O diable!

Mort de ma vie!

Oh, what a day is this!

Aujourd'hui haute. All is gone; all is lost.

We are enough yet living in the field

13.624791180To smother up the English,

13.724801181If any order might be thought upon.

A plague of order! Once more to the field,

13.924711183And he that will not follow Bourbon now,

13.1024721184Let him go home and, with his cap in hand

13.1124731185Like a base leno, hold the chamber door,

13.1224741186Whilst by a slave no gentler than my dog,

13.1324751187His fairest daughter is contaminate.

Disorder that hath spoiled us, right us now.

13.1524771189Come we: in heaps we'll offer up our lives

13.162477.11190Unto these English, or else die with fame.

13.172477.21191Come, come along,

13.1824821192Let's die with honor; our shame doth last too long.