_La Gloire._ Coward!--Cow----_Diable!_--a French soldier, who has the honour to carry arms under his christian majesty, Philip the Sixth, King of France, called coward! _Sacre bleu!_ Have I already served in three campaigns, and been thumped, and bobbed about, by the English, to be called coward at last! Oh, that any but my commander had said it! _Ribau._ Well, well, La Gloire, I may have been hasty: I---- _La Gloire._ Oh, my lord!--it--'tis no matter. But, haply, you'd like to be convinced of the courage of your company; and if such a thing as raising the enemy's camp can clear a man's character, I can do it as soon as---- [_Raising his Voice._ _Ribau._ 'Sdeath, blockhead! we shall be discovered. _La Gloire._ Coward! 'Sblood! I'll run into the English entrenchments! I'll go back, and tweak the fat centinel by the nose!--I'll---- [_Still louder._ _Ribau._ Peace! I command you, La Gloire! I command you, as your officer. _La Gloire._ I know my duty to my officer, my lord! [_Sulkily._ _Ribau._ Then move not:--here, sir, on this spot. [_Pointing forward._ _La Gloire._ [_Going to the Spot._] Coward! _Ribau._ Speak not, for your life! _La Gloire._ Cow----Umph! _Ribau._ Obey! [_LA GLOIRE stands motionless and silent.--A low Whistle._ _Ribau._ Ha! the signal! the morning breaks:--they arrive in the very nick. Now then, La Gloire, for the enterprize. Why does not the blockhead stir?--Well, well, my good fellow! I have been harsh: but--not yet?--Pshaw! this military enforcement has acted like a spell upon him.--How to dissolve it?--[_A low Whistle._]--Again!----Come, come, La Gloire! I--dull dolt!--I have it:----March! [_LA GLOIRE faces to the Left, and marches out after RIBAUMONT._ SCENE II. _The Place, in the Town of Calais._ _Enter an OFFICER, SERGEANT, and SOLDIERS.--CITIZENS enter severally during the Scene._ _Officer._ Bravely, good fellows! Courage! Why, still there's life in't. Sergeant! _Serg._ Your honour! _Officer._ How do the men bear up? Have they stout hearts still? _Serg._ I know not, sir, for their hearts; but I'll warrant them stout stomachs. Hunger is so powerful in them, that I fear me they'll munch their way through the stone walls of the city. _Officer._ This famine pinches. Poor rogues! Cheer them with hopes, good Sergeant.