No Fear Shakespeare: Henry V: Act 4 Prologue

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Original Text	Modern Text
Enter CHORUS	Enter CHORUS
CHORUS 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, 5 The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other’s watch. Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other’s umbered face. 10 Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents The armorers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. 15 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, And, the third hour of drowsy morning named, Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, The confident and overlusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice 20 And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night, Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemnèd English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently and inly ruminate 25 The morning’s danger; and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. Oh, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruined band	CHORUS 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 fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other’s watch. Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other’s umbered face. Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents The armorers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, And, the third hour of drowsy morning named, Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, The confident and overlusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night, Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemnèd English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently and inly ruminate The morning’s danger; and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. Oh, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruined band
30 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent? Let him cry, “Praise and glory on his head!” For forth he goes and visits all his host, Bids them good morrow with a modest smile, And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. 35 Upon his royal face there is no note How dread an army hath enrounded him, Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color Unto the weary and all-watchèd night, But freshly looks and overbears attaint 40 With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty, That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. A largess universal, like the sun, His liberal eye doth give to everyone, 45 Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night. And so our scene must to the battle fly, Where, Oh, for pity, we shall much disgrace, 50 With four or five most vile and ragged foils Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see, Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.	Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent? Let him cry, “Praise and glory on his head!” For forth he goes and visits all his host, Bids them good morrow with a modest smile, And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. Upon his royal face there is no note How dread an army hath enrounded him, Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color Unto the weary and all-watchèd night, But freshly looks and overbears attaint With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty, That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. A largess universal, like the sun, His liberal eye doth give to everyone, Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night. And so our scene must to the battle fly, Where, Oh, for pity, we shall much disgrace, With four or five most vile and ragged foils Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see, Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.
Exit	Exit

Original Text	Modern Text
Enter CHORUS	Enter CHORUS
CHORUS 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, 5 The hum of either army stilly sounds, That the fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other’s watch. Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other’s umbered face. 10 Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents The armorers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. 15 The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, And, the third hour of drowsy morning named, Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, The confident and overlusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice 20 And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night, Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemnèd English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently and inly ruminate 25 The morning’s danger; and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. Oh, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruined band	CHORUS 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 fixed sentinels almost receive The secret whispers of each other’s watch. Fire answers fire, and through their paly flames Each battle sees the other’s umbered face. Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs Piercing the night’s dull ear; and from the tents The armorers, accomplishing the knights, With busy hammers closing rivets up, Give dreadful note of preparation. The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll, And, the third hour of drowsy morning named, Proud of their numbers and secure in soul, The confident and overlusty French Do the low-rated English play at dice And chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night, Who like a foul and ugly witch doth limp So tediously away. The poor condemnèd English, Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires Sit patiently and inly ruminate The morning’s danger; and their gesture sad, Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats, Presenteth them unto the gazing moon So many horrid ghosts. Oh, now, who will behold The royal captain of this ruined band
30 Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent? Let him cry, “Praise and glory on his head!” For forth he goes and visits all his host, Bids them good morrow with a modest smile, And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. 35 Upon his royal face there is no note How dread an army hath enrounded him, Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color Unto the weary and all-watchèd night, But freshly looks and overbears attaint 40 With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty, That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. A largess universal, like the sun, His liberal eye doth give to everyone, 45 Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night. And so our scene must to the battle fly, Where, Oh, for pity, we shall much disgrace, 50 With four or five most vile and ragged foils Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see, Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.	Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent? Let him cry, “Praise and glory on his head!” For forth he goes and visits all his host, Bids them good morrow with a modest smile, And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen. Upon his royal face there is no note How dread an army hath enrounded him, Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color Unto the weary and all-watchèd night, But freshly looks and overbears attaint With cheerful semblance and sweet majesty, That every wretch, pining and pale before, Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. A largess universal, like the sun, His liberal eye doth give to everyone, Thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all Behold, as may unworthiness define, A little touch of Harry in the night. And so our scene must to the battle fly, Where, Oh, for pity, we shall much disgrace, With four or five most vile and ragged foils Right ill-disposed in brawl ridiculous, The name of Agincourt. Yet sit and see, Minding true things by what their mock'ries be.
Exit	Exit