sternage

Thus with imagined wing our swift scene flies
In motion of no less celerity
Than that of thought . Suppose that you have seen
The well-appointed king at Dover pier
Embark his royalty , and his brave fleet
With silken streamers the young Phoebus
fanning .
Play with your fancies and in them behold ,
Upon the hempen tackle , shipboys climbing .
Hear the shrill whistle , which doth order give
To sounds confused . Behold the threaden sails ,
Borne with th’ invisible and creeping wind ,
Draw the huge bottoms through the furrowed sea ,
Breasting the lofty surge . O , do but think
You stand upon the rivage and behold
A city on th’ inconstant billows dancing ,
For so appears this fleet majestical ,
Holding due course to Harfleur . Follow , follow !
Grapple your minds to sternage of this navy ,
And leave your England , as dead midnight still ,
Guarded with grandsires , babies , and old women ,
Either past or not arrived to pith and puissance ,
For who is he whose chin is but enriched
With one appearing hair that will not follow
These culled and choice-drawn cavaliers to France ?
Work , work your thoughts , and therein see a siege ;
Behold the ordnance on their carriages ,
With fatal mouths gaping on girded Harfleur .
Suppose th’ Ambassador from the French comes
back ,
Tells Harry that the King doth offer him
Katherine his daughter and with her , to dowry ,
Some petty and unprofitable dukedoms .
The offer likes not , and the nimble gunner
With linstock now the devilish cannon touches ,

And down goes all before them . Still be kind ,
And eke out our performance with your mind .