not the crown of England prove the king? And if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England's breed,-- Bastards, and else. To verify our title with their lives. As many and as well-born bloods as those,-- Some bastards too. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom's king! Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to arms! Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e'er since Sits on his horseback at mine hostess' door, Teach us some fence! Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, with your lioness I would set an ox-head to your lion's hide, And make a monster of you. Peace! no more. O tremble, for you hear the lion roar. Up higher to the plain; where we'll set forth In best appointment all our regiments. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. It shall be so; and at the other hill Command the rest to stand. God and our right! You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour'd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly display'd, To enter conquerors and to proclaim Arthur of Bretagne England's king and yours. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: King John, your king and England's doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day: Their armours, that march'd hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen's blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest That is removed by a staff of France; Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march'd forth; And, like a troop of jolly huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates and gives the victors way. Heralds, from off our towers we might behold, From first to last, the onset and retire Of both your armies; whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured: Blood hath bought blood and blows have answered blows; Strength