Page 231 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

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,

To souse annoyance that comes near his nest. [150]
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame:

For your own ladies and pale-visag’d maids
Like Amazons come tripping after drums, [155]
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
Their needl’s to lances, and their gentle hearts

To fierce and bloody inclination.

LEWIS
There end thy brave, and turn thy face in peace;
We grant thou canst outscold us: fare thee well; [160]
We hold our time too precious to be spent

With such a brabbler.

PANDULPH

Give me leave to speak.

BASTARD
No, I will speak.

LEWIS
We will attend to neither.
Strike up the drums; and let the tongue of war
Plead for our interest and our being here. [165]

BASTARD
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 brac’d

That shall reverberate all, as loud as thine: [170]