Enter Chorus.
Thus with imagin'd wing our swift scene flies,
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought. Suppose that you have seen
The well-appointed King at Dover Peer
Embark his royalty; and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phœbus fanning.
Play with your fancies; and in them behold,
Upon the hempen tackle ship boys climbing,
Hear the shrill whistle which doth order give
To sounds confus'd; behold the threaden sails,
Born with th'invisible and creeping wind,
Draw the huge bottoms thro' the furrow'd sea,
Breasting the lofty surge. O, do but think
You stand upon the rivage, and behold
A city on th'inconstant billows dancing;
For so appears this fleet majestical,
Holding due course to Harfleur. Follow, follow.
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy,
And leave your England, as dead midnight still,
Guarded with grandsires, babies and old women,
Or past or not arriv'd to pith and puissance:
For who is he whose chin is but enrich'd

With one appearing hair, that will not follow
These cull'd and choice-drawn cavaliers to France?
Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege:
Behold the ordnance on their carriages
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur.
Suppose th' ambassador from France comes back,
Tells Harry, that the King doth offer him
Katharine his daughter, and with her to dowry
Some petty and unprofitable Dukedoms:
The offer likes not; and the nimble gunner
With lynstock now the devilish cannon touches, [Alarm, and Cannon go off.
And down goes all before him. Still be kind,
And eke out our performance with your mind. [Exit.

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