Dau.
The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!
My horse! varlet! lacquay! ha! [Servants exeunt hastily.

Grand.
O brave spirit!

Dau.
Cousin Orleans.— Enter Constable, L.H.
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 dout them^{13 note} with superfluous courage, Ha!

Con.
What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
How shall we, then, behold their natural tears? Enter Montjoy, R.H.

Mont.
The English are embattled, you French peers. [Exit R.H.

Con.
To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band.
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.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys, are enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe.^{14 note}
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. Enter Orleans,(D)8Q0073 hastily, R.H.

Orl.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?

Yon island carrions,^{15 note} desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,^{16 note}
And our air shakes them passing scornfully:
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To démonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

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

Con.
On, to the field!
Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day. [Exeunt, R.H. Flourish of trumpets.

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