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Enter Chorus. | |
| Chor. 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. | 5 |
| Then should the war-like 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. But pardon, gentles all, | |
| The flat unraised spirits that hath dar’d | 10 |
| On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth | |
| So great an object: can this cockpit hold | |
| The vasty fields of France? or may we cram | |
| Within this wooden O the very casques | |
| That did affright the air at Agincourt? | 15 |
| O, pardon! since a crooked figure may | |
| Attest in little place a million; | |
| And let us, ciphers to this great accompt, | |
| On your imaginary forces work. | |
| Suppose within the girdle of these walls | 20 |
| Are now confin’d two mighty monarchies, | |
| Whose high upreared and abutting fronts | |
| The perilous narrow ocean parts asunder: | |
| Piece out our imperfections with your thoughts: | |
| Into a thousand parts divide one man, | 25 |
| And make imaginary puissance; | |
| Think when we talk of horses that you see them | |
| Printing their proud hoofs i’ the receiving earth; | |
| For ’tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings, | |
| Carry them here and there, jumping o’er times, | 30 |
| Turning the accomplishment of many years | |
| Into an hour-glass: for the which supply, | |
| Admit me Chorus to this history; | |
| Who prologue-like your humble patience pray, | |
| Gently to hear, kindly to judge, our play. [Exit. | 35 |
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