📔 Henry V

I am a king that find thee; and I know 'Tis not the balm, the sceptre, and the ball, The sword, the mace, the crown imperial, The intertissued robe of gold and pearl

Then lend the eye a terrible aspect; / Let pry through the portage of the head / Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it / As fearfully as doth a galled rock / O'erhang and jutty his confounded base, / Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Pish for thee, Iceland dog! thou prick-ear'd cur of Iceland!