tardily

O yet , for God’s sake , go not to these wars .
The time was , father , that you broke your word
When you were more endeared to it than now ,
When your own Percy , when my heart’s dear Harry ,
Threw many a northward look to see his father
Bring up his powers ; but he did long in vain .
Who then persuaded you to stay at home ?
There were two honors lost , yours and your son’s .
For yours , the God of heaven brighten it .
For his , it stuck upon him as the sun
In the gray vault of heaven , and by his light
Did all the chivalry of England move
To do brave acts . He was indeed the glass
Wherein the noble youth did dress themselves .
He had no legs that practiced not his gait ;
And speaking thick , which nature made his blemish ,
Became the accents of the valiant ;
For those that could speak low and tardily
Would turn their own perfection to abuse
To seem like him . So that in speech , in gait ,
In diet , in affections of delight ,
In military rules , humors of blood ,
He was the mark and glass , copy and book ,
That fashioned others . And him — O wondrous him !
O miracle of men ! — him did you leave ,
Second to none , unseconded by you ,
To look upon the hideous god of war
In disadvantage , to abide a field
Where nothing but the sound of Hotspur’s name
Did seem defensible . So you left him .
Never , O never , do his ghost the wrong
To hold your honor more precise and nice
With others than with him . Let them alone .
The Marshal and the Archbishop are strong .
Had my sweet Harry had but half their numbers ,
Today might I , hanging on Hotspur’s neck ,
Have talked of Monmouth’s grave .