At Azincour, as I have heard, he played the man reasonably well.

But he waxes very fat for a man-at-arms, and is fond of women, and wine, and of his ease.

Now, if once the King ranges up with the Bastard of Orleans, and Xaintrailles, and the other captains, who hate La Tremouille, then his power, and the power of the Chancellor, the Archbishop of Rheims, is gone and ended.

So these two work ever to patch up a peace with Burgundy, but, seeing that the duke has his father's death to avenge on our King, they may patch and better patch, but no peace will come of it.
And the captains cry 'Forward!' and the archbishop and La Tremouille cry 'Back!' and in the meantime Orleans will fall, and the Dauphin may fly whither he will, for France is lost.

But, for myself, I would to the saints that I and my lass were home again, beneath the old thorn-tree at Polwarth on the green, where I have been merry lang syne." With that word he fell silent, thinking, I doubt not, of his home, as I did of mine, and of the house of Pitcullo and the ash-tree at the door, and the sea beyond the ploughed land of the plain.