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Where thousand deaths are posting up and down,
Commission'd to this fatal field of Cressy.
Methinks I see them arm my gallant soldiers,
And gird the sword upon each thigh, and fit
Each shining helm, and string each stubborn bow,
And dance unto the neighing of our steeds:
Methinks the shout begins, the battle burns;
Methinks I see them perch on English crests.
And roar the wild flame of fierce war upon
The thronged enemy. In truth, I am too full;
It is my sin to love the noise of war.
Chandos, thou seest my weakness; for strong Nature
Will bend or break us. My blood like a spring-tide
Does rise so high to overflow all bounds
Of moderation; while Reason in her
Frail bark can see no shore or bound for vast
Ambition. Come then, take the helm, my Chandos,
That my full-blown sails overset me not
In the wild tempest; condemn my venturous youth
That plays with danger as the innocent child,
Unthinking, plays upon the viper's den:
I am a coward in my reason, Chandos.
Chandos. You are a man, my Prince, and a brave man,
If I can judge of actions; but your heat
Is the effect of youth and want of use;
Use makes the armed field and noisy war
Pass over as a cloud does, unregarded,
Or but expected as a thing of course.
Age is contemplative; each rolling year
Doth bring forth fruit to the mind's treasure-house;
While vacant Youth doth crave and seek about
Within itself, and findeth discontent;
Then, tir'd of thought, impatient takes the wing,
Seizes the fruits of Time, attacks Experience,
Roams round vast Nature's forest, where no bounds
Are set; the swiftest may have room, the strongest
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