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

Dau.

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

Orl.

O brave spirit!

Dau.
^{4 note}

Orl.
Rien plus? l'air & 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 daunt them ^{5 note}with superfluous courage: Ha!

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! strait to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair shew shall suck away their souls,
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 lacqueys, and our peasants,—
Who, in unnecessary action, swarm
About our squares of battle,—were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe;
Though we, upon this mountain's basis by
Took stand for idle speculation:
But that our honours must not. What's to say?
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
^{6 note}

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

Grand.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.
^{7 note}

Lies foul with chew'd grass, still and motionless;
And ^{9 note}their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words,
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shews itself.

Con.
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

Dau.
Shall we go send them dinners, and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?

Con.
^{1 note}

And use it for my haste. Come, come away!
The sun is high, and we out-wear the day. [Exeunt.

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