[♦] And not these bastard Bretons, whom our fathers
Have in their own land beaten, bobb’d, and thump’d,
[335] And in record left them the heirs of shame.
[♦] Shall these enjoy our lands? lie with our wives?
[♦] Ravish our daughters? [Drum afar off.] Hark! I hear their drum.
[♦] Fight, gentlemen of England! fight, bold yeomen!
[♦] Draw, archers, draw your arrows to the head!
340 Spur your proud horses hard, and ride in blood;
[♦] Amaze the welkin with your broken staves!
Enter a Messenger.