ACT III.

SCENE I. Flanders. The French Camp.

[Enter King John of France, his two sons, Charles of Normandy, and Phillip, and the Duke of Lorrain.]

KING JOHN. Here, till our Navy of a thousand sail Have made a breakfast to our foe by Sea, Let us encamp, to wait their happy speed.-- Lorraine, what readiness is Edward in? How hast thou heard that he provided is Of marshall furniture for this exploit?

LORRAINE. To lay aside unnecessary soothing, And not to spend the time in circumstance, Tis bruited for a certainty, my Lord, That he's exceeding strongly fortified; His subjects flock as willingly to war, As if unto a triumph they were led.

CHARLES. England was wont to harbour malcontents, Blood thirsty and seditious Catelynes, Spend thrifts, and such as gape for nothing else But changing and alteration of the state; And is it possible That they are now so loyal in them selves?

LORRAINE. All but the Scot, who solemnly protests, As heretofore I have informed his grace, Never to sheath his Sword or take a truce.

KING JOHN. Ah, that's the anchorage of some better hope! But, on the other side, to think what friends King Edward hath retained in Netherland, Among those ever-bibbing Epicures, Those frothy Dutch men, puft with double beer, That drink and swill in every place they come, Doth not a little aggravate mine ire; Besides, we hear, the Emperor conjoins, And stalls him in his own authority; But, all the mightier that their number is, The greater glory reaps the victory. Some friends have we beside domestic power; The stern Polonian, and the warlike Dane, The king of Bohemia, and of Sicily, Are all become confederates with us, And, as I think, are marching hither apace.

[Drum within.]

But soft, I hear the music of their drums, By which I guess that their approach is near.

[Enter the King of Bohemia, with Danes, and a Polonian Captain, with other soldiers, another way.]

KING OF BOHEMIA. King John of France, as league and

neighborhood Requires, when friends are any way distrest, I come to aide thee with my country's force.

POLONIAN CAPTAIN. And from great Musco, fearful to the Turk, And lofty Poland, nurse of hardy men, I bring these servitors to fight for thee, Who willingly will venture in thy cause.

KING JOHN. Welcome, Bohemian king, and welcome all: This your great kindness I will not forget. Besides your plentiful rewards in Crowns, That from our Treasury ye shall receive, There comes a hare brained Nation, decked in pride, The spoil of whom will be a treble gain. And now my hope is full, my joy complete: At Sea, we are as puissant as the force Of Agamemnon in the Haven of Troy; By land, with Zerxes we compare of strength, Whose soldiers drank up rivers in their thirst; Then Bayardlike, blind, overweaning Ned, To reach at our imperial diadem Is either to be swallowed of the waves, Or hacked a pieces when thou comest ashore.

[Enter Mariner.]

MARINER. Near to the coast I have descried, my Lord, As I was buy in my watchful charge, The proud Armado of king Edward's ships: Which, at the first, far off when I did ken, Seemed as it were a grove of withered pines; But, drawing near, their glorious bright aspect, Their streaming Ensigns, wrought of coloured silk, Like to a meadow full of sundry flowers, Adorns the naked bosom of the earth: Majestical the order of their course, Figuring the horned Circle of the Moon: And on the top gallant of the Admiral And likewise all the handmaids of his train The Arms of England and of France unite Are quartered equally by Heralds' art: Thus, tightly carried with a merry gale, They plough the Ocean hitherward amain.

KING JOHN. Dare he already crop the Fleur de Luce? I hope, the honey being gathered thence, He, with the spider, afterward approached, Shall suck forth deadly venom from the leaves.-- But where's our Navy? how are they prepared To wing them selves against this flight of Ravens?

MARINER. They, having knowledge, brought them by the scouts, Did break from Anchor straight, and, puffed with rage, No otherwise then were their sails with wind, Made forth, as when the empty Eagle flies, To satisfy his hungry griping maw.

KING JOHN. There's for thy news.Return unto thy bark; And if thou scape the bloody stroke of war And do survive the conflict, come again, And let us hear the manner of the fight.

[Exit Mariner.]

Mean space, my Lords, tis best we be dispersed To several places, least they chance to land: First you, my Lord, with your Bohemian Troops, Shall pitch your battailes on the lower hand; My eldest son, the Duke of Normandy, Together with the aide of Muscovites, Shall climb the higher ground another way; Here in the middle cost, betwixt you both, Phillip, my youngest boy, and I will lodge. So, Lors, be gone, and look unto your charge: You stand for France, an Empire fair and large.

