Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens

Charles
Mars his true moving, even as in the heavens
So in the Earth, to this day is not known.
Late did he shine upon the English side;
Now we are victors; upon us he smiles.
What towns of any moment but we have?
At pleasure here we lie, near Orleance.
Otherwhiles, the famished English, like pale ghosts,
Faintly besiege us one hour in a month.

Sound, sound alarum! We will rush on them.
Now for the honor of the forlorn French!

Alanson
They want their porridge and their fat bull beeves.
Either they must be dieted like mules
And have their provender tied to their mouths,
Or piteous they will look, like drownèd mice.
Charles
Sound, sound alarum! We will rush on them.
Now for the honor of the forlorn French!
Him I forgive my death that killeth me
When he sees me go back one foot, or fly.