Prince

And may our duty, Chandos, be our pleasure.— Now we are alone, Sir John, I will unburden And breathe my hopes into the burning air, Where thousand Deaths are posting up and down, Commissioned 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 to 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 throngèd enemy! In truth, I am too full; It is my sin to love the noise of war. Chandos, thou seest my weakness; strong Nature Will bend or break us: my blood, like a springtide 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, 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.