No Fear Act 3 Scene 5
No Fear Act 3 Scene 5 Page 2

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20Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
Seem frosty? Oh, for honor of our land,
Let us not hang like roping icicles
Upon our houses' thatch, whiles a more frosty people
25Sweat drops of gallant youth in our rich fields!
“Poor” we may call them in their native lords.
honor of our land, let us not hang like ropes of icicles off the thatched roofs of our houses while men of a more frosty temperament sweat off their own gallant youth in our rich fields! Our fields may be rich, but they are ruled poorly.

DAUPHIN

By faith and honor,
Our madams mock at us and plainly say
Our mettle is bred out and they will give
30Their bodies to the lust of English youth
To new-store France with bastard warriors.

DAUPHIN

By faith and honor, our wives mock us, telling us brazenly that our vigor has been so bred out of us that they plan to give their bodies to the lusty youth of England to resupply France with men who, though bastards, will at least be warriors.

BOURBON

And teach lavoltas high, and swift corantos,
Saying our grace is only in our heels
And that we are most lofty runaways.
35They bid us to the
English dancing schools.

BOURBON

They tell us we’d be better off in English dancing schools, where we could teach the latest dances, as our grace is all in our heels; we are no better than high-class deserters.

KING OF FRANCE

Where is Montjoy the herald? Speed him hence.
Let him greet England with our sharp defiance.
Up, princes, and, with spirit of honor edged
40More sharper than your swords, hie to the field:
Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France;
You dukes of Orléans, Bourbon, and of Berri,
Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy;
Jacques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont,
45Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Faulconbridge,
Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois;
High dukes, great princes, barons, lords, and knights,
For your great seats now quit you of great shames.
Bar Harry England, that sweeps through our land
50With pennons painted in the blood of Harfleur.
Rush on his host, as doth the melted snow
Upon the valleys, whose low vassal seat
The Alps doth spit and void his rheum upon.
Go down upon him—you have power enough—
55And in a captive chariot into Rouen
Bring him our prisoner.

KING OF FRANCE

Where is Montjoy, the herald? Send him on his way quickly. Tell him to greet the king of England with our sharp defiance. Rise, princes, and, with a spirit of honor more sharply edged than your swords, rush to the battlefield: Charles Delabreth, High Constable of France; you dukes of Orléans, Bourbon, Berri, Alençon, Brabant, Bar, and Burgundy; Jaques Chatillon, Rambures, Vaudemont, Beaumont, Grandpré, Roussi, and Fauconberg, Foix, Lestrale, Bouciqualt, and Charolois. High dukes, great princes, barons, lords and knights—for the sake of the great positions you hold, rid yourselves of this great shame. Stop Harry of England, who is now sweeping through our land with banners drenched in the French blood he spilled at Harfleur. Rush on his army the way the melting snow of the Alps spits on the low valleys below them. Descend on him: you have power enough. And bring him into Rouen as our prisoner.