2225Vp, vp Artoys, the ground it selfe is armd,

2226Fire containing flint, command our bowes

2227To hurle awaie their pretie colored Ew,

2228and to it with stones, awaie Artoys, awaie,

2229My soule doth prophesie we win the daie. Exeunt.

2231 Our multitudes are in themselues confounded,

2232Dismayed, and distraught, swift starting feare

2233Hath buzd a cold dismaie through all our armie,

2234and euerie pettie disaduantage promptes

2235The feare possessed abiect soule to flie,

2236My selfe whose spirit is steele to their dull lead,

2237What with recalling of the prophesie,

2238and that our natiue stones from English armes

2239Rebell against vs, finde my selfe attainted

2240With strong surprise of weake and yeelding feare.

2242 Fly father flie, the French do kill the French,

2243Some that would stand, let driue at some that flie,

2244Our drums strike nothing but discouragement,

2245Our trumpets sound dishonor, and retire,

2246The spirit of feare that feareth nought but death,

2247Cowardly workes confusion on it selfe.

2249 Plucke out your eies, and see not this daies shame,

2250An arme hath beate an armie, one poore Dauid

2251Hath with a stone foild twentie stout Goliahs,

2252Some twentie naked staruelings with small flints,

2253Hath driuen backe a puisant host of men,

2254Araid and fenst in al accomplements,

2255Ioh: Mordiu they quait at vs, and kill vs vp,

2256No lesse than fortie thousand wicked elders,

2257Haue fortie leane slaues this daie stoned to death.

2258Ch: O that I were some other countryman,

2259This daie hath set derision on the French,

2260and all the world wilt blurt and scorne at vs.

2261Kin: What is there no hope left?

2262Pr: No hope but death to burie vp our shame,

2 Make