Then tell us, shall your city call us lord In that behalf which we have challeng'd it; Or shall we give the signal to our rage, And stalk in blood to our possession? CITIZEN. In brief: we are the King of England's subjects; For him, and in his right, we hold this town. KING JOHN. Acknowledge then the King, and let me in. 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. 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 swing'd the dragon, and e'er since Sits on's horse back 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 Here, after excursions, enter the HERALD OF FRANCE, with trumpets, to the gates FRENCH HERALD. You men of Angiers, open wide your gates And let young Arthur, Duke of Britaine, in, Who by the hand of France this day hath made Much work for tears in many an English mother, Whose sons lie scattered on the bleeding ground; Many a widow's husband grovelling lies, Coldly embracing the discoloured earth; And victory with little loss doth play Upon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand, triumphantly displayed, To enter conquerors, and to proclaim Arthur of Britaine England's King and yours. Enter ENGLISH HERALD, with trumpet