Go down upon him,—you have power enough,—
And in a captive chariot into Rouen
Bring him our prisoner.
Con.
This becomes the great.
Sorry am I his numbers are so few,
His soldiers sick, and famish’d in their march;
For, I am sure, when he shall see our army,
He’ll drop his heart into the sink of fear,
And, for achievement offer us his ransom.[4]