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This battle fares like to the morning's war,
When dying clouds contend with growing light;
What time the shepherd blowing of his nails,
Can neither call it perfect day, or night.
Now sways it this way like a mighty sea,
Forc'd by the tide to combat with the wind;
Now sways it that way, like the self-same sea,
Fore'd to retire by fury of the wind:
Sometimes the flood prevails; and then the wind:
Now, one the better; then, another best;
Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered :
So is the equal poize of the fell war.
My uncles both are slain in rescuing me;
And all my followers to the eager foe
Turn back, and fly, like ships before the wind,
Or lambs pursued by hunger-starved wolves.
My sons, God knows,-what hath bechanced them:
But this I know,-they have demean'd themselves
Like men borne to renown, by life, or death.
Three times did Richard make a lane to me;
And thrice cried,-Courage, father! Fight it out!
And full as oft came Edward to my side
With purple faulchion, painted to the hilt
In blood of those that had encountered him.
And when the hardest warriors did retire,
Richard cried,-Charge! and give no foot of ground!
And cried,-A crown, or else a glorious tomb!
A sceptre! or an earthly sepulchre !
With this, we charg'd again.
Never did captive with a freer heart
Cast off his chains of bondage, and embrace
His golden uncontroll'd enfranchisement,
More than my dancing soul doth celebrate
This feast of battle with mine adversary.
Let each man do his best: and here draw I
A sword, whose temper I intend to stain
With the best blood that I can meet withal,
In the adventure of this perilous day.
Now,-Esperance! Percy!-and set on.
Sound all the lofty instruments of war,
And by that music let us all embrace:
For heaven to earth, some of us never shall
A second time do such a courtesy.
Heaven in thy good cause make thee prosperous!
Be swift like lightning in the execution;
And let thy blows, doubly redoubled,
Fall like amazing thunder on the casque
Of thy amaz'd pernicious enemy.
In single opposition, hand to hand,
He did confound the best part of an hour
In changing hardiment with great Glendower:
Three times they breath'd, and three times did they drink,
Upon agreement, of swift Severn's flood;
Who then affrighted with their bloody looks,
Ran fearfully among the trembling reeds,
And hid his crisp head in the hollow bank,
Blood-stained with these valiant combatants.
H. IV. PT. I. 1. 3.
Prepare you, generals:
The enemy comes on in gallant show;
Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,
And something to be done immediately.
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 abed
Shall think themselves accurs'd, they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crispin's day.
For the love of all the gods, Let's leave the hermit pity with our mothers; And when we have our armours buckled on, The venom'd vengeance ride upon our swords. T. C. v. 3.
Let's whip these stragglers o'er the seas again;
Lash hence these over-weening rags of France,
These famish'd beggars, weary of their lives;
Who, but for dreaming on this fond exploit,
For want of means, poor rats, had hang'd themselves.
R. III. v. 3.
C. i. 1,
I'll lean upon one crutch, and fight with the other,
Ere stay behind this business.
OF AGINCOURT, PREPARATIONS FOr the.
Now entertain conjecture of a time,
When creeping murmur and the poring dark,
Fill 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 fixed 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 umbered 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.
The country cocks do crow; the clocks do toll,
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 gestures sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks, and war-worn coats,
Presenteth them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts.
He that hath a beard is more than a youth: and he that hath none, is less than a man. M. A. ii. 1.
Now, Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard! T. N. iii. 1.
This gallant pins the wenches on his sleeve;
Had he been Adam he had tempted Eve:
He can carve too, and lisp: Why this is he,
That kiss'd away his hand in courtesy ;
This is the ape of form, monsieur the nice,
That when he plays at tables, chides the dice
In honourable terms.
Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good,
A shining gloss that vadeth suddainly,
A flower that dies, when first it 'gins to bud,
A brittle glass that's broken presently.
A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,
Lost, vaded, broken, dead, within an hour.
Like many of these lisping hawthorn buds, that come like women in men's apparel, and smell like Bucklersbury in simple-time. M. W. iii. 3.
By Jupiter, an angel! or, if not,
An earthly paragon!
A wither'd hermit, five score winters worn,
Might shake off fifty looking in her eye.
The most peerless piece of earth, I think,
That e'er the sun shone bright on.
'Tis beauty truly blent, whose red and white
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on :
Lady, you are the cruellest she alive,
If you will lead these graces to the grave,
And leave the world no copy.
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple.
Her sunny locks
Hang on her temples like a golden fleece.
As plays the sun upon the glassy streams;
Twinkling another counterfeited beam,
So seems this gorgeous beauty to mine eyes.
Would she begin a sect, might quench the zeal
Of all professors else; make proselytes
Of who she but bid follow.
Hop forty paces through the public street
And having lost her breath, she spoke, and panted,
That she did make defect perfection,
And, breathless, power breathe forth.
All hearts in love use their own tongues;
Let every eye negociate for itself,
And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch,
Against whose charms faith melteth into blood. M. A. ii. 1.
O speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,
As is a winged messenger of heaven
Unto the white-upturned wond'ring eyes
Of mortals, that fall back to gaze on him,
When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds,
And sails upon the bosom of the air.
O she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
Her beauty hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.
Beauty is bought by judgment of the eye,
Not utter'd by base sale of chapmen's tongues. L. L. ii. 1.
She's a most exquisite lady.
O. ii. 3.
She's beautiful; and therefore to be woo'd:
She is a woman; therefore to be won.
H.VI. PT. I. v. 3.
It shall be inventoried; and every particle, and utensil, labelled to my will; as, item, two lips, indifferent red; item, two grey eyes, with lids to them; item, one neck, one chin, and so forth. T. N. i. 4.
I know a wench of excellent discourse,
Pretty, and witty; wild, and yet, too, gentle.
Beauty provoketh thieves sooner than gold.
There was never yet fair woman but she
in a glass.
C. E. iii. 1. A. Y. i. 3. made mouths K. L. iii. 2.
When in the chronicle of wasted time,
I see descriptions of the fairest wights,
And beauty making beautiful old rime,
In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,
Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's hest,
Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,
I see their antique pen would have expressed
Even such a beauty as you master now.
O serpent heart, hid with a flowering face!
Did ever dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant! fiend angelical!
Dove-feather'd raven! wolvish-ravening lamb!
Despised substance of divinest show!
Just opposite to what thou justly seem'st,
A damned saint, an honourable villain !—
O, nature!-what had'st thou to do in hell,
When thou didst bower the spirit of a fiend
In mortal paradise of such sweet flesh?
Was ever book, containing such vile matter,
So fairly bound? O, that deceit should dwell
In such a gorgeous palace!
O beauty! where's thy faith!
The country gives me proof and precedent
Of Bedlam beggars, who, with roaring voices,
Strike in their numb'd and mortified bare arms,
R. J. iii. 2.
T. C. v. 2.
Honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey sauce to sugar. A. V. iii. 3.