_Enter King, Queen-Mother, Abbot, and_ GRILLON.

_King._ Dismissed with such contempt?

_Gril._ Yes, 'faith, we past like beaten Romans underneath the fork.

_King._ Give me my arms.

_Gril._ For what?

_King._ I'll lead you on.

_Gril._ You are a true lion, but my men are sheep;
If you run first, I'll swear they'll follow you.

_King._ What, all turned cowards? not a man in France
Dares set his foot by mine, and perish by me?

_Gril._ Troth, I can't find them much inclined to perishing.

_King._ What can be left in danger, but to dare?
No matter for my arms, I'll go barefaced,
And seize the first bold rebel that I meet.

_Abb._ There's something of divinity in kings,
That sits between their eyes, and guards their life.

_Gril._ True, Abbot; but the mischief is, you churchmen
Can see that something further than the crowd;