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Orl. Is this the king we sent to for his ransom?

Bour. Shame, and eternal shame, nothing but shame!

Let's die in honour! once more back again;

And he that will not follow Bourbon now,

Let him go hence, and with his cap in hand,

Like a base pander, hold the chamber-door

Whilst by a slave, no gentler than my dog,

His fairest daughter is contaminated.

Con. Disorder, that hath spoil'd us, friend us now!

Let us on heaps go offer up our lives.

Orl. We are enough yet living in the field

To smother up the English in our throngs,

If any order might be thought upon.

Bour. The devil take order now! I'll to the throng:

Let life be short, else shame will be too long.

Exit [with the others].

K. Hen. Well have we done, thrice-valiant countrymen:

But all's not done; yet keep the French the field.

Exe. The Duke of York commends him to your majesty.

K. Hen. Lives he, good uncle? thrice within this hour

I saw him down; thrice up again, and fighting;

From helmet to the spur all blood he was.

Exe. In which array, brave soldier, doth he lie,

 18 on heaps: in crowds 