Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?

Grandpré
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favoredly become the morning field.
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggared host
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps.

Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless, as it shows itself.

The horsemen sit like fixèd candlesticks
With torch staves in their hand, and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips,
The gum down-roping from their pale dead eyes,
And in their pale dull mouths the gemeled bit
Lies foul with chawed grass, still and motionless.
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o’er them all, impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle
In life so lifeless, as it shows itself.
Constable
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.
Dauphin
Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits,
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?
Constable
I stay but for my guard. On, to the field!
I will the banner from a trumpet take
And use it for my haste. Come, come away.
The sun is high, and we outwear the day.
 They exit.