match'd with strength, and power confronted power: Both are alike; and both alike we like. One must prove greatest: while they weigh so even, We hold our town for neither, yet for both. France, hast thou yet more blood to cast away? Say, shall the current of our right run on? Whose passage, vex'd with thy impediment, Shall leave his native channel and o'erswell With course disturb'd even thy confining shores, Unless thou let his silver water keep A peaceful progress to the ocean. England, thou hast not saved one drop of blood, In this hot trial, more than we of France; Rather, lost more. And by this hand I swear, That sways the earth this climate overlooks, Before we will lay down our just-borne arms, We'll put thee down, 'gainst whom these arms we bear, Or add a royal number to the dead, Gracing the scroll that tells of this war's loss With slaughter coupled to the name of kings. Ha, majesty! how high thy glory towers, When the rich blood of kings is set on fire! O, now doth Death line his dead chaps with steel; The swords of soldiers are his teeth, his fangs; And now he feasts, mousing the flesh of men, In undetermined differences of kings. Why stand these royal fronts amazed thus? Cry, 'havoc!' kings; back to the stained field, You equal potents, fiery kindled spirits! Then let confusion of one part confirm The other's peace: till then, blows, blood and death! Whose party do the townsmen yet admit? Speak, citizens, for England; who's your king? The king of England; when we know the king. Know him in us, that here hold up his right. In us, that are our own great deputy And bear possession of our person here, Lord of our presence, Angiers, and of you. A greater power then we denies all this; And till it be undoubted, we do lock Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates; King'd of our fears, until our fears, resolved, Be by some certain king purged and deposed. By heaven, these scroyles of Angiers flout you, kings, And stand securely on their battlements, As in a theatre, whence they gape and point At your industrious scenes and acts of death. Your royal presences be ruled by me: Do like the mutines of Jerusalem, Be friends awhile and both conjointly bend Your sharpest deeds of malice on this town: By east and west let France and England mount Their battering cannon charged to the mouths, Till their soul-fearing clamours have brawl'd down The flinty ribs of this