Before, behind us, and on either hand.
Are but a power : when we name a man.
His hand, his foot, his head, have sever?! strengths;
And being all but one self instant strength.
Why, all this many, Audley, is but one.
And we can call it all but one man's strength.
He, that hath far to go, tells it by miles ;
If he should tell the steps, it kills his heart :
The drops are infinite, that make a flood ;
And yet, thou know'st, we call it but a rain.
There is but one France, and one King of France,
That France hath no more kings ; and that same Idl^
Hath but the puissant legion of one king ;
And we have one : then apprehend no odds;
i'or one to one is fair eouality. —
^rt/K] EDWARD THE THIRD. ISetu* IV.
Enter a Herald.
What tidings, messenger? be plain, and brief.
Her, The King of France, my sovereign lord andmas*
ter,
Greets thus by me his foe the Prince of Wales :
If thou call forth an iiundred men of name,
Of lords, knights, 'squires, and English gentlemen.
And with ih.yself and those kneel at his feet.
He straight will fold his bloody colors up.
And ransom shall redeem lives forfeited:
If not, this day shall drink more English blood
Than e'er was buried in our British earth.
What is the answer to his proffer'd mercy?
Prince. This heaven, that covers France, contains ihc
mercy
That draws from me submissive orisons ;
That such base breath should vanish from my lips,
To urge the plea of mercy to a man.
The Lord forbid ! Return, and tell thy king,
My tongue is made of steel, and it shall beg
My mercy on his coward burgonet ;
Tell him, my colors are as red as his.
My men as bold, our English arms as strong.
Return him my defiance in his face.
Her, I go. \Exit.
Enter another Herald.
Prifice. WHiat news with thee ?
Her, The Duke of Normandy, my lord and master.
Pitying thy youth is so engirt with peril,
By me hath sent a nimble-jointed jennet.
As swift as ever yet thou didst bestride.
And therewithal he counsels thee to fly ;
Else, death himself hath sworn, that thou shalt die.
Prince. Back with the beast unto the beast that sent
him ;
Tell him, I cannot sit a coward's horse :
Bid him to-day bestride the jade himself;
For I will stain my horse quite o'er with blood.
And double-gild my spurs, but I will catch him;
So tell the carping boy, and get thee gone.
{Exit HiraUL
%JXL if.] '^I 4»r
letira BDWARD THE THIRD. Vk$9un
Enter another Heraia.
Her, Edward of Wales, Philip, the second son
To the most mighty Christian King of France,
Seeing thy body's living date expir'd.
All full of charity and Christian love.
Commends this book, full fraught with prayers*
To thy fair hand, and, for thy hour of life,
Entreats thee that thou meditate therein,
And arm thy soul for her long journey towards.
Thus have I done his bidding, and return.
Prz7ice. Herald of Philip, greet thy lord from me;
All good, that he can send, I can receive :
But think'st thou not, the unadvised boy
Hath wrong'd himself, in thus far tend'ring me ?
Haply, he cannot pray without the book ;
I think him no divine extemporal :
Then render back this commonplace of prayer.
To do himself good in adversity ;
Besides, he knows not my sin's quality.
And therefore knows no prayers for my avail ;
Ere night his prayer may be, to pray to God
To put it in my heart to hear his prayer ;
So tell the courtly wanton, and be gone.
Her, I go. [Exit.
Prince. How confident their strength and numbel
makes them ! —
Now, Audley, sound those silver strings of thine.
And let those milk-white messengers of time
Show thy time's learning in this dangerous time;
Thyself art bruis'd and bit with many broils.
And stratagems forepast with iron pens
Are texted in thine honorable face ;
Thou art a married man in this distress.
But danger woos me as a blushing maid :
Teach me an answer to this perilous time.
And. To die is all as common, as to live;
The one in choice, the other holds in chase:
For, from the instant we begin to live,
We do pursue and hunt the time to die :
First bud we, then we blow, and after seed ;
'Hien, presently, we fall ; and, as a shade
VII. 483. (■.»!. 5&
Act IF.] SDIVARD THE THIRD. \.Sctn4 ¥
Follows the body, so we follow death.
If then we hunt for deatli, why do we fear ft ?
