Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins,
To give each naked curtle-ax a stain.
’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys, are enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe.[14]
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound:
For our approach shall so much dare the field,
That England shall couch down in fear, and yield.
Enter Orleans,([D]) hastily, R.H.