Con.
O Diable!

Orl.
O Signeur! le jour est perdu, toute est perdu.

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

Con.
Why all our ranks are broke.

Dau.
O perdurable shame, let's stab our selves:
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!
The man that will not follow Bourbon now,
Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand
Like a base pander hold the chamber-door,
Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,
His fairest daughter is contaminated.

Con.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now;
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

Orl.
We are enow 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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