If we fear it, wliy do we follow it ?
If we do fear, with fear we do but aid
The thing we fear to seize on us the sooner :
If we fear not, then no resolved proffer
Can overthrow the limit of our fate:
For, whether ripe, or rotten, drop wc shall,
As we do draw the lottery of our doom.
Przfice. Ah, good old man, a thousand thousand ai^
mors
These words of thine have buckled on my back:
Ah, what an idiot hast thou made of life.
To seek the thing it fears! and how disgrac'd
The imperial victory of murd'ring dtath I
Since all the lives, his conquering arrows strike.
Seek him, and he not them, to shame his glory.
I will not give a penny for a life,
Nor half a halfpenny to shun grim death;
Since for to live is but to seek to die,
And dying but beginning of new life:
Let come the hour when he that rules it will I
To live, or die, I hold indifferent. {ExeunL
Scene V. T/ie Same, The French camp.
Enter King John and Charles.
John. A sudden darkness hath defac'd the sky,
Tne winds are crept into their caves for fear,
The leaves move not, the wood is hush'd and still.
The birds cease singing, and the wand "ring brooks
Murmur no wonted greeting to their shorts ;
Silence attends some wonder, and expcclelh
That Heaven should j)ronouncc some prophecy :
Whence, or from whom, proceeds this silence, Charles?
Char. Our men, with open mouths, and staring eyes.
Look on each other, as they did attend
Each other's words, and yet no creature speaks ;
A tongue-tied fear hath made a midnight hour.
And speeches sleep through all the waking regions.
John. But now the pompous sun, in all his pride,
Look'd through his golden coach upon the world,
E.III.S7.1 VII. 489.
AciiV.'} EDWARD THE THIRD. {.Scene V^
And, on a sudden, hath he hid hhnself ;
That now the under earth is as a grave,
Darkj deadly, silent, and uncomfortable.
^A cIa7nor of ravens kearcU
Hark ! what a deadly outcry do I hear !
Char. Here comes my brother Philip,
Johft. All dismay'd : —
Enter Philip,
What fearful words are those thy looks presage ?
Phi. A flight, a flight !
Johti. Coward, what flight ? thou liest, there needs Dt
flight.
Phi. A flight !
John. Awake thy craven powers, and tell OH
The ver}^ substance of that fear indeed.
Which is so ghastly printed in thy face :
What is the matter }
Phi. A flight of ugly ravens
Do croak and hover o'er our soldiers' heads.
And keep in triangles, and corner'd squares.
Right as our forces are embattled ;
With their approach there came this sudden fog;
Which now hath hid the airy floor of heaven,
And made at noon a night unnatural
Upon the quaking and dismayed world :
In brief, our soldiers have let fall their arms.
And stand like metamorphos'd images.
Bloodless and pale, one gazing on another,
John. Ay, now I call to mind the prophecy;
But I m.ust give no entrance to a* fear. —
Return, and hearten up those yielding souls;
Tell them, the ravens, seeing them in arms, —
So many fair against a famish'd fevv% —
Come but to dine upon their handiwork,
And prey upon the carrion that they kill :
For when we see a horse laid down to die.
Although he be not dead, the ravenous birds
Sit watching the departure of his life;
Even so these ravens, for the carcasses
Of those poor English, that are mark'd to diC^
Hover about, and, if they cry to us,
VII. 4^0 (B.RI. Sli
Ac(/y.] EDl^ARD THE THIRD. {Sctn* ^.
*Tis but for meat that we must kill for them.
Away, and comfort up my soldiers,
And sound the trumpets; and at once despatch
This little business of a silly fraud. {E.xit Philip.
Noise within. Enter a French Captain, ivith
Salisbury, prisoner.
Cap. Behold, my liege, this knight, and fortv more,—
Of whom the better part are slain and fled,—
With all endeavor sought to break our ranks.
And make their way to the encompass'd prince;
Dispose of him as please your majesty.
John, Go, and the next bough, soldier, that thou
seest.
Disgrace it with his body presently :
For I do hold a tree in France too good
To be the gallows of an English thief.
Sal. My Lord of Normandy, I have your past
And warrant for my safety through this land.
