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

Dau.
Montez Cheval: my horse, valet, lacquay: ha!

Orl.
O brave spirit!

Dau.
Via!—les eaux & la terre.—

Orl.
Rien puis! le air & 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 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 embattel'd, 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 ^{3 note}curtle-ax a stain;
That our French gallants shall to day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport. Let's but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o'erturn them.
'Tis positive 'gainst all exception, lords,
That our superfluous lacqueys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle, were enow
To purge this field of such a hilding foe;
Tho' 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
The tucket-sonuance, and the note to mount:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield. Enter Grandpree.

Grand.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
&plquo;Yon Island carrions, desp'rate of their bones,
&plquo;Ill-favour'dly become the morning field:
&plquo;Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
&plquo;And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
&plquo;Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar'd host,
&plquo;And faintly through a rusty bever peeps.
&plquo;The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks,
&plquo;With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades
&plquo;Lob down their heads, dropping the hide and hips:&prquo;
The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes;
&wlquo;And in their pale dull mouths ^{4 note}the jymold bitt
&wlquo;Lies foul with chaw'd grass, still and motionless:&wrquo;
And their executors, the knavish Crows,
Fly o'er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit it self in words,
To demonstrate the life of such a battle,
In life so liveless as it shews it self.

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

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

Con.
I stay but for my guard: on, to the field;
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we out-wear the day. [Exeunt.

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