The sun doth gild our armor. Up, my 2168lords!

Montez à cheval: my horse, varlet lackey, 2170ha!

Oh, brave spirit!

Via les eaux et terres.

Rien plus? L'air et feu?

Cieux, Cousin Orléans.

Cieux, Cousin Orléans. 2175Now my lord constable?

Hark how our steeds for present service 2177neigh.

Mount them, and make incision in their hides,

4.2.92179That their hot blood may spin in English eyes

4.2.102180And d'out them with superfluous courage. Ha!

What, will you have them weep our horses' blood?

4.2.122182How shall we then behold their natural tears?

The English are embattled, you French 2185peers.

To horse, you gallant princes, straight to horse!

4.2.152187Do but behold yon poor and starvèd band

4.2.162188And your fair show shall suck away their souls,

4.2.172189Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.

4.2.182190There is not work enough for all our hands,

4.2.192191Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins

4.2.202192To give each naked curtle-ax a stain

4.2.212193That our French gallants shall today draw out

4.2.222194And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,

4.2.232195The vapor of our valor will o'erturn them.

4.2.242196'Tis positive against all exceptions, lords,

4.2.252197That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,

4.2.262198Who in unnecessary action swarm

4.2.272199About our squares of battle, were enough

4.2.282200To purge this field of such a hilding foe

4.2.292201Though we upon this mountain's basis by

4.2.302202Took stand for idle speculation,

4.2.312203But that our honors must not. What's to say?

4.2.322204A very little little let us do

4.2.332205And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound

4.2.342206The tucket sonance and the note to mount,

4.2.352207For our approach shall so much dare the field

4.2.362208That England shall couch down in fear and yield.

Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?

4.2.382211Yon island carrions, desperate of their bones,

4.2.392212Ill-favoredly become the morning field.

4.2.402213Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose

4.2.412214And our air shakes them passing scornfully.

4.2.422215Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host

4.2.432216And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.

4.2.442217The horsemen sit like fixèd candlesticks

4.2.452218With torch-staves in their hand, and their poor jades

4.2.462219Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,

4.2.472220The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes,

4.2.482221And in their pale dull mouths the gemelled bit

4.2.492222Lies foul with chawed grass, still and motionless;

4.2.502223And their executors, the knavish crows,

4.2.512224Fly o'er them all, impatient for their hour.

4.2.522225Description cannot suit itself in words

4.2.532226To demonstrate the life of such a battle

4.2.542227In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

They have said their prayers, 2229and they stay for death.

Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits

4.2.572231And give their fasting horses provender,

4.2.582232And after fight with them?

I stay but for my guard. On 2234to the field;

4.2.60I will the banner from a trumpet take

4.2.612235And use it for my haste. Come, come away.

4.2.622236The sun is high and we outwear the day.