. Complete works of William Shakespeare . l, shall fleet,In dreadful trial of our kingdoms king! [arms! K. Phi. Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to Bast. Saint George, that swinged the dragon,and eer sinceSits on his horseback at mine hostess door, [home,Teach us some fence! [To Aust.] Sirrah, were I at290At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,I would set an ox head to your lions hide,And make a monster of you. Aust. Peace! no more. Bast. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar. K. John. Up higher to the plain; where we 11In best appointment all our regiments, [set forth Bast. Speed then, to take
. Complete works of William Shakespeare . l, shall fleet,In dreadful trial of our kingdoms king! [arms! K. Phi. Amen, amen! Mount, chevaliers! to Bast. Saint George, that swinged the dragon,and eer sinceSits on his horseback at mine hostess door, [home,Teach us some fence! [To Aust.] Sirrah, were I at290At your den, sirrah, with your lioness,I would set an ox head to your lions hide,And make a monster of you. Aust. Peace! no more. Bast. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar. K. John. Up higher to the plain; where we 11In best appointment all our regiments, [set forth Bast. Speed then, to take advantage of the field. K. Phi. It shall be so; and at the other hillCommand the rest to stand. God and our right! [Exeunt. Here after excursions, enter the Herald of France, withtrumpets, to the gates. F. Her. You men of Angiers, open wide your300And let young Arthur, Duke of Bretagne, in, [gates,Who by the hand of France this day hath madeMuch work for tears in many an English mother,Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; 27. Act ii. mxiQ 5obm Many a widows husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolourd earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly displayd, To enter conquerors and to proclaim 310 Arthur of Bretagne Englands king and yours. Enter English Herald, with trumpet. E. Her. Kejoice, you men of Angiers, ring yourbells;King John, your king and Englands, doth approach,Commander of this hot malicious day:Their armours, that marchd hence so silver-bright,Hither return all gilt with Frenchmens blood;There stuck no plume in any English crestThat is removed by a staff of France;Our colours do return in those same handsThat did display them when we first marchd forth; 320And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, comeOur lusty English, all with purpled hands,Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes:Open your gates and give the victors way. [behold, First Cit. Heralds, from off our towers
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