Act 3 — Scene I. France. Before Harfleur.

K. Hen. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;[4850][4851] Or close the wall up with our English dead.[4851] In peace there's nothing so becomes a man As modest stillness and humility: But when the blast of war blows in our ears,5 Then imitate the action of the tiger; Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,[4852] Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage; Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; Let it pry through the portage of the head10 Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it[4853] As fearfully as doth a galled rock O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,[4854] Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean. Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,[4855]15 Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit To his full height. On, on, you noblest English,[4856] Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof![4857] Fathers that, like so many Alexanders, Have in these parts from morn till even fought20 And sheathed 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,[4858] And teach them how to war. And you, good yeomen,25 Whose limbs were made in England, show us here The mettle of your pasture; let us swear[4859] 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.30 I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:[4860] Follow your spirit, and upon this charge Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'