[Sc. XV.]
Enter the foure French Lords.
Ge. O diabello.
Const. Mor du ma vie.
Or. O what a day is this!
Bur. O Iour dei houte all is gone, all is lost.
Con. We are inough yet liuing in the field,[5541]5
To smother up the English,
If any order might be thought vpon.
Bur. A plague of order, once more to the field,[5542]
And he that will not follow Burbon now,
Let him go home, and with his cap in hand,10
Like a bace leno hold the chamber doore,[5543]
Why least by a slaue no gentler then my dog,
His fairest daughter is contamuracke.
Con. Disorder that hath spoyld vs, right vs now,
Come we in heapes, weele offer vp our liues15
Vnto these English, or else die with fame.
Come, come along,
Lets dye with honour, our shame doth last too long.
Exit omnes.