[Sennet. Flourish. Exeunt all but Exeter.]
EXETER.
Ay, we may march in England or in France,
Not seeing what is likely to ensue.
This late dissension grown betwixt the peers
Burns under feigned ashes of forged love,
And will at last break out into a flame;
As festered members rot but by degree
Till bones and flesh and sinews fall away,
So will this base and envious discord breed.
And now I fear that fatal prophecy
Which in the time of Henry named the Fifth
Was in the mouth of every sucking babe:
That Henry born at Monmouth should win all,
And Henry born at Windsor lose all,
Which is so plain that Exeter doth wish
His days may finish ere that hapless time.
[Exit.]
SCENE II. France. Before Rouen.
Enter La Pucelle with four Soldiers with sacks upon their backs.
PUCELLE.
These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen,
Through which our policy must make a breach.
Take heed, be wary how you place your words;
Talk like the vulgar sort of market men
That come to gather money for their corn.
If we have entrance, as I hope we shall,
And that we find the slothful watch but weak,
I’ll by a sign give notice to our friends,
That Charles the Dauphin may encounter them.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Our sacks shall be a mean to sack the city,
And we be lords and rulers over Rouen;
Therefore we’ll knock. [Knocks.]
WATCH.
[Within.] Qui est la?
PUCELLE.
Paysans, la pauvres gens de France:
Poor market folks that come to sell their corn.
WATCH.
Enter, go in; the market bell is rung.