Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,[8]
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot:
Follow your spirit; and, upon this charge,
Cry—God for Harry! England! and Saint George!
The English charge upon the breach, headed by the King. Alarums. The Governor of the Town appears on the walls with a flag of truce.