Con.
O diable?

Orl.
O seigneur!—le jour est perdu, tout est perdu!

Dau.
Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.—O meschante fortune!—
Do not run away. [A short Alarum.

Con.
Why all our ranks are broke.

Dau.
O perdurable shame^{1 note}
!—let's stab ourselves.
Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for?

Orl.
Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?

Bour.
Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us die in fight: Once more back again^{2 note}

And he that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and, with his cap in hand,
Like a base pander^{3 note}
, hold the chamber-door,
Whilst by a slave, no gentler^{4 note} than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminate^{5 note}.

Con.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!

Let us, in heaps, go offer up our lives
Unto these English, or else die with fame^{6 note}.

Orl.
We are enough, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.

Bour.
The devil take order now! I'll to the throng;
Let life be short; else, shame will be too long. [Exeunt.

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