1:29:08
Hark how our steeds
for present service neigh.
1:29:13
Mount them and make incision
in their hides...
1:29:16
that their hot blood
may spin in English eyes.
1:29:20
Do but behold
yon poor and starved band.
1:29:24
Your fair show shall
suck away their souls,
1:29:27
leaving them but
the shales and husks of men.
1:29:30
There is not work enough
for all our hands.
1:29:33
Why do you stay so long,
my lords of france?
1:29:36
Yon island carrions, desperate of their
bones, ill-favoredly become the morning field.
1:29:40
They have said their prayers,
and they stay for death.
1:29:45
A very little little let us do,
and all is done.
1:29:50
Then let the trumpets sound the
tucket sonance and the note to mount...
1:29:54
for our approach will
so much dare the field...
1:29:58
that England shall crouch down
in fear... and yield!
1:30:08
[Chattering]
1:30:18
Where is the king?
1:30:19
The king himself has rode
to view their battle.
1:30:31
Of fighting men,
they have full threescore thousand.
1:30:35
That's five to one.
Besides, they are all fresh.
1:30:41
'Tis a fearful odds.
1:30:43
Oh, that we now had here but one ten
thousand of those men in England...
1:30:48
That do no work today.
1:30:50
What's he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland?
1:30:58
No, my fair cousin.