CITIZEN. That can we not; but he that proves the King, To him will we prove loyal. Till that time Have we ramm’d up our gates against the world. KING JOHN. Doth not the crown of England prove the King? And if not that, I bring you witnesses, Twice fifteen thousand hearts of England’s breed— BASTARD. Bastards and else. KING JOHN. To verify our title with their lives. KING PHILIP. As many and as well-born bloods as those— BASTARD. Some bastards too. KING PHILIP. Stand in his face to contradict his claim. FIRST CITIZEN. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both. KING JOHN. Then God forgive the sin of all those souls That to their everlasting residence, Before the dew of evening fall, shall fleet, In dreadful trial of our kingdom’s king! KING PHILIP. Amen, Amen!—Mount, chevaliers! To arms! BASTARD. Saint George, that swinged the dragon, and e’er since Sits on ’s horseback at mine hostess’ door, Teach us some fence! [_To Austria_.] Sirrah, were I at home, At your den, sirrah, with your lioness, I would set an ox-head to your lion’s hide, And make a monster of you. AUSTRIA. Peace! No more. BASTARD. O, tremble, for you hear the lion roar. KING JOHN. Up higher to the plain; where we’ll set forth In best appointment all our regiments. BASTARD. Speed, then, to take advantage of the field. KING PHILIP. It shall be so; and at the other hill Command the rest to stand. God and our right! [_Exeunt severally._] Here, after excursions, enter a Herald of France with Trumpets, to the gates. FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates, And let young Arthur, Duke of Brittany, in, Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scatter’d on the bleeding ground. Many a widow’s husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discolour’d earth; And victory, with little loss, doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly display’d, To enter conquerors, and to proclaim Arthur of Brittany England’s king and yours. Enter English Herald with Trumpet. ENGLISH HERALD. Rejoice, you men of Angiers, ring your bells: King John, your king and England’s, doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day. Their armours, that march’d hence so silver-bright, Hither return all gilt with Frenchmen’s blood; There stuck no plume in any English crest That is removed by a staff of France, Our colours do return in those same hands That did display them when we first march’d forth; And, like a jolly troop of huntsmen, come Our lusty English, all with purpled hands, Dyed in the dying slaughter of their foes: Open your gates and give the victors way.