King. Dismissed with such contempt?
Gril. Yes, 'faith, we past like beaten Romans underneath the fork.
King. Give me my arms.
Gril. For what?
King. I'll lead you on.
Gril. You are a true lion, but my men are sheep;
If you run first, I'll swear they'll follow you.
King. What, all turned cowards? not a man in France
Dares set his foot by mine, and perish by me?
Gril. Troth, I can't find them much inclined to perishing.
King. What can be left in danger, but to dare?
No matter for my arms, I'll go barefaced,
And seize the first bold rebel that I meet.
Abb. There's something of divinity in kings,
That sits between their eyes, and guards their life.