Orl.
The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords.

Dau.
Montez a cheval:—My horse! valet! lacquay! ha!

Orl.
O brave spirit!

Dau.
Via!—les eaux et la terre^{9 note}

Orl.
Rien puis? l'air et le feu—

Dau.
Ciel! cousin Orleans.— Enter Constable.
Now, my lord Constable!

Con.
Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh.

Dau.
Mount them, and make incision in their hides:

That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And doubt them^{1 note}

Ram.
What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears? Enter a Messenger.

Mess.
The English are embattled, you French peers.

Con.
To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls^{2 note}

Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins,
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain,
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport: let us but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys, and our peasants,—
Who, in unnecessary action, swarm
About our squares of battle^{3 note}

,—were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe^{4 note}

For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. Enter Grandpre.

Grand.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions^{7 note}