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The eagle that doth gaze upon the sun
Fears the small fire that plays about the fen;
If at this moment of their idle fear
The dog seize the wolf, the forester the lion,
The negro, in the crevice of the rock,
Seize on the soaring eagle, undone by flight
They tame submit—such the effect flight has
On noble souls. Now hear its opposite:
The timorous stag starts from the thicket wild,
The fearful crane springs from the plashy fen,
The shining snake glides o'er the bending grass:
The stag turns head, and bays the crying hounds,
The crane o'ertaken fighteth with the hawk.
The snake doth turn and bite the padding foot.
And if your majesty's afraid of Philip,
You are more like a lion than a crane:
Therefore I beg I may return to England.
King. Sir Thomas, now I understand your mirth,
Which often plays with wisdom for its pastime,
And brings good counsel from the breast of laughter.
I hope you'll stay, and see us fight this battle,—
And reap rich harvest in the field of Cressy,
Then go to England, tell them how we fight,
And set all hearts on fire to be with us.
Philip is plum'd, and thinks we flee from him,
Else he would never dare to attack us. Now,
Now is the quarry set! and Death doth sport
In the bright sunshine of this fatal day.
Dagw. Now my heart dances, and I am as light
As the young bridegroom going to be married.
Now must I to my soldiers, get them ready.
Furbish our armours bright, new plume our helms,
And we will sing like the young housewives busied
In the dairy. Now my feet are wing'd, but not
For flight, an 't please your grace.
King. If all my soldiers are as pleased as you,
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