The same.
[Enter the KING OF FRANCE,
the DAUPHIN, the DUKE oF
BOURBON, the Constable
Of France, and others]
KING OF FRANCE
‘Tis certain he hath pass’d the river Somme.
Constable And if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France; let us quit all
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
BOURBON
Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!
Mort de ma vie! if they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom,
To buy a slobbery and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.
Constable Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle?
Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull,
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
Seem frosty?
DAUPHIN By faith and honour,
Our madams mock at us, and plainly say
Our mettle is bred out and they will give
Their bodies to the lust of English youth
To new-store France with bastard warriors.
KING OF FRANCE
Where is Montjoy the herald? speed him hence:
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
Up, princes! and, with spirit of honour edged
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur:
Go down upon him, you have power enough,
And in a captive chariot into Rouen
Bring him our prisoner.
Constable This becomes the great.
Sorry am I his numbers are so few,
His soldiers sick and famish’d in their march,
For I am sure, when he shall see our army,
He’ll drop his heart into the sink of fear
And for achievement offer us his ransom.
KING OF FRANCE
Therefore, lord constable, haste on Montjoy.
Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.
DAUPHIN Not so, I do beseech your majesty.
KING OF FRANCE
Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
Now forth, lord constable and princes all,
And quickly bring us word of England’s fall.
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