Char. Villiers procur'd'it for thee, did he not?
Sal. He did.
Char, And it is current, thou shalt freely pass,
John. Ay, freely to the gallows to be hang'd,
Without denial, or impediment : —
Away with him.
Char, I hope, your highness will not so disgrace mc.
And dash the virtue of my seal at arms :
He hath my never-broken name to show,
Character'd with this princely hand of mme ;
And rather let me leave to be a prince.
Than break the stable verdict of a prince :
I do beseech you, let him pass in quiet.
John. Thou and thy word lie both in my commandj
What canst thou promise, that 1 cannot break?
Which of these twain is greater infamy.
To disobey thy father, or thyself ?
Thy word, nor no man's, may exceed his power;
Nor that same man doth never break his word.
That keeps it to the utmost of his power:
The breach of faith dwells in the soul's consent;
Which if thyself without consent do break,
Thou art not charged with the breach of faith.—
tt.III.S9.] VII. tok.
ActlKl BDWARD THE THtRD. iSc€iu¥^
Go, hang him ; for thy license lies in me :
And my constraint stands the excuse for thee.
Char, What, am I not a soldier in my word ?
Then, arms adieu, and let them tight that list :
Shall I not give my girdle from my waist,
But with a guardian I shall be controll'd,
To say, I may not give my things aw^ay ?
Upon my soul, had Edward Prince of Wales
Engag'd his word, writ down his noble hand.
For all your knights to pass his father's land,
The royal king, to grace his warlike son,
Would not alone safe-conduct give to them,
But with all bounty feasted them and theirs.
jokn. Dwell'st thou on precedents ? Then be it SO.—
Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art ?
Sai. An earl in England, though a prisoner here ;
And those, that know me, call me Salisbur}-.
John. Then, Salisbur}', say, whither thou art bound?
Sal. To Calais, where my liege. King Edward, is.
John. To Calais, Salisbury ? Then to Calais pack ;
And bid the king prepare a noble grave.
To put his princely son, black Edward, in.
And as thou travel'st westward from this place,
Some two leagues hence there is a lofty hill,
Whose top seems topless, for the embracing sky
Doth hide his high head in her azure bosom. ;
Unto whose tall top when thy foot attains.
Look back upon the humble vale below,
(Humble of late, but now made proud with arms)
And thence behold the wretched Prince of Wales,
Hoop'd with a band of iron round about.
After which sight to Calais spur amain,
And say, the prince was smother'd, and not slain:
And tell the king, this is not all his ill ;
For I will greet him, ere he thinks I will.
Away, be gone ; the smoke but of our shot
Will choke our foes, though bullets hit them not.
[Exeuntt
Vn. 49t. [a.ni.
fie: I v., EDWARD THE THIRD. \6ttn4 VK
Scene VI. The Same. A Part of the Field of Battle,
Aiarttms, as of a battle joined, skirmishings.
Enter Pince Edward and Ariois.
Art. How fares your grace? are you noi shot, my
lord ?
Prince, No, dear Ariois; but chok'd wiih dust and
smoke,
And stepp'd aside for breath and fresher air.
Art. Breathe then, and lo't aj^ain : the amazed French
Are quite distract with j^azing on the crows ;
And, were our quivers full of shafts ajjain.
Your grace should see a glorious day of this : —
O, for more arrows, lord I that is our want.
Prince. Courage, Artois! a fig for fealher'd shaft*.
When feather'd fowls do bandy on our side !
What need we fight, and sweat, and keep a coil.
When railing crows out-scold our adversaries?
Up, up, Artois! the ground ilsdf is arm'd :
Fire-containing flint ; command our bows
To hurl away their pretly-color'd yew.
And to't with stones : away, Artois, away;
My soul doth prophesy we win the day, [Exeunt,
Alarums, and Parties skirmishing. Enter
A'inx John.
John. Our multitudes are in themselves confounded
Dismayed, and distraught ; swift-starting fear
Hath buzz'd a cold dismay through all our army.
And every petty disadvantage prompts
The fear-possessed abject soul to fly :
Myself, whose spirit is steel to liieir dull lead*
(What with recalling of the prophecy.
