Act III, Scene 5
Rouen. Another room in the French King’s palace.
- Enter the King of France, the Dauphin, the Duke of Britain,
- the Constable of France, and others.
- ’Tis certain he hath pass’d the river Somme.
Constable of France2 - 4
- 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.
Dauphin5 - 9
- O Dieu vivant! Shall a few sprays of us,
- The emptying of our fathers’ luxury,
- Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
- Spirt up so suddenly into the clouds
- And overlook their grafters?
Duke of Britain10 - 14
- Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!
- Mort Dieu, 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 of France15 - 26
- 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 sur-rein’d jades, their barley-broth,
- Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
- And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
- Seem frosty? O, for honor 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 call them in their native lords!
Dauphin27 - 31
- By faith and honor,
- 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.
Duke of Britain32 - 35
- 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 King36 - 55
- Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence,
- Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
- Up, princes, and, with spirit of honor edged
- More sharper than your swords, hie to the field!
- Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France,
- You Dukes of Orléans, Bourbon, and of Berri,
- Alanson, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy,
- Jacques Chatillion, Rambures, Vaudemont,
- Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Faulconbridge,
- Foix, Lestrake, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;
- 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 Roan
- Bring him our prisoner.
Constable of France56 - 61
- This becomes the great.
- Sorry am I his numbers are so few,
- His soldiers sick and famish’d 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 King62 - 65
- 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 Roan.
- Not so, I do beseech your Majesty.
French King67 - 69
- Be patient, for you shall remain with us.
- Now forth, Lord Constable and princes all,
- And quickly bring us word of England’s fall.