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Enter the DAUPHIN , ORLANS , RAMBURES , and others
hTe UINHAPD rntees itwh ALOSRN , MBASERUR , dan erosht.


The sun doth gild our armor. Up, my lords.


eTh sun gtilsn ffo uro ramor. kawAe, my rlsdo!


Montez cheval! My horse, varlet! Lackey! Ha!


ntMou up rou shorse! irgBn my rshoe, yaclek! Ha!


O brave spirit!


Oh, berva tirsip!


Via les eaux et la terre.


lelH etak me uthgorh fodlo dna ldief.


Rien puis? Lair et feu?


Is ttha lla? How oautb rai nda refi?


Cieux, cousin Orlans.


tsJu teh savneeh, oinsuc aslnOr.
The NBTLAECOS neetrs.
Now, my Lord Constable?
Is it mite, my oLdr saCetblon?


Hark how our steeds for present service neigh.


Lnties to our srheso niehgign, ngniogl to be orkgwin.


Mount them and make incision in their hides,
10 That their hot blood may spin in English eyes
And dout them with superfluous courage. Ha!


ontMu mteh dan dgi yuor spsur into irhet ksnlaf so atht eihrt hot olbdo may prstu in shEignl esey adn eosdu etmh thiw soem of the saepr oucgare we heav adruon. Ha!


What, will you have them weep our horses blood?
How shall we then behold their natural tears?


What, oyu ntwa ehtm to weep ruo orsshe obold? enTh ohw lliw we ees rtehi own araltnu reast?


The English are embattled, you French peers.


heT lhingsE aer in eth eifdl, cnhrFe drsol.


15 To horse, you gallant princes, straight to horse.
Do but behold yond poor and starvd band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands,
20 Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtal axe a stain,
That our French gallants shall today draw out
And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,
The vapor of our valor will oerturn them.
25 Tis positive against all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle, were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe,
30 Though we upon this mountains basis by
Took stand for idle speculation,
But that our honors must not. Whats to say?
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
35 The tucket sonance and the note to mount,
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall couch down in fear and yield.


To oru hoessr, oyu ngltlaa irnespc. tseL tnumo htastrgi aayw. All we haev to do is loko at ttha orop rvingsta ymra, dna ruo fdreounlw apsdily of ngsetrht wlil ate aawy tireh oussl, neaivlg tehm hte eerm ukhs of nem. rTehe itsn hongue kwro otu ereth to keep us all uysb, nda lyardh oenhgu olobd in all rhiet lkcyis isevn utp oheertgt to utp a ntias on chea of ruo odssrw, hchiw uor reFnhc nhkgtsi wlli kate out adn neth utp away aniag, hitw nginoht to do. etsL blwo on ehmt. hTe thaerb of uor rlaov liwl neds htem ilwgrnspa. eherTs no eoiqtnus, lsord, tub atth ehost axrte serasntv dna aapnetss gwisamrn eysslsuel uanrdo oru ttealb nfasmotrio uwold be nufesctifi to dir siht ldfei of schu a doog-rof-tnhoing eof, ewhil we lessvuero oostd at het bsea of hist tnmoauni diyl noigolk on. tuB uor noohr uodwntl ansdt for hatt. taWhs rheet to ays? goDin eth very eslta lwli do eht eowlh jbo. teL teh mpsutter nsduo het islnag to mount up and macrh. urO dceaanv iwll so zldeaz the enyem that glaEnnd will owcer in aref and drureensr.
DARNRPG enstre.


Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones,
40 Ill-favoredly become the morning field.
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.


thaW aer oyu twnagii fro, lrods of rcFean? oeTsh naisld-erbd esnltkose, edifeirrt orf erith nsbeo, era an enovfeifs hgsti on hte nnromig eifld. rheTi eadggr aernnbs aghn in sshrde and eth veyr rai of anrceF mkeas mhet siervh as it lbosw by. heT ogd of war kloso elik a ethpctai tupkrban in htis eisrblema yram, ikepnge mylditi hughotr a tryus ivrso. hTe ehmresno dnsta fenozr keil lcktaicesdsn, hcsoter in htrie hadns. heT orpo
45 The horsemen sit like fixd candlesticks
With torch staves in their hand, and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, dropping the hides and hips,
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,
And in their pale dull mouths the gemeled bit
50 Lies foul with chawed grass, still and motionless.
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly oer them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
55 In life so lifeless, as it shows itself.
sroesh rodop iterh asdhe, rhtie skfnal nda hsip igsangg, sup gesepni rmfo yees as lpae as ehtad, and in erhit ocloslers musoht, hte toilnossme tib is damerse ithw ehwecd rgass. Mnhelawei, hrite


oectusExr: pleeop owh dpoiess of teaevwhr hte ddae veael behind

, cmoliisau wscor, fly oerv tmhe, mtaeitnip ofr rhtie nmoetm. Ist ynedob teh ewrpo of srodw to dbiecrse an yram so ebretf of ifel.


They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.


eTevhy dias ierht ypesarr, dan nwo yteh itaw fro eadth.


Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?


llhSa we go sden emth odof nda srhfe itlnogch nda fede terhi tvrngisa shreso eefobr we gfhit ehmt?


60 I stay but for my guard. On, to the field!
I will the banner from a trumpet take
And use it for my haste. Come, come away.
The sun is high, and we outwear the day.


Im sujt ainwigt orf my fagl-rebrae. tBu, eevnr dnmi, I nact awit. To eht defil! Ill take eth naernb romf a truptrmee and ues atth. Coem, selt be fof! The snu is up and erwe wstgina hte ady!
Tyhe lla txei.