Henry V – Act 4 Prologue

CHORUS

Now entertain conjecture of a time

Imagine, if you will, that now’s the time

When creeping murmur and the poring dark

When haunting murmurs sigh through brooding night

Fills the wide vessel of the universe.

To fill the empty vastness of the sky.

From camp to camp through the foul womb of night

From camp to camp, through dank, enclosing darkness,

The hum of either army stilly sounds,

Each army hears the low hum of the other,

That the fixed sentinels almost receive

As duty watchmen think they overhear

The secret whispers of each other's watch:

The secret whispers from opposing guards.

Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames

Pale flames from watch-fires seep between each camp,

Each battle sees the other's umbered face;

Revealing shadowed faces of their foe.

Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs

Opposing horses neigh in brash aggression,

Piercing the night's dull ear, and from the tents

Piercing the sombre night, and from the tents

The armourers, accomplishing the knights,

The armourers, equipping knights for battle,

With busy hammers closing rivets up,

Ting rivets with their hammers in succession,

Give dreadful note of preparation:

Foreboding clangs of battle preparation.

The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll,

The farmer’s cockerel crows, the church bell tolls,

And the third hour of drowsy morning name.

Announcing it’s still only 3 a.m.

Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,

Proud of their army’s size and feeling sanguine,

The confident and over-lusty French

The confident and over-cocky French

Do the low-rated English play at dice;

Start gambling on the Englishmen they’ll slay,

And chide the cripple tardy-gaited night

And criticise the slowly creeping night

Who, like a foul and ugly witch, doth limp

That, like an ugly witch, limps like a cripple

So tediously away. The poor condemned English,

And takes too long to leave. The ravaged English,

Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires

Appearing sacrificial, sit by watch-fires

Sit patiently and inly ruminate

And meditate and patiently mull over

The morning's danger, and their gesture sad

The morning’s danger, seeming sorrowful,

Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats

Their gaunt cheeks and their battered, war-torn coats

Presenteth them unto the gazing moon

Suggesting to the moon that gazes on

So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold

That they’re a haunt of ghosts. Who will observe

The royal captain of this ruined band

The king, the leader of this shattered army,

Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,

Walking between each guardsman and each tent,

Let him cry 'Praise and glory on his head!'

For if you do, you’ll shout ‘Bring this man glory!’

For forth he goes and visits all his host,

Because he talks and walks among his soldiers,

Bids them good morrow with a modest smile

And greets them with ‘good morning’ and a smile

And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.

And calls them brothers, friends and countrymen.

Upon his royal face there is no note

His royal face displays no indication

How dread an army hath enrounded him;

That they’re surrounded by a fearsome army;

Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour

Nor does his face reveal paleness

Unto the weary and all-watched night,

That shows he’s tired from being on watch all night,

But freshly looks and over-bears attaint

But he looks fresh, untainted by fatigue,

With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty;

Appearing cheerful, tenderly majestic;

That every wretch, pining and pale before,

So every wretched soldier, tired before,

Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks:

When seeing him, draws comfort from his looks.

A largess universal like the sun

A generous warmth, like daylight from the sun,

His liberal eye doth give to every one,

His gaze bestows on each and every soldier,

Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all,

Dissolving fear, if they are high or low ranked,

Behold, as may unworthiness define,

As they observe, though they may not be noble,

A little touch of Harry in the night.

A little piece of Harry in the night.

And so our scene must to the battle fly;

And so it’s time we start the battle scene;

Where – O for pity! – we shall much disgrace

Where – shame on us! – our acting will belittle –

With four or five most vile and ragged foils,

By using four or five weak fencing foils

Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous,

Used poorly in an unconvincing brawl –

The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see,

The real fights of Agincourt. Now stare,

Minding true things by what their mockeries be.

Imagining what really happened there.