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asual and unpremeditated, like mine, could find such deep root in the hearts of my allies in this most holy cause, that, for my sake, they should withdraw their hand from the plough when the furrow was near the end; for my sake, turn aside from the direct path to Jerusalem, which their swords have opened. I vainly thought that my small services might have outweighed my rash errors; that, if it were remembered that I pressed to the van in an assault, it would not be forgotten that I was ever the last in the retreat; that, if I elevated my banner upon conquered fields of battle, it was all the advantage I sought, while others were dividing the spoil. I may have called the conquered city by my name, but it was to others that I yielded the dominion. If I have been headstrong in urging bold counsels, I have not, methinks, spared my own blood, or my people's, in carrying them into as bold execution; or, if I have, in the hurry of march or battle, assumed a command over the soldiers of others, such have ever been treated as my own, when my wealth purchased the provisions and medicines which their own sovereigns could not procure.

But it shames me to remind you of what all but myself seem to have forgotten. Let us rather look forward to our future measures; and, believe me, brethren, you shall not find the pride, or the wrath, or the ambition of Richard, a stumbling-block of offence in the path to which religion and glory summon you, as with the trumpet of an archangel! O, no, no! never would I survive the thought that my frailties and infirmities had been the means to sever this goodly fellowship of assembled princes. I would cut off my left hand with my right, could my doing so attest my sincerity. I will yield up, voluntarily, all right to command in the host even mine own liege subjects. They shall be led by such sovereigns as you may nominate; and their King, ever but too apt to exchange the leader's baton for the adventurer's lance, will serve under the banner of Beauseant among the Templars, ay, or under that of Austria, if Austria will name a brave man to lead his forces. Or, if ye are yourselves a-weary of this war, and feel your armor chafe your tender bodies, leave but with Richard some ten or fifteen thousand of your soldiers to work out the accomplishment of your vow; and, when Zion is won, — when Zion is won, we will write upon her gates, not the name of Richard Plantagenet, but of those generous Princes who intrusted him with the means of conquest!

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38. THE EARL OF RICHMOND TO HIS ARMY.-Shakspeare.

MORE than I have said, loving countrymen,

The leisure and enforcement of the time
Forbids to dwell on. Yet remember this: --
God, and our good cause, fight upon our side;
The prayers of holy saints, and wrongéd souls,
Like high-reared bulwarks, stand before our faces.

Richard except, those whom we fight against
Had rather have us win than him they follow.
For what is he they follow? Truly, gentlemen,
A bloody tyrant and a homicide;

One raised in blood, and one in blood established;
One that made means to come by what he hath,
And slaughtered those that were the means to help him;
A base, foul stone, made precious by the foil
Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;
One that hath ever been God's enemy.
Then, if you fight against God's enemy,
God will, in justice, guard you as his soldiers;
If you do sweat to put a tyrant down,
You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;
If you do fight against your country's foes,
Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;
If you do fight in safeguard of your wives,
Your wives shall welcome home the conquerors;
If you do free your children from the sword,
Your children's children quit it in your age.
Then, in the name of God and all these rights,
Advance your standards, draw your willing swords.
For me, the ransom of my bold attempt
Shall be this cold corpse on the earth's cold face;
But, if I thrive, the gain of my attempt,
The least of you shall share his part thereof.
Sound drums and trumpets, boldly and cheerfully:
God, and St. George! Richmond and victory!

39. HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS.-Shakspeare.

WHAT 's he that wishes for more men from England?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin ;
If we are marked to die, we are enow

To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
I pray thee do not wish for one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous of gold ;
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in

But if it be a sin to covet honor,

I am the most offending soul alive.

my

desires :

No, 'faith, my Lord, wish not a man from England:
I would not lose, methinks, so great an honor,

As only one man more would share from me,

For the best hope I have. O do not wish one more:

Rather, proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he, which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company,
That fears his fellowship to die with us.

This day is called the feast of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian :
He that outlives this day, and sees old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,
And say-to-morrow is Saint Crispian!
Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars.
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,

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What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, ·
Familiar in his mouth as household words, -
Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster, -
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son:
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be rememberéd ;
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers:
For he, to-day that sheds his blood with me,
Shall be my brother: be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition.

And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,

Shall think themselves accursed they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, while any speaks,
That fought with us upon St. Crispian's day.

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40. THE BATTLE OF IVRY.-T. B. Macaulay.

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre !
Now let there be the merry sound of music and the dance,
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vales, O pleasant land of
France!

And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters;
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,

For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy.
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war;
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre!

O'. how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League arawn out in long array;
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,

And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears!
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land!
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled flood
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for His own holy Name, and Henry of Navarre.

The King has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest,
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest:
He looked upon his People, and a tear was in his eye;

He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord, the King!
And if my standard-bearer fall, - as fall full well he may,
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray,

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Press where ye see my white plume shine, amid the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."

Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin'
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint André's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies now, upon them with the lance!
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.

Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein,
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter · - the Flemish Count is slain;
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven mail
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van
"Remember St. Bartholomew!" was passed from man to man;
But out spake gentle Henry, then, "No Frenchman is
Down, down with every foreigner! but let your brethren go."
O! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!

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Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne !

my

foe;

Weep, weep and rend your hair for those who never shall return! Ho! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles,

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls!

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright.
Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night!
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave.
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre!

41. PHILIP VAN ARTEVELDE TO THE MEN OF GHENT.-Henry Taylor.
SIRS, ye have heard these knights discourse to you
Of your ill fortunes, telling on their fingers
The worthy leaders ye have lately lost.

True, they were worthy men, most gallant chiefs;
And ill would it become us to make light

Of the great loss we suffer by their fall.
They died like heroes; for no recreant step
Had e'er dishonored them, no stain of fear,
No base despair, no cowardly recoil.
They had the hearts of freemen to the last,
And the free blood that bounded in their veins
Was shed for freedom with a liberal joy.

But had they guessed, or could they but have dreamed,
The great examples which they died to show
Should fall so flat, should shine so fruitless here,
That men should say, "For liberty these died,
Wherefore let us be slaves," had they thought this,
O, then, with what an agony of shame,

Their blushing faces buried in the dust,

Had their great spirits parted hence for Heaven!

What! shall we teach our chroniclers henceforth

To write, that in five bodies were contained

The sole brave hearts of Ghent! which five defunct,
The heartless town, by brainless counsel led,

Delivered up her keys, stript off her robes,

And so with all humility besought

Her haughty Lord that he would scourge her lightly!
It shall not be no, verily! for now,

Thus looking on you as ye stand before me,
Mine eye can single out full many a man
Who lacks but opportunity to shine
As great and glorious as the chiefs that fell.

But, lo! the Earl is "mercifully minded"!
And, surely, if we, rather than revenge
The slaughter of our bravest, cry them shame,
And fall upon our knees, and say we've sinned,
Then will my Lord the Earl have mercy on us,
And pardon us our strike for liberty!

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