And kisse him with a glorious victory:
How like you this wilde counsell mighty States,
Smackes it not something of the policie

Iohn. Now by the sky that hangs aboue our heads,
I like it well. France, shall we knit our powres,
And lay this Angiers euen with the ground,
Then after fight who shall be king of it?
Bast. And if thou hast the mettle of a king,
Being wrong'd as we are by this peeuish Towne:
Turne thou the mouth of thy Artillerie,
As we will ours, against these sawcie walles,
And when that we haue dash'd them to the ground,
Why then defie each other, and pell-mell,
Make worke vpon our selues, for heauen or hell

Fra. Let it be so: say, where will you assault?
Iohn. We from the West will send destruction
Into this Cities bosome

Aust. I from the North

Fran. Our Thunder from the South,
Shall raine their drift of bullets on this Towne

Bast. O prudent discipline! From North to South:
Austria and France shoot in each others mouth.
Ile stirre them to it: Come, away, away

Hub. Heare vs great kings, vouchsafe awhile to stay