Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Orleance. 'Tis not the first time you were ouer-shot.
Orleance. Enter a Messenger.
Mess. Mess.
Mess. My Lord high Constable, the English lye within fifteene hundred paces of your Tents.
Const. Const.
Const. Who hath measur'd the ground?
Mess. The Lord Grandpree.
Const. A valiant and most expert Gentleman. Would it were day? Alas poore Harry of England: hee longs not for the Dawning, as wee doe.
Orleance. Orleance.
Orleance. What a wretched and peeuish fellow is this King of England, to mope with his fat-brain'd followers so farre out of his knowledge.
Const. If the English had any apprehension, they would runne away.
Orleance. That they lack: for if their heads had any in- tellectuall Armour, they could neuer weare such heauie Head-pieces.
Ramb. Ramb.
Ramb. That Iland of England breedes very valiant Creatures; their Mastiffes are of vnmatchable cou rage.
Orleance. Foolish Curres, that runne winking into the mouth of a Russian Beare, and haue their heads crusht like rotten Apples: you may as well say, that's a valiant Flea, that dare eate his breakefast on the Lippe of a Lyon.