Act III, Scene 2

ONE	Well met, my masters: how now? what's the news? And wherefore are ye laden thus with stuff? What, is it quarter day that you remove, And carry bag and baggage too?
TWO	Quarter day? Aye, and quartering day, I fear: Have ye not heard the news that flies abroad?
ONE	What news?
THREE	How the French Navy is destroyed at Sea, And that the English Army is arrived.
ONE	What then?
TWO	What then, quoth you? why, ist not time to fly, When envy and destruction is so nigh?
ONE	Content thee, man; they are far enough from hence, And will be met, I warrant ye, to their cost, Before they break so far into the Realm.
TWO	Aye, so the Grasshopper doth spend the time In mirthful jollity, till Winter come; And then too late he would redeem his time, When frozen cold hath nipped his careless head. He, that no sooner will provide a Cloak, Then when he sees it doth begin to reign, May, peradventure, for his negligence, Be throughly washed, when he suspects it not. We that have charge and such a train as this, Must look in time to look for them and us, Least, when we would, we cannot be relieved.
ONE	Belike, you then despair of all success, And think your Country will be subjugate.
THREE	We cannot tell; tis good to fear the worst.
ONE	Yet rather fight, then, like unnatural sons, Forsake your loving parents in distress.
TWO	Tush, they that have already taken arms Are many fearful millions in respect Of that small handful of our enemies; But tis a rightful quarrel must prevail; Edward is son unto our late king's sister, When John Valois is three degrees removed.
WOMAN	Besides, there goes a Prophesy abroad, Published by one that was a Friar once, Whose Oracles have many times proved true; And now he says, the time will shortly come, When as a Lyon, roused in the west, Shall carry hence the fluerdeluce of France: These, I can tell ye, and such like surmises Strike many French men cold unto the heart.
	[Enter a French man.]
FOUR	Fly, country men and citizens of France! Sweet flowering peace, the root of happy life, Is quite abandoned and expulst the land; In stead of whom ransacked constraining war Sits like to Ravens upon your houses' tops; Slaughter and mischief walk within your streets, And, unrestrained, make havoc as they pass; The form whereof even now my self beheld Upon this fair mountain whence I came. For so far of as I directed mine eyes, I might perceive five Cities all on fire, Corn fields and vineyards, burning like an oven; And, as the reaking vapour in the wind Turned but aside, I like wise might discern The poor inhabitants, escaped the flame, Fall numberless upon the soldiers' pikes. Three ways these dreadful ministers of wrath Do tread the measures of their tragic march: Upon the right hand comes the conquering King, Upon the left his hot unbridled son, And in the midst our nation's glittering host, All which, though distant yet, conspire in one, To leave a desolation where they come. Fly therefore, Citizens, if you be wise, Seek out some habitation further off: Here is you stay, your wives will be abused, Your treasure shared before your weeping eyes; Shelter you your selves, for now the storm doth rise. Away, away; me thinks I hear their drums:-- Ah, wretched France, I greatly fear thy fall; Thy glory shaketh like a tottering wall.
	[Exeunt.]

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