ward dogs
Most spend their mouths,[23] when what they seem to threaten
Runs far before them. Good my sovereign,
Take up the English short; and let them know
Of what a monarchy you are the head:
Self-love, my liege, is not so vile a sin
As self-neglecting.

[_FRENCH KING takes his seat on Throne, R._

_Re-enter MONTJOY, LORDS, with EXETER and Train, L.H._

_Fr. King._ From our brother England?

_Exe._ (L.C.) From him; and thus he greets your majesty.
He wills you, in the awful name of Heaven,
That you divest yourself, and lay apart
The borrow'd glories, that, by gift of heaven,
By law of nature and of nations, 'long
To him and to his heirs; namely, the crown,
And all wide-stretched honours that pertain,
By custom and the ordinance of times
Unto the crown of France. That you may know
'Tis no sinister nor no awkward claim,
Pick'd from the worm-holes of long-vanish'd days,
Nor from the dust of old oblivion rak'd,
He sends you this most memorable line,[24]

[_Gives a paper to MONTJOY, who delivers it kneeling to the KING._

In every branch truly demonstrative;
Willing you overlook this pedigree:
And when you find him evenly deriv'd
From his most fam'd of famous ancestors,
Edward the Third, he bids you then resign
Your crown and kingdom, indirectly held
From him the native and true challenger.

_Fr. King._ Or else what follows?

_Exe._ Bloody constraint; for if you hide the crown
Even in your hearts, there will he rake for it:
Therefore in fierce tempest is he coming,
In thunder and in earthquake, like a Jove.
(That, if requiring fail, he will compel):
This is his claim, his threat'ning, and my message;
Unless the Dauphin be in presence here,
To whom expressly I bring greeting too.

_Fr. King._ For us, we will consider of this further:
To-morrow shall you bear our full intent
Back to our brother England.

[_MONTJOY rises, and retires to R._

_Dau._ (_R. of throne._) For the Dauphin,
I stand here for him: What to him from England?

_Exe._ Scorn and defiance; slight regard, contempt,
And any thing that may not misbecome
The mighty sender, doth he prize you at.
Thus says my king: an if your father's highness
Do not, in grant of all demands at large,
Sweeten the bitter mock you sent his majesty,
He'll call you to so hot an answer for it,
That caves and womby vaultages of France
S