University of Virginia Library

SCENE V.

The Field of Battle.
Enter Constable, Dauphin, and Bourbon.
Dauph.
Mort de ma vie, all is confounded, all!
Reproach and everlasting shame
Sits mocking in our plumes.

Const.
Why all our ranks are broke.

Daup.
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?

Const.
Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now;
Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

Daup.
We are enow yet living in the field
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.

Const.
I'll to the throng.
Let life be short, else shame will be too long.

[Exeunt.