Shakspere's historical play of Henry the Fifth (Google eBook)

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French - 68 pages
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Page 42 - Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl, The farced title running 'fore the King, The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp That beats upon the high shore of this world...
Page 9 - O, for a muse of fire, that would ascend The brightest heaven of invention ! A kingdom for a stage, princes to act, And monarchs to behold the swelling scene ! Then should the warlike Harry, like himself, Assume the port of Mars ; and, at his heels, Leash'd in like hounds, should famine, sword, and fire, Crouch for employment.
Page 26 - 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...
Page 35 - 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...
Page 16 - a should not think of God ; I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet: So, 'a bade me lay more clothes on his feet : I put my hand into the bed, and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone ; then I felt to his knees, and so upward, and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.
Page 25 - 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...
Page 42 - Not to-day, O Lord, O, not to-day, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown ! I Richard's body have interred new ; And on it have bestow'd more contrite tears, Than from it issued forced drops of blood. Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice...
Page 40 - Every subject's duty is the king's ; but every subject's soul is his own. Therefore should every soldier in the wars do as every sick man in his bed, wash every mote out of his conscience...
Page 26 - 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!
Page 26 - 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!

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