Be these the wretches that we play’d at dice for?
Orl. (L.C.) Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?
Dau. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!
Let us die in honor: Once more back again.
Con. (C.) Disorder, that hath spoil’d us, friend us now!
Let us in heaps go offer up our lives
Unto these English, or else die with fame.
Dau. (R.C.) We are enough, yet living in the field,
To smother up the English in our throngs,
If any order might be thought upon.