in the eye of Phoebus and all night Sleeps in Elysium; next day after dawn, Doth rise and help Hyperion to his horse, And follows so the ever-running year, With profitable labour, to his grave: And, but for ceremony, such a wretch, Winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, Had the fore-hand and vantage of a king. The slave, a member of the country's peace, Enjoys it; but in gross brain little wots What watch the king keeps to maintain the peace, Whose hours the peasant best advantages. My lord, your nobles, jealous of your absence, Seek through your camp to find you. Good old knight, Collect them all together at my tent: I'll be before thee. I shall do't, my lord. O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts; Possess them not with fear; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them. 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 anew; 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 a-day their wither'd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul. More will I do; Though all that I can do is nothing worth, Since that my penitence comes after all, Imploring pardon. My liege! My brother Gloucester's voice? Ay; I know thy errand, I will go with thee: The day, my friends and all things stay for me. The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords! Montez A cheval! My horse! varlet! laquais! ha! O brave spirit! Via! les eaux et la terre. Rien puis? L'air et la feu. Ciel, cousin Orleans. Now, my lord constable! Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh! Mount them, and make incision in their hides, That their hot blood may spin in English eyes, And dout them with superfluous courage, ha! What, will you have them weep our horses' blood? How shall we, then, behold their natural tears? The English are embattled, you French peers. To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse! Do but behold yon poor and starved band, And your fair show shall suck away their souls, Leaving them but the shales and husks of men. There is not work enough for all our hands; Scarce blood enough in all their