_Bast._ By all the blood that ever fury breathed, The youth says well. Now hear our English king; For thus his royalty doth speak in me. He is prepared, and reason too he should:[601] 130 This apish and unmannerly approach, This harness'd masque and unadvised revel, This unhair'd sauciness and boyish troops,[602] The king doth smile at; and is well prepared To whip this dwarfish war, these pigmy arms,[603] 135 From out the circle of his territories. That hand which had the strength, even at your door, To cudgel you and make you take the hatch, To dive like buckets in concealed wells, To crouch in litter of your stable planks, 140 To lie like pawns lock'd up in chests and trunks, To hug with swine, to seek sweet safety out[604] In vaults and prisons, and to thrill and shake Even at the crying of your nation's crow,[605] Thinking his voice an armed Englishman;[606] 145 Shall that victorious hand be feebled here, That in your chambers gave you chastisement? No: know the gallant monarch is in arms And like an eagle o'er his aery towers,[607] To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. 150 And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,[608] You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb Of your dear mother England, blush for shame; For your own ladies and pale-visaged maids Like Amazons come tripping after drums, 155 Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,[609] Their needles to lances, and their gentle hearts[610] To fierce and bloody inclination. _Lew._ There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace; We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well;[611] 160 We hold our time too precious to be spent With such a brabbler.[612] _Pand._ Give me leave to speak. _Bast._ No, I will speak. _Lew._ We will attend to neither. Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war Plead for our interest and our being here. 165 _Bast._ Indeed, your drums, being beaten, will cry out; And so shall you, being beaten: do but start An echo with the clamour of thy drum, And even at hand a drum is ready braced That shall reverberate all as loud as thine;[613] 170 Sound but another, and another shall As loud as thine rattle the welkin's ear And mock the deep-mouth'd thunder: for at hand, Not trusting to this halting legate here, Whom he hath used rather for sport than need, 175 Is warlike John; and in his forehead sits A bare-ribb'd death, whose office is this day[614] To feast upon whole thousands of the French. _Lew._ Strike up our drums, to find this danger out.