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Enter CHORUS |
The CHORUS enters. |
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CHORUS
Now all the youth of England are on fire, And silken dalliance in the wardrobe lies. Now thrive the armorers, and honor’s thought Reigns solely in the breast of every man. They sell the pasture now to buy the horse, Following the mirror of all Christian kings With wingèd heels, as English Mercurys. For now sits Expectation in the air And hides a sword, from hilts unto the point, With crowns imperial, crowns and coronets Promised to Harry and his followers. The French, advised by good intelligence Of this most dreadful preparation, Shake in their fear, and with pale policy Seek to divert the English purposes. O England, model to thy inward greatness, Like little body with a mighty heart, What might’st thou do, that honor would thee do, Were all thy children kind and natural! But see, thy fault France hath in thee found out, A nest of hollow bosoms, which he fills With treacherous crowns, and three corrupted men— One, Richard, Earl of Cambridge, and the second, Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham, and the third, Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland— Have, for the gilt of France (Oh, guilt indeed!), Confirmed conspiracy with fearful France, And by their hands this grace of kings must die, If hell and treason hold their promises, Ere he take ship for France, and in Southampton. Linger your patience on, and we’ll digest Th’ abuse of distance, force a play. The sum is paid, the traitors are agreed, The king is set from London, and the scene Is now transported, gentles, to Southampton. There is the playhouse now, there must you sit, And thence to France shall we convey you safe And bring you back, charming the narrow seas To give you gentle pass; for, if we may, We’ll not offend one stomach with our play. But, till the king come forth, and not till then, Unto Southampton do we shift our scene. |
CHORUS
Now all the young men of England are inspired and have stored their party clothes in the closet. Armorers are doing great business, and all men think about is honor. People are selling off their land to buy warhorses so they can follow the exemplary king into battle as if they had winged feet, like Mercury. There’s a sense of anticipation in the air. In the minds of Harry and his followers, visions of the kingdoms, spoils, and titles to be won eclipse thoughts of actual fighting. The French, meanwhile, have been forewarned of all this preparation by their spies and tremble in fear. They seek to derail the English with cowardly tricks. Oh, England! You are physically small but inwardly great, like a mighty heart enclosed in a small body. There is nothing you couldn’t accomplish if all your subjects were loyal and loving! But, see, the king of France has detected your weak spot: a nest of faithless traitors, whose treachery he has purchased with gold. Three corrupt men—Richard, earl of Cambridge; Henry, Lord Scroop of Masham; and Sir Thomas Grey, knight, of Northumberland—have agreed to conspire with the French in exchange for money. The gracious king will die by their hands in Southampton before he sets sail for France—if Hell and treason have their way. Stick with us, ladies and gentlemen, and we’ll make a play, conquering space and time. Imagine that the traitors have been paid and made their choice. The king has left London, and the scene now shifts, friends, to Southampton. That’s where you must pretend the theater is; that’s where you must sit. From there we’ll safely carry you to France and back, calming the waters of the Channel to provide you with a smooth voyage. For if we can help it, we’d just as soon nobody was made sick by our play. But we won’t shift the scene to Southampton until Henry reappears. |
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Exit |
The CHORUS exits. |