And that our native stones from English
Rebel against us) find myself attainted •
With strong surprise of weak and yielding fear.
Enter CHARLES.
Char. Fly, father, fly! the French do kill the French ;
Some that would stand, let drive at some that fly :
Our drums strike nothing but discouragement.
Our trumpets sound dishonor and retire;
R.in.6i.] VII. 4
£eiIS^.\ KDIVARD THE THTRD, {JScetuVl.
The spirit of fear, that feareth naught but deaths
Cowardly works confusion on itself.
Enter Philip.
Pki, Pluck out your eyes, and see not this day's
shame !
An arm hath beat an army ; one poor David
Hath with a stone foil'd twenty stout GoHahs :
Some twenty naked starvelings, with small flints.
Have driven back a puissant host of men,
Array'd and fenc'd in all accomplements.
John. Mordieu, they quoit at us, and kill us up ;
No less than forty thousand wicked elders
Have forty lean slaves this day ston'd to death.
Char. O, that I were some other countr}-man ?
This day hath set derision on the French ;
And all the world will blurt and scorn at us.
JqIiu. What, is there no hope left ?
Phi. No hope, but death, to bur}^ up our shame.
John. ]\Iake up once more with me ; the twentieth part
Of those that live, are men enough to quail
The feeble handful on the adverse part.
Char. Then charge again: if Heaven be not oppos'd.
We cannot lose the day.
John, On, on ; away. [Exeunt,
Alansms, &*c. Enler Audley, wounded, and iwi
Esquires, his rescuers.
First Esq, How fares my lord ?
Aud. E'en as a man may do.
That dines at such a bloody feast as this.
Sec. Esq. I hope, my lord, that is no mortal SCar.
Aud. No matter, if it be ; the count is cast.
And, in the worst, ends but a mortal man.
Good friends, convey me to the princely Edward*
That, in the crimson braveiy of my blood,
I may become him with saluting him ;
ni smile, and tell him, that this open scar
Doth end the harvest of his Audley 's war. [Exeunt,
[Otkdr alarums; aft*rwards» a retreat,
VIL tat. [E.I1I. 62.
Aet/y.i ^Dn'A/i^ THE TH.iil). \^tm« VIM.
Scene VII. The Same. The English Camp.
Flourish. Enter Prime Edwaku. /// triumph, leading
prisoners, Kini^ JuHN afui his son CllAKLtS ;
and vjjieers, soldiers, &»c. , with
ensii^ns spread.
Prince, Now, John in Trance, and lately John oi
France,
Thy bloody ensigns are my captive colors;
And you, high-vauiuin^^ Charles of Normandy,
That once to-day sent me a horse to fly.
Are now the subjects of my clemency.
Fie, lords I is't not a shame, that Knglish boyt,
Whose early days are yet not worth a beard.
Should in the bosom of your kingdom thus,
One against twenty, beat you up together?
John. Thy fortune, not thy force, hath conquer'd utu
Prince, An argument, that Heaven aids the right. —
Enter Artois, luith Philip.
See, see, Artois doth bring along with him
The late good counsel-giver to my soul ! —
Welcome, Artois ; — and welcome, I'hilip, tOOt
Who now, of you, or I, have need to pray ?
Now is the proverb verified in you,
Too brigiu a morning breeds a louring day.— -
Enter Audley, led by the two Esquires,
But, say, what grim discouragement comes here!
Alas, what thousand armed men of France
Have writ that note of death in Audley's face? —
Speak, thou that woo'^t death with thy careless smilc;
And look St so merrily upon thy grave
As if thou wert enamor'd on thine end.
What hungry sword hath so bereav'd thy face.
And lopp'd a true friend from my loving soul ?
And. O prince, thy sweet bemoaning speech tO IDt
Is as a mournful knell to one dead-sick.
Prince. Dear Audley, if my tongue ring out thy CDd
My arms sliall be liiy grave : what mav 1 do.
To win thy life, or to revenge thy death }
If thou wilt drink the blooil of captive king!,—
Or, that it were restorative, command
4te KJ XDWARD THE THIRD. [Sc»mt M
A health ef king's blood, and HI drink to thee :
If honor may ( ispense for thee with death,
The never-dying honor of this day
Share wholly, Audley, to thyself, and live.
