My army but a weak and sickly guard:
Yet, Heaven before,[20] tell him we will come on,
Though France himself,[21] and such another neighbour,
Stand in our way. There’s for thy labour, Montjoy.
Go, bid thy master well advise himself:
If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder’d,
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolour:([C]) and so, Montjoy, fare you well.
The sum of all our answer is but this:
We would not seek a battle, as we are;