Orl. Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yon island carrions,[15] desperate of their bones,
Ill-favour’dly become the morning field:
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,[16]
And our air shakes them passing scornfully:
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar’d host,
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o’er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle