Con.

Tut, I have the best armour of the world. Would, it were day!

Orl.

You have an excellent armour; but let my horse have his due.

Con.

It is the best horse of Europe.

Orl.

Will it never be morning?

Dau.

My lord of Orleans, and my lord high Constable, you talk of horse, and armour,—

Orl.

You are as well provided of both, as any Prince in the world.

Dau.

What a long night is this! I will not change my horse with any that treads but on four pasterns; fa, ha! le Cheval volant, the Pegasus, chez les Narines de feu! he bounds from the earth, as if his entrails were hairs; when I bestride him, I soar, I am a Hawk; he trots the air, the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.

Orl.

He's of the colour of the nutmeg.

Dau.

And of the heat of the ginger. It is a beast for Perseus; he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stilness while his rider mounts him; he is, indeed, a horse; and all other jades you may call beasts.

Con.

Indeed, my Lord, it is a most absolute and excellent horse.

Dau.

It is the prince of palfreys; his neigh is like the bidding of a monarch, and his countenance enforces homage.

Orl.

No more, cousin.

Dau.

Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfry; it is a theme as fluent as the sea: turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is argument for them all; 'tis a subject for a Soveraign to reason on, and for a Soveraign's Soveraign to ride on; and for the world, familiar to us and unknown, to lay apart their particular functions and wonder at him. I once writ a sonnet in his praise, and began thus, Wonder of nature.—

Orl.

I have heard a sonnet begin so to one's mistress.

Dau.

Then did they imitate that, which I compos'd to my courser; for my horse is my mistress.

Orl.

Your mistress bears well.

Dau.

Me, well;—which is the prescript praise, and perfection, of a good and particular mistress.

Con.

Methought, yesterday your mistress shrewdly shook your back.

Dau.

So, perhaps, did yours.

Con.

Mine was not bridled.

Dau.

O, then belike she was old and gentle; and you rode, like a Kerne of Ireland, your French hose off, and in your strait Trossers.(28) ^note

Con.

You have good judgment in horsemanship.

Dau.

Be warn'd by me then; they that ride so and ride not warily, fall into foul bogs; I had rather have my horse to my mistress.

Con.

I had as lieve have my mistress a jade.

Dau.

I tell thee, Constable, my mistress wears her own hair.

Con.

I could make as true a boast as that, if I had a Sow to my mistress.

Dau.

Le chien est retourné à son propre vomissement, & la truie lavée au bourbier; thou mak'st use of any thing.

Con.

Yet do I not use my horse for my mistress; or any such proverb, so little kin to the purpose.

Ram.

My lord Constable, the armour, that I saw in your tent to night, are those stars, or suns upon it?

Con.

Stars, my lord.

Dau.

Some of them will fall to morrow, I hope.

Con.

And yet my sky shall not want.

Dau.

That may be, for you bear many superfluously; and 'twere more honour, some were away.

Con.

Ev'n as your horse bears your praises, who would trot as well, were some of your brags dismounted.

Dau.

Would I were able to load him with his desert. Will it never be day? I will trot to morrow a mile, and my way shall be paved with English faces.

Con.

I will not say so, for fear I shou'd be fac'd out of my way; but I would it were morning, for I would fain be about the ears of the English.

Ram.

Who will go to hazard with me for twenty English prisoners?

Con.

You must first go your self to hazard, ere you have them.

Dau.

'Tis mid-night, I'll go arm my self.

Orl.

The Dauphin longs for morning.

Ram.

He longs to eat the English.

Con.

I think, he will eat all he kills.

Orl.

By the white hand of my lady, he's a gallant Prince.

Con.

Swear by her foot, that she may tread out the oath.

Orl.

He is simply the most active gentleman of France.

Con.

Doing is activity, and he will still be doing.

Orl.

He never did harm, that I heard of.

Con.

Nor will do none to morrow; he will keep that good name still.

Orl.

I know him to be valiant.

Con.

I was told that, by one that knows him better than you.