A7^(f. Victorious prince, — that thou art 80, behokt
A Caesar's fame in kings' captivity,—
If I could hold dim death but at a bay,
'Till I did see my liege thy ro3-al father,
My soul should yield this castle of my flesh,
This mangled tribute, with all willingness.
To darkness, consummation, dust, and worms.
Prince. Cheerly, bold man ! thy soul is all too proud^
To yield her city for one little breach ;
She'ld be divorcM from her earthly spouse
By the soft temper of a Frenchman's sword?
Lo, to repair thy life, I give to thee
Three thousand marks a year in English land.
And. I take thy gift, to pay the debts I owe :
These two poor 'squires redeem'd me from the Frendli
With lusty and dear hazard of their lives ;
What thou hast given to me, I give to them ;
And, as thou lov'st me, prince, lay thy consent
To this bequeath in my last testament.
P?'ince. Renowned Audley, live, and have from me
This gift twice doubled, to these 'squires, and thee :
But, live, or die, what thou hast given away.
To these, and theirs, shall lasting freedom stay,—
Come, gentlemen, I'll see my friend bestow'd
Within an easy litter ; then we'll march
Proudly toward Calais, with triumphant pace.
Unto my royal father, and there bring
The tribute of my wars, fair France's king, [Exeunt,
ACTV.
Scene I. Picardy, The EitgUsk Camp before Calais,
Enter King Edward, with Philippa his Qtieejt and
Derby ; Officers, Soldiers, &^c,
Edward, No more, Queen Philippa, pacify yourself ;
Copland, except he can excuse his fault,
Shall find displeasure written in our looks. —
vil. 496. (ftm. N.
d^t-y.l MDWAMJf THE THl.^^D. LtMvA.
And now unto this proud resisting town ;
Soldiers, assault ; I will no longer stay,
To be deluded by their false dda) s ;
Put all to sword, and make the spoil your own.
Trumpets sound to anus. Enter , froni the t«mm, wim
Citizens^ in their shirts, and bare-
footed, with halters about
their necks.
at, Mercy, King Edward ! nieic\ , gracious lord !
Ediu, Contemptuous villains! call ye now for truce ^
Mine ears are slopp'd against your bootless cries: —
Sound, drums; \^Alaruni\ draw, threat'ning swordtl
First at. Ah, noble i)rince.
Take pity on this town, and hear us, mighty King!
We claim the promise that your highness made;
The two days' respite is not yet exj)ir'd,
And we are come, with willingness, to bear
What torturing death, or punishment, you please.
So that the trembling multitude be sav'd.
Edw. My promise ? well, 1 do confess as much :
But I requir'd the chiefest ciiiztns.
And men of most account, that should submit j
Vou, peradventure, are but servile grooms.
Or some felonious robbers on the sea.
Whom, apprehended, law would execute.
Albeit severity lay dead in us :
No, no, ye cannot over-reach us thus.
Sec, at. The sun, dread lord, that in the westcn UM.
Beholds us now low brought through miser)'.
Did in the orient purple of the morn
Salute our coming forth, when we were known;
Or may our portion be with damned fu nds.
Edw. If it be so, then let our covenant stand.
We take possession of the town in peace :
But, for yourselves, look you for no remorse ;
But, as imperial justice hath decreed.
Your bodies shall be dragg'd about these wnlls.
And after feel the stroke of quarteiing steel :
This is your doom ; — go, soUhers. see it done.
Queen. Ah, be more miUI unto iluse yieldmg
It is a glorious thing, to 'stablish peace ;
â– 411. 69.] ^"- ^^
^ctl^.':' hry^ARL THE THIRD. {Scene I.
And kings approach the nearest unto God,
By giving life and safety unto men :
As thou^ntendest to be King of France,
.So let her people live to call thee king ;
For what the sword cuts down, or fire hath spoird.
Is held in reputation none of ours.
