I now give o'er the yielded set? No, no, on my soul, it never shall be said. You look but on the outside of this work. Outside or inside, I will not return Till my attempt so much be glorified As to my ample hope was promised Before I drew this gallant head of war, And cull'd these fiery spirits from the world, To outlook conquest and to win renown Even in the jaws of danger and of death. What lusty trumpet thus doth summon us? According to the fair play of the world, Let me have audience; I am sent to speak: My holy lord of Milan, from the king I come, to learn how you have dealt for him; And, as you answer, I do know the scope And warrant limited unto my tongue. The Dauphin is too wilful-opposite, And will not temporize with my entreaties; He flatly says he'll not lay down his arms. By all the blood that ever fury breathed, The youth says well. Now hear our English king; For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepared, and reason too he should: This apish and unmannerly approach, This harness'd masque and unadvised revel, This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops, The king doth smile at; and is well prepared To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms, From out the circle of his territories. That hand which had the strength, even at your door, To cudgel you and make you take the hatch, To dive like buckets in concealed wells, To crouch in litter of your stable planks, To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks, To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake Even at the crying of your nation's crow, Thinking his voice an armed Englishman; Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement? No: know the gallant monarch is in arms And like an eagle o'er his aery towers, To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts, You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame; For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids Like Amazons come tripping after drums, Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change, Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts To fierce and bloody inclination. There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler. Give me leave to speak. No, I will