The Chronicle Historie
1615856Nor as we are, we
say we will not
shun it.
1617857Herauld. I
shall deliuer
so: thanks to your Maie
stie.
1619858Glos. My Liege, I hope they will not come vpon vs now.
1620859King. We are in Gods hand brother, not in theirs:
1621860To night we will encampe beyond the bridge,
1623861And on to morrow bid them march away.
1624862Enter Burbon, Constable, Orleance, Gebon. 1626863Const. Tut I haue the be
st armour in the world.
1628864Orleance. You haue an excellent armour,
865But let my hor
se haue his due.
1628.1866Burbon. Now you talke of a hor
se, I haue a
steed like the
1646867Palfrey of the
sun, nothing but pure ayre and
fire,
868And hath none of this dull element of earth within him.
1644869Orleance. He is of the colour of the Nutmeg.
1645870Bur. And of the heate, a the Ginger.
1660871Turne all the
sands into eloquent tongues,
1661872And my hor
se is argument for them all:
1665873I once writ a Sonnet in the prai
se of my hor
se,
1666874And began thus. Wonder of nature.
1667875Con. I haue heard a Sonnet begin
so,
876In the prai
se of ones Mi
stre
sse.
1669877Burb. Why then did they immitate that
878Which I writ in prai
se of my hor
se,
1670879For my hor
se is my mi
stre
sse.
1674880Con. Ma foy the other day, me thought
881Your mi
stre
sse
shooke you
shrewdly.
1687882Bur. I bearing me. I tell thee Lord Con
stable,
883My mi
stre
sse weares her owne haire.
1689884Con. I could make as good a boa
st of that,
885If I had had a
sow to my mi
stre
sse.
1692886Bur. Tut thou wilt make v
se of any thing.
1693887Con. Yet I do not v
se my hor
se for my mi
stre
sse.
1706888Bur. Will it neuer be morning?
889Ile ride too morrow a mile,
1707890And my way
shalbe paued with Engli
sh faces.
Con. By