Orl.

What's he?

Con.

Marry, he told me so himself; and he said, he car'd not who knew it.

Orl.

He needs not, it is no hidden virtue in him.

Con.

By my faith, Sir, but it is; never any body saw it, but his lacquey; 'tis a hooded valour, and when it appears, it will bate.

Orl.

Ill will never said well.

Con.

I will cap that proverb with, There is flattery in friendship.

Orl.

And I will take up that with, Give the Devil his due.

Con.

Well plac'd; there stands your friend for the devil; have at the very eye of that proverb with, A pox of the devil.

Orl.

You are the better at proverbs, by how much a fool's bolt is soon shot.

Con.

You have shot over.

Orl.

'Tis not the first time you were over-shot.

Mess.

My Lord high Constable, the English lye within fifteen hundred paces of your tents.

Con.

Who hath measur'd the ground?

Mess.

The lord Grandpree.

Con.

A valiant and most expert gentleman. Would it were day! Alas, poor Harry of England! he longs not for the dawning as we do.

Orl.

What a wretched and peevish fellow is this King of England, to mope with his fat-brain'd followers so far out of his knowledge?

Con.

If the English had any apprehension, they would run away.

Orl.

That they lack; for if their heads had any intellectual armour, they could never wear such heavy head-pieces.

Ram.

That Island of England breeds very valiant creatures; their mastiffs are of unmatchable courage.

Orl.

Foolish curs, that run winking into the mouth of a Russian Bear, and have their heads crush'd like rotten apples. You may as well say, that's a valiant Flea, that dares eat his breakfast on the lip of a Lion.

Con.

Just, just; and the men do symphathize with the mastiffs in robustious and rough coming on, leaving their wits with their wives; and then give them great meals of beef, and iron and steel, they will eat like wolves, and fight like devils.

Orl.

Ay; but these English are shreudly out of beef.

Con.

Then shall we find to morrow, they have only stomachs to eat, and none to fight. Now is it time to arm; come, shall we about it?

Orl.
'Tis two a clock; but (let me see) by ten,
We shall have each a hundred Englishmen. [Exeunt.

Enter Chorus.
Now entertain conjecture of a time,
When creeping murmur, and the poring dark,
Fills the wide vessel of the universe.
From camp to camp, through the foul womb of night,
The hum of either army stilly sounds;
That the fixt centinels almost receive
The secret whispers of each other's watch.
Fire answers fire; and through their paly flames
Each battel sees the other's umber'd face.
Steed threatens steed, in high and boastful neighs
Piercing the night's dull ear; and from the tents,
The armourers, accomplishing the knights,
With busie hammers closing rivets up,
Give dreadful note of preparation.
The country cocks do crow, the clocks do toll;
And (the third hour of drousie morning nam'd)
Proud of their numbers and secure in soul,
The confident and over-lusty French
Do the low-rated English play at dice;
And chide the cripple tardy-gated night,
Who, like a foul and ugly witch, does limp
So tediously away. The poor condemned English,
Like sacrifices, by their watchful fires
Sit patiently, and inly ruminate
The morning's danger: and their gesture sad,
Investing lank-lean cheeks and war-worn coats,
Presented them unto the gazing moon
So many horrid ghosts. Who now beholds
The royal captain of this ruin'd band
Walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent,
Let him cry, Praise and glory on his head!
For forth he goes and visits all his host,
Bids them good morrow with a modest smile,
And calls them brothers, friends, and countrymen.
Upon his royal face there is no note,
How dread an army hath enrounded him;
Nor doth he dedicate one jot of colour
Unto the weary and all-watched night:

But freshly looks and over-bears attaint,
With chearful semblance and sweet majesty:
That ev'ry wretch, pining and pale before,
Beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks.
A largess universal, like the sun,
His lib'ral eye doth give to ev'ry one,
Thawing cold fear. Then, mean and gentle, all
Behold, (as may unworthiness define)(29) ^note

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