It's morning in the French camp. The Dauphin, the Duke of Orleans, and Lord Rambures are eagerly mounting their horses for battle and boasting about their vigor. The Constable and Grandpre enter and egg the men on, pontificating on the French troops’ strength and the pathetic frailty of the English. All are convinced of imminent French victory.
Once again, the Dauphin and his cronies use language to pump up their egos and diminish England. But compared to Henry V’s eloquence as king and the legitimate doubts he reveals in his soliloquy’s, the preening Dauphin seems—to be blunt—like a phony.