The Same. Another Room in the Palcae.
 Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the Duke of BRETAGNE,
 the CONSTABLE of France, and OTHERS.

French King	'Tis certain he hath passed 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.

Dauphin	O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us,
	The emptying of our father's luxury,
	Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
	Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds,
	And overlook their grafters?

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 slobb'ry 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? Can sodden water,
	A drench for surreined jades, their barley broth,
	Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
	And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
	Seem frosty? O, for honour of our land
	Let us not hang like roping icicles
	Upon our houses' thatch whiles a more frosty people
	Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields!
	"Poor" we may call them in their native lords.

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.

Bourbon	They bid us to the English dancing-schools,
	And teach lavoltas high and swift corantos;
	Saying our grace is only in our heels,
	And that we are most lofty runaways.

French King	Where is Montjoy the Herald? Speed him hence.
	Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
	Up, princes! And, with spirit of honour edged
	More sharper than your swords, hie to the field.
	Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;
	You Dukes of Orleans, Bourbon, and of Berri,
	Alenon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
	Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,
	Beaumont, Grandpr, Roussi, and Faulconbridge,
	Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolais;
	High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,
	For your great seats now quit you of great shames:
	Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
	With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur;
	Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow
	Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat
	The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon;
	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 famished 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.

French King	Therefore, Lord Constable, haste on Montjoy,
	And let him say to England that we send
	To know what willing ransom he will give.
	Prince Dauphin, you shall stay with us in Rouen.

Dauphin	Not so, I do beseech your majesty.

French King	Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
	Now forth, Lord Constable and princes all,
	And quickly bring us word of England's fall.
													[Exeunt.