[Exeunt.]

Now tell me, Phillip, what is thy concept, Touching the challenge that the English make?

PHILLIP. I say, my Lord, claim Edward what he can, And bring he ne'er so plain a pedigree, Tis you are in the possession of the Crown, And that's the surest point of all the Law: But, were it not, yet ere he should prevail, I'll make a Conduit of my dearest blood, Or chase those straggling upstarts home again.

KING JOHN. Well said, young Phillip!Call for bread and Wine, That we may cheer our stomachs with repast, To look our foes more sternly in the face.

[A Table and Provisions brought in.The battle hard a far off.]

Now is begun the heavy day at Sea: Fight, Frenchmen, fight; be like the field of Bears, When they defend their younglings in the Caves! Stir, angry Nemesis, the happy helm, That, with the sulphur battles of your rage, The English Fleet may be dispersed and sunk.

[Shot.]

PHILLIP. O Father, how this echoing Cannon shot, Like sweet harmony, digests my eats!

KING JOHN. Now, boy, thou hearest what thundering terror tis, To buckle for a kingdom's sovereignty: The earth, with giddy trembling when it shakes, Or when the exhalations of the air Breaks in extremity of lightning flash, Affrights not more than kings, when they dispose To shew

the rancor of their high swollen hearts. [Retreat.]

Retreat is sounded; one side hath the worse; O, if it be the French, sweet fortune, turn; And, in thy turning, change the forward winds, That, with advantage of a favoring sky, Our men may vanquish, and the other fly!

[Enter Mariner.]

My heart misgives:--say, mirror of pale death, To whom belongs the honor of this day? Relate, I pray thee, if thy breath will serve, The sad discourse of this discomfiture.

MARINER. I will, my Lord. My gracious sovereign, Franch hath ta'en the foil, And boasting Edward triumphs with success. These Iron hearted Navies, When last I was reporter to your grace, Both full of angry spleen, of hope, and fear, Hasting to meet each other in the face, At last conjoined; and by their Admiral Our Admiral encountered many shot: By this, the other, that beheld these twain Give earnest penny of a further wrack, Like fiery Dragons took their haughty flight; And, likewise meeting, from their smoky wombs Sent many grim Ambassadors of death. Then gan the day to turn to gloomy night, And darkness did as well enclose the quick As those that were but newly reft of life. No leisure served for friends to bid farewell; And, if it had, the hideous noise was such, As each to other seemed deaf and dumb. Purple the Sea, whose channel filled as fast With streaming gore, that from the maimed fell, As did her gushing moisture break into The crannied cleftures of the through shot planks. Here flew a head, dissevered from the trunk, There mangled arms and legs were tossed aloft, As when a whirl wind takes the Summer dust And scatters it in middle of the air. Then might ye see the reeling vessels split, And tottering sink into the ruthless flood, Until their lofty tops were seen no more. All shifts were tried, both for defence and hurt: And now the effect of valor and of force, Of resolution and of cowardice, We lively pictures; how the one for fame, The other by compulsion laid about; Much did the Nonpareille, that brave ship; So did the black snake of Bullen, then which A bonnier vessel never yet spread sail. But all in vain; both Sun, the Wind and tide, Revolted all unto our foe men's side, That we perforce were fain

to give them way, And they are landed.--Thus my tale is done: We have untimely lost, and they have won.

KING JOHN. Then rests there nothing, but with present speed To join our several forces all in one, And bid them battle, ere they range too far. Come, gentle Phillip, let us hence depart; This soldier's words have pierced thy father's heart.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE II. Picardy. Fields near Cressi.

[Enter two French men; a woman and two little Children meet them, and other Citizens.]

ONE. Well met, my masters: how now? what's the news? And wherefore are ye laden thus with stuff? What, is it quarter day that you remove, And carry bag and baggage too?

TWO. Quarter day?Aye, and quartering day, I fear: Have ye not heard the news that flies abroad?

ONE. What news?

THREE. How the French Navy is destroyed at Sea, And that the English Army is arrived.

ONE. What then?

TWO. What then, quoth you? why, ist not time to fly, When envy and destruction is so nigh?