E:iw. Although experience teach us this is true,
Th;it peaceful quietness brings most delight
When most of all abuses are controli'd,
Yet; insomuch it shall be known, that we
As well can master our affections,
As conquer other by the dint of sword,
Philippa, prevail ; we yield to thy request ;
These men shall live to boast of clemency, —
A.v\6., tyranny, strike terror to thyself.
at. Long live your highness ! happy be your reign \
Ediu. Go, get you hence, return unto the town ;
And if this kindness hath deserv'd your love,
Learn then to reverence Edward as your king. —
[Exeunt Czti'sens,
u>^cw, might we hear of our affairs abroad.
We would, 'till gloomy winter were o'er-spent.
Dispose our men in garrison a while.
But who comes here }
Enter Copland and King David.
Der. Copland, my lord, and David King of Scots.
Ediu. Is this the proud presumptuous squire o* thf
north,
Tha<: would not yield his prisoner to my queen }
Cop. I am, my liege, a northern 'squire, indeed,
But neither proud nor insolent, I trust.
Edio. WHiat mov'd thee then, to be so obstinate
Tc contradict our royal queen's desire }
Cop. No willful disobedience, mighty lord.
But my desert, and public law of arms :
1 took the king myself in single fight ;
And, like a soldier, would be loath to lose
The least pre-eminence that I had won :
And Copland, straight upon your highness* charge.
Is com.e to France, and, with a lowly mind,
Dcth vail the bonnet of his victory.
VII. 4^3. ts.isi. 5fc
/J" Kj EDWARD TUL rUIKD. f>/rv /
Receive, dread lord, the custom cf my fraught.
The wealthy tribute of my laboring hands;
Which shoukl long since have been surrcnd
Had but your gracious self beer, there in place.
Qjieen, But, Copland, thou didst scorn the king's conv
mand,
Neglecting our ccrnmission in his name.
Cop. His name i reverence, but his person more,
His name shall keep nic in alU-giance still,
But to his person 1 will btnd my knee.
Eihu. I pray thee, I'hilii)pa, let displeasure pass;
This man doth please me, and I like his words;
For what is he, that w ill attempt high deeds,
And lose the glory that ensues the same?
All rivers have recourse unto the sea;
And Copland's faith, relation to his king. —
Kneel therefore down ; now risr. King Edward'i knight :
And, to maintain thy state, I freely give
Five hundred marks a year to thee and thine. —
Enter Salisbury.
Welcome, Lord Salisbury: what news from Brelagne?
Sal. This, mighty king: the country we have w-oo;
And John de Monlfort, regent of that j)lacc.
Presents your highness with this coioiu-t.
Protesting true allegiance to your j;i.icc.
Eihu. We thank thee for thy service, valiant cari ;
Challenge our favor, for we owe it thee.
Sal. But now, my lord, as this is joyful new-fc.
So must my voice be tragical again.
And I must sing of doleful accidents.
Edw. What, have our men the overthrow at PoitifTt F
Or is my son beset with too nmch odds ?
Sal. He was, my lord : and as my wonhlctt sdi
With forty other serviceable knights.
Under safe-conduct of the Dauphin's sea)
Did travel that way, tintling him distress^
A troop of lances met us on the way,
Surpris'd, and brought us prisoners to the kiQf (
Who, proud of this, and eager of revenue.
Commanded straig'nt to cut off all our head**
And surely we had died, but that the duke
A.1I1. 67.) ^**' •*•
Wtf^KJ EDWARD THE THIRD, iSctnt i.
More full of honor than his angry sire,
Procur'd our quick deliverance from thence :
But, ere we went, " Salute your king," quoth he,
*' Bid him provide a funeral for his son,
To-day our sword shall cut his thread of life ;
And, sooner than he thinks, we'll be with him.
To quittance those displeasures he hath done: "
This said, we pass'd, not daring to reply ;
Our hearts were dead, our looks diffus'd and wan.
WandVing, at last we climb'd unto a hill ;
Trom whence, although our grief were much before.
Yet now to see the occasion with our eyes
Did thrice so much increase our heaviness :
For there, my lord, O, there we did descry
Down in a valley how both armies lay.
The French had cast their trenches like a ring ;
And every barricado's open front
Was thick emboss'd with brazen ordnance :
Here stood a battle of ten thousand horse ;
There twice as many pikes, in quadrantwise :
Here cross-bows, arm/d with deadly-wounding dartS: