The Life of Henry the Fift.
[Act 4, Scene 2]
Enter the Dolphin, Orleance, Ramburs, and
Beaumont.
Orleance.
The Sunne doth gild our Armour vp, my Lords.
Dolph.
Ha.
Orleance.
Oh braue Spirit.
Dolph.
Via les ewes & terre.
Orleance.
Rien puis le air & feu.
Dolph.
Enter Constable.
Now my Lord Constable?
Const.
Hearke how our Steedes, for present Seruice
neigh.
Dolph.
Mount them, and make incision in their Hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And doubt them with superfluous courage: ha.
Ram.
What, wil you haue them weep our Horses blood?
How shall we then behold their naturall teares?
Enter Messenger.
Messeng.
The English are embattail'd, you French
Peeres.
Const.
To Horse you gallant Princes, straight to Horse.
Doe but behold yond poore and starued Band,
And your faire shew shall suck away their Soules,
Leauing them but the shales and huskes of men.
There is not worke enough for all our hands,
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly Veines,
To giue each naked Curtleax a stayne,
That our French Gallants shall to day draw out,
And sheath for lack of sport. Let vs but blow on them,
The vapour of our Valour will o're-turne them.
'Tis positiue against all exceptions, Lords,
That our superfluous Lacquies, and our Pesants,
Who in vnnecessarie action swarme
About our Squares of Battaile, were enow
To purge this field of such a hilding Foe;
Though we vpon this Mountaines Basis by,
Tooke stand for idle speculation:
But that our Honours must not. What's to say;
A very little little let vs doe,
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 downe in feare, and yeeld.
Enter Graundpree.
Grandpree.
Why do you stay so long, my Lords of France?
Yond Iland Carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-fauoredly become the Morning field:
Their ragged Curtaines poorely are let loose,
And our Ayre shakes them passing scornefully.
Bigge
And faintly through a rustie Beuer peepes.
The Horsemen sit like fixed Candlesticks,
With Torch-staues in their hand: and their poore Iades
Lob downe their heads, dropping the hides and hips:
The gumme downe roping from their pale-dead eyes,
And in their pale dull mouthes the Iymold Bitt
Lyes foule with chaw'd-grasse, still and motionlesse.
And their executors, the knauish Crowes,
Flye o're them all, impatient for their howre.
Description cannot sute it selfe in words,
To demonstrate the Life of such a Battaile,
In life so liuelesse, as it shewes it selfe.
Const.
They haue said their prayers,
And they stay for death.
Dolph.
Shall we goe send them Dinners, and fresh Sutes,
Beaumont.
Monte Cheual:My Horse,
Verlot Lacquay:
Ha.
[2100]
Cein, Cousin
Orleance.
[2105]
neigh.
[2110]
Peeres.
[2115]
[2120]
[2125]
[2130]
[2135]
[2140]
Marsseemes banqu'rout in their begger'd Hoast,
[2145]
[2150]
[2155]
