[And as the Dauphin sends us tennis-balls, We are glad the Dauphin is so pleasant with us: His present, and your pains, we thank you for: When we have matched our rackets to these balls, We will, in France, by God's grace, play a set, Shall strike his father's crown into the hazard: Tell him, he hath made a match with such a wrangler, That all the courts of France will be disturbed With chaces. And we understand him well, How he comes o'er us with our wild er days, Not measuring what use we made of them. We never valued this poor seat of England; And therefore, living hence, did give ourself To barbarous license; as 'tis ever common, That men are merriest when they are from home. But tell the Dauphin,-I will keep my state; Be like a king, and show my sail of greatness, When I do rouse me in my throne of France: For that I have laid by my majesty, And plodded like a man for workingdays; But I will rise there with so full a glory, That I will dazzle all the eyes of France, Yea, strike the Dauphin blind to look on us. And tell the pleasant prince, - this mock of his Hath turned his balls to gun-stones; one man more. By Jove, I am not covetous for gold; Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost; It yearns me not, if men my garments wear: Such outer things dwell not in my But, if it be a sin to covet honor, God's peace! I would not lose so As one man more, methinks, would share from me, For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more: Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, That he who hath no stomach to this fight, Let him depart; his passport shall be made, And crowns for convoy put into his purse: We would not die in that man's He that shall live this day, and see Will yearly on the vigil feast his say-To-morrow And Crispian: is Saint Then will he strip his sleeves, and And say, these wounds I had on Old men forget; yet all shall be But he'll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day: then shall our names, Familiar in their mouths as house- Harry the king, Bedford, and Exeter, Be in their flowing cups freshly re- 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 rememberèd: 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: Shall think themselves accursed That fought with us upon Saint SHAKSPEARE. KING RICHARD'S SOLILOQUY. Richard III. -Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by this son of York; And all the clouds, that lowered upon our house, In the deep bosom of the ocean buried. |