Act Iii. Scene Iv. the Same.

KING JOHN. Oh, Lorrain, say, what mean our men to fly? Our number is far greater than our foes.

LORRAIN. The garrison of Genoaes, my Lord, That came from Paris weary with their march, Grudging to be so suddenly imployd, No sooner in the forefront took their place, But, straight retiring, so dismayed the rest, As likewise they betook themselves to flight, In which, for haste to make a safe escape, More in the clustering throng are pressed to death, Than by the enemy, a thousand fold.

KING JOHN. O hapless fortune! Let us yet assay, If we can counsel some of them to stay.