speak. We will attend to neither. Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest and our being here. Indeed your drums, being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten: do but start An echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready braced That shall reverberate all as loud as thine; Sound but another, and another shall As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand, Not trusting to this halting legate here, Whom he hath used rather for sport than need Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day To feast upon whole thousands of the French. Strike up our drums, to find this danger out. And thou shalt find it, Dauphin, do not doubt. How goes the day with us? O, tell me, Hubert. Badly, I fear. How fares your majesty? This fever, that hath troubled me so long, Lies heavy on me; O, my heart is sick! My lord, your valiant kinsman, Faulconbridge, Desires your majesty to leave the field And send him word by me which way you go. Tell him, toward Swinstead, to the abbey there. Be of good comfort; for the great supply That was expected by the Dauphin here, Are wreck'd three nights ago on Goodwin Sands. This news was brought to Richard but even now: The French fight coldly, and retire themselves. Ay me! this tyrant fever burns me up, And will not let me welcome this good news. Set on toward Swinstead: to my litter straight; Weakness possesseth me, and I am faint. I did not think the king so stored with friends. Up once again; put spirit in the French: If they miscarry, we miscarry too. That misbegotten devil, Faulconbridge, In spite of spite, alone upholds the day. They say King John sore sick hath left the field. Lead me to the revolts of England here. When we were happy we had other names. It is the Count Melun. Wounded to death. Fly, noble English, you are bought and sold; Unthread the rude eye of rebellion And welcome home again discarded faith. Seek out King John and fall before his feet; For if the French be lords of this loud day, He means to recompense the pains you take By cutting off your heads: thus hath he sworn And I with him, and many moe with me, Upon the altar at Saint Edmundsbury; Even on that altar where we swore to you