Reading The third Part of Henry the Sixt, with the death of the Duke of Yorke

Direct reading · Original

Section 327

Passage 1 of 3 · Section metadata unavailable

Passage in this section

Choose a paragraph to open its bounded reader passage.

Current position: Loading section metadata…

Loading source sections…

Hen.

This battell fares like to the mornings Warre,

When dying clouds contend, with growing light,

What time the Shepheard blowing of his nailes,

Can neither call it perfect day, nor night.

Now swayes it this way, like a Mighty Sea,

Forc'd by the Tide, to combat with the Winde:

Now swayes it that way, like the selfe‑same Sea,

Forc'd to retyre by furie of the Winde.

Sometime, the Flood preuailes; and than the Winde:

Now, one the better: then, another best;

Both tugging to be Victors, brest to brest:

Yet neither Conqueror, nor Conquered.

So is the equall poise of this fell Warre.

Heere on this Mole‑hill will I sit me downe,

To whom God will, there be the Victorie:

Find a section