Iohn. Doth not the Crowne of England, prooue the King? And if not that, I bring you Witnesses Twice fifteene thousand hearts of Englands breed Bast. Bastards and else Iohn. To verifie our title with their liues Fran. As many and as well-borne bloods as those Bast. Some Bastards too Fran. Stand in his face to contradict his claime Cit. Till you compound whose right is worthiest, We for the worthiest hold the right from both Iohn. Then God forgiue the sinne of all those soules, That to their euerlasting residence, Before the dew of euening fall, shall fleete In dreadfull triall of our kingdomes King Fran. Amen, Amen, mount Cheualiers to Armes Bast. Saint George that swindg'd the Dragon, And ere since sit's on's horsebacke at mine Hostesse dore Teach vs some sence. Sirrah, were I at home At your den sirrah, with your Lionnesse, I would set an Oxe-head to your Lyons hide: And make a monster of you Aust. Peace, no more Bast. O tremble: for you heare the Lyon rore Iohn. Vp higher to the plaine, where we'l set forth In best appointment all our Regiments Bast. Speed then to take aduantage of the field Fra. It shall be so, and at the other hill Command the rest to stand, God and our right. Exeunt. Heere after excursions, Enter the Herald of France with Trumpets to the gates. F.Her. You men of Angiers open wide your gates, And let yong Arthur Duke of Britaine in, Who by the hand of France, this day hath made Much worke for teares in many an English mother, Whose sonnes lye scattered on the bleeding ground: Many a widdowes husband groueling lies, Coldly embracing the discoloured earth, And victorie with little losse doth play Vpon the dancing banners of the French, Who are at hand triumphantly displayed To enter Conquerors, and to proclaime Arthur of Britaine, Englands King, and yours. Enter English Herald with Trumpet. E.Har. Reioyce you men of Angiers, ring your bels, King Iohn, your king and Englands, doth approach, Commander of this hot malicious day, Their Armours that march'd hence so siluer bright, Hither returne all gilt with Frenchmens blood: There stucke no plume in any English Crest, That is remoued by a staffe of France. Our colours do returne in those same hands That did display them when we first marcht forth: And like a iolly troope of Huntsmen come Our lustie English, all with purpled hands, Dide in the dying slaughter of their foes, Open your gates, and giue the Victors way Hubert. Heralds, from off our towres we might behold From first to last, the on-set and retyre: Of both your Armies, whose equality By our best eyes cannot be censured: Blood hath bought blood, and blowes haue answerd blowes: Strength matcht with strength, and power confronted power, Both are alike, and both alike we like: One must proue greatest. While they weigh so euen, We hold our Towne for neither: yet for both. Enter the two Kings with their powers, at seuerall doores.