them brothers, friends, and countrymen. There is no indication of the mighty army that surrounds them in his expression, nor has the long, sleepless night robbed his face of an ounce of color. Instead, he looks fresh and covers any signs of fatigue with a show of cheerfulness and sweet majesty that every sad and pale wretch takes comfort in when they see him. His generous eye notices everyone, doling out a bounty as far-reaching as the sun, thawing cold fear, so that low and well-born alike may all experience (for want of a better way of putting it) a little touch of Harry in the night. With that, our scene rushes on toward the battle, which we will represent with four or five worn-out fencing foils, a travesty of battle—forgive us!—that disgraces the name of Agincourt. Still, stay to watch, imagining the way it really was from our own inadequate imitation.
