, in commemoration of Crispian and his brother Crispin, Christian martyrs in France, c. 300.

11. advantages. Additions, exaggerations.



FAIR stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;

But putting to the main,
At Caux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train

Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort,
Furnish'd in warlike sort,
Marcheth tow'rds Agincourt
In happy hour;

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Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopp'd his way
Where the French gen'ral lay
With all his power.

Which, in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide

Unto him sending;

Which he neglects the while
As from a nation vile,
Yet with an angry smile
Their fall portending.

And turning to his men,
Quoth our brave Henry then,
'Though they to one be ten
Be not amazèd:
Yet have we well begun;
Battles so bravely won
Have ever to the sun

By fame been raised.

'And for myself (quoth he)
This my full rest shall be:
England ne'er mourn for me
Nor more esteem me:

Victor I will remain

Or on this earth lie slain,
Never shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me.

'Poitiers and Cressy tell,

When most their pride did swell,

Under our swords they fell:

No less our skill is

Than when our grandsire great,

Claiming the regal seat,

By many a warlike feat

Lopp'd the French lilies.'








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