Though 'tis no wisdom to confess so much
Unto an enemy of craft and ,— 156
My people are with sickness much enfeebled,
My numbers lessen'd, and those few I have
Almost no better than so many French:
Who, when they were in health, I tell thee, herald, 160
I thought upon one pair of English legs
Did march three Frenchmen. Yet, forgive me, God,
That I do brag thus! this your air of France
Hath that vice in me; I must repent. 164
Go therefore, tell thy master here I am:
My ransom is this frail and worthless trunk,
My army but a weak and sickly guard;
Yet, God before, tell him we will come on, 168
Though France himself and such another neighbour
Stand in our way. There's for thy labour, Montjoy.
Go, bid thy master well advise himself:
If we may pass, we will; if we be hinder'd, 172
We shall your tawny ground with your red blood
Discolour: and so, Montjoy, fare you well.
The sum of all our answer is but this:
We would not seek a battle as we are; 176
Nor, as we are, we say we will not shun it:
So tell your master.
Mont. I shallso. Thanks to your highness.
Glo. I hope they will not come upon us now. 180
K. Hen. We are in God's hand, brother, not in theirs.
March to the bridge; it now draws toward night:
154 impeachment: hindrance
156 of vantage: favored by circumstances
164 blown: propagated
179 deliver: report