my fury shall abate, and I the crowns will take. Petit monsieur, que dit-il? Encore qu'il est contre son jurement de pardonner aucun prisonnier, neanmoins, pour les ecus que vous l'avez promis, il est content de vous donner la liberte, le franchisement. Sur mes genoux je vous donne mille remercimens; et je m'estime heureux que je suis tombe entre les mains d'un chevalier, je pense, le plus brave, vaillant, et tres distingue seigneur d'Angleterre. Expound unto me, boy. He gives you, upon his knees, a thousand thanks; and he esteems himself happy that he hath fallen into the hands of one, as he thinks, the most brave, valorous, and thrice-worthy signieur of England. As I suck blood, I will some mercy show. Follow me! Suivez-vous le grand capitaine. I did never know so full a voice issue from so empty a heart: but the saying is true 'The empty vessel makes the greatest sound.' Bardolph and Nym had ten times more valour than this roaring devil i' the old play, that every one may pare his nails with a wooden dagger; and they are both hanged; and so would this be, if he durst steal any thing adventurously. I must stay with the lackeys, with the luggage of our camp: the French might have a good prey of us, if he knew of it; for there is none to guard it but boys. O diable! O seigneur! le jour est perdu, tout est perdu! Mort de ma vie! all is confounded, all! Reproach and everlasting shame Sits mocking in our plumes. O merchante fortune! Do not run away. Why, all our ranks are broke. O perdurable shame! let's stab ourselves. Be these the wretches that we play'd at dice for? Is this the king we sent to for his ransom? Shame and eternal shame, nothing but shame! Let us die in honour: once more back again; And he that will not follow Bourbon now, Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand, Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog, His fairest daughter is contaminated. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now! Let us on heaps go offer up our lives. We are enow yet living in the field To smother up the English in our throngs, If any order might be thought upon. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng: Let life be short; else shame will be too long. Well have we done, thrice valiant countrymen: But all's not done; yet keep the French the field