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CHORUS
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Now ent|ertain | conject|ure of | a time,
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When creep|ing mur|mur and | the pour|ing dark
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Fills the | wide ves/sel of | the un|iverse.
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From camp | to camp,| through the / foul womb |
of night
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The hum | of eith|er ar|my stil|ly sounds,
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That the / fixed sent|inels | almost | receive
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The sec|ret whisp|ers of | each oth|er's watch.
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Fire | answers | fire,| and through | their pa|ly
flames
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Each battle sees | the oth|er's um|bered face.
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Steed | threatens | steed,| in high | and
boast|ful neighs (match prev)
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Piercing the | night's dull ear:| and from | the
tents,
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The arm|orers | accom|plishing | the knights,
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With bu|sy ham|mers clos|ing riv|ets up,
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Give^dread|ful note | of pre|para|tion.
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The count|ry cocks | do crow,| the clocks | do
toll:
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And the / third hour | of drow|sy morn|ing named,
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Proud of | their num|bers, and | secure | in
soul,
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The con|fident | and ov|er-lus|ty French,
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Do the / low-rat|ed Eng|lish play | at dice;
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And chide | the crip|ple tar|dy-gait|ed night,
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Who like a foul | and ug|ly witch | doth limp
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So tediously away. The poor condemned English, ??
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Like sacrifi|ces, by | their watch|ful fires
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Sit pa|tiently,| and in|ly rum|inate
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The morn|ing's dang|er: and | their ges|ture sad,
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Inves|ting lank-lean cheeks,| and war-worn coats,
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present|ed them | unto | the gaz|ing moon
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So many horrid ghosts. O now, who will behold ????
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The roy|al cap|tain of | this ru|ined band
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Walking | from watch | to watch,| from tent | to
tent;
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Let him | cry, Praise and glo|ry on | his head:
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For forth | he goes,| and vis|its all | his host,
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Bids them | good mor|row with | a mod|est smile,
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And calls | them broth|ers, friends,| and
count|rymen.
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Upon | his roy|al face | there is / no note
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How dread | an ar|my hath | enround|ed him;
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Nor doth | he de|dicate | one jot of color
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Unto | the wea|ry and / all-watch|ed night:
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But fresh|ly looks,| and ov|er-bears | attaint,
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With cheer|ful sem|blance, and / sweet maj|esty:
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That eve|ry wretch,| pining | and pale | before,
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Behold|ing him,/ plucks com|fort from | his
looks.
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A largess un|ivers|al, like | the sun,
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His libe|ral eye | doth give | to eve|ry one,
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Thawing cold fear,| that mean | and gent|le all
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Behold,| as may | unworth|iness | define.
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A lit|tle touch | of Har|ry in | the night,
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And so | our scene | must^to | the bat|tle fly:
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Where, O for pi|ty, we | shall much | disgrace,
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With four | or five | most vile and rag|ged
foils,
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(Right ill-disposed,| in brawl | ridic|ulous)
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The name | of Ag|incourt:| yet sit | and see,
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Minding true things,| by what | their mock|eries
be.
[Exit]