Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Const. But that our Honours must not. What's to say;
Const. A very little little let vs doe,
Const. And all is done: then let the Trumpets sound
Const. The Tucket Sonuance, and the Note to mount:
Const. For our approach shall so much dare the field,
Const. That England shall couch downe in feare, and yeeld.
Const. Enter Graundpree.
Grandpree. Grandpree.
Grandpree. Why do you stay so long, my Lords of France?
Grandpree. Yond Iland Carrions, desperate of their bones,
Grandpree. Ill-fauoredly become the Morning field:
Grandpree. Their ragged Curtaines poorely are let loose,
Grandpree. And our Ayre shakes them passing scornefully.
Grandpree. Bigge Mars seemes banqu'rout in their begger'd Hoast,
Grandpree. And faintly through a rustie Beuer peepes.
Grandpree. The Horsemen sit like fixed Candlesticks,
Grandpree. With Torch-staues in their hand: and their poore Iades
Grandpree. Lob downe their heads, dropping the hides and hips:
Grandpree. The gumme downe roping from their pale-dead eyes,
Grandpree. And in their pale dull mouthes the Iymold Bitt