Enter the KING OF FRANCE, the DAUPHIN, the duke of BOURBON, the CONSTABLE of France, and others
KING OF FRANCE
'Tis certain he hath passed the river Somme.
An if he be not fought withal, my lord,
Let us not live in France. Let us quit all
And give our vineyards to a barbarous people.
Ô Dieu vivant, shall a few sprays of us,
The emptying of our fathers' luxury,
Our scions, put in wild and savage stock,
Spurt up so suddenly into the clouds
And overlook their grafters?
10Normans, but bastard Normans, Norman bastards!
Mort de ma vie, if they march along
Unfought withal, but I will sell my dukedom
To buy a slobb'ry and a dirty farm
In that nook-shotten isle of Albion.
Dieu de batailles, where have they this mettle?
Is not their climate foggy, raw, and dull,
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-reined jades, their barley broth,