Act 4 - Scene 2

The French camp.

Enter the DAUPHIN, ORLEANS, RAMBURES, and others


The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!


Montez A cheval! My horse! varlet! laquais! ha!


O brave spirit!


Via! les eaux et la terre.


Rien puis? L'air et la feu.


Ciel, cousin Orleans.

Enter Constable

Now, my lord constable!


Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!


Mount them, and make incision in their hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!


What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?
How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?

Enter Messenger


The English are embattled, you French peers.


To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show 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-axe a stain,
That our French gallants shall to-day draw out,
And sheathe 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

  By PanEris using Melati.

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