ONE. Content thee, man; they are far enough from hence, And will be met, I warrant ye, to their cost, Before they break so far into the Realm.

TWO. Aye, so the Grasshopper doth spend the time In mirthful jollity, till Winter come; And then too late he would redeem his time, When frozen cold hath nipped his careless head. He, that no sooner will provide a Cloak, Then when he sees it doth begin to reign, May, peradventure, for his negligence, Be throughly washed, when he suspects it not. We that have charge and such a train as this, Must look in time to look for them and us, Least, when we would, we cannot be relieved.

ONE. Belike, you then despair of all success, And think your Country will be subjugate.

THREE. We cannot tell; tis good to fear the worst.

ONE. Yet rather fight, then, like unnatural sons, Forsake your loving parents in distress.

TWO. Tush, they that have already taken arms Are many fearful millions in respect Of that small handful of our enemies; But tis a rightful quarrel must prevail; Edward is son unto our late king's sister, When John Valois is three degrees removed.

WOMAN. Besides, there goes a Prophesy abroad, Published by one

that was a Friar once, Whose Oracles have many times proved true; And now he says, the time will shortly come, When as a Lyon, roused in the west, Shall carry hence the fluerdeluce of France: These, I can tell ye, and such like surmises Strike many French men cold unto the heart.

[Enter a French man.]

FOUR. Fly, country men and citizens of France! Sweet flowering peace, the root of happy life, Is quite abandoned and expulst the land; In stead of whom ransacked constraining war Sits like to Ravens upon your houses' tops; Slaughter and mischief walk within your streets, And, unrestrained, make havoc as they pass; The form whereof even now my self beheld Upon this fair mountain whence I came. For so far of as I directed mine eyes, I might perceive five Cities all on fire, Corn fields and vineyards, burning like an oven; And, as the reaking vapour in the wind Turned but aside, I like wise might discern The poor inhabitants, escaped the flame, Fall numberless upon the soldiers' pikes. Three ways these dreadful ministers of wrath Do tread the measures of their tragic march: Upon the right hand comes the conquering King, Upon the left his hot unbridled son, And in the midst our nation's glittering host, All which, though distant yet, conspire in one,To leave a desolation where they come. Fly therefore, Citizens, if you be wise, Seek out some habitation further off: Here is you stay, your wives will be abused, Your treasure shared before your weeping eyes; Shelter you your selves, for now the storm doth rise. Away, away; me thinks I hear their drums:-- Ah, wretched France, I greatly fear thy fall; Thy glory shaketh like a tottering wall.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE III. The same. Drums.

[Enter King Edward, and the Earl of Darby, With Soldiers, and Gobin de Grey.]

KING EDWARD. Where's the French man by whose cunning guide We found the shallow of this River Somme, And had directions how to pass the sea?

GOBIN. Here, my good Lord.

KING EDWARD. How art thou called? tell me thy name. GOBIN. Gobin de Graie, if please your excellence.

KING EDWARD. Then, Gobin, for the service thou hast done, We here enlarge and give thee liberty; And, for recompense beside this good, Thou shalt receive five hundred marks in gold.-- I know not how, we should have met our son, Whom now in heart I wish I might behold.

[Enter Artois.]

ARTOIS. Good news, my Lord; the prince is hard at hand, And with him comes Lord Awdley and the rest, Whom since our landing we could never meet.

[Enter Prince Edward, Lord Awdley, and Soldiers.]

KING EDWARD. Welcome, fair Prince!How hast thou sped, my son, Since thy arrival on the coast of France?

PRINCE EDWARD. Successfully, I thank the gracious heavens: Some of their strongest Cities we have won, As Harflew, Lo, Crotay, and Carentigne, And others wasted, leaving at our heels A wide apparent field and beaten path For solitariness to progress in: Yet those that would submit we kindly pardoned, But who in scorn refused our proffered peace, Endured the penalty of sharp revenge.

KING EDWARD. Ah, France, why shouldest thou be thus obstinate Against the kind embracement of thy friends? How gently had we thought to touch thy breast And set our foot upon thy tender mould, But that, in froward and disdainful pride, Thou, like a skittish and untamed colt, Dost start aside and strike us with thy heels! But tell me, Ned, in all thy warlike course, Hast thou not seen the usurping King of France?

PRINCE EDWARD. Yes, my good Lord, and not two hours ago, With

full a hundred thousand fighting men-- Upon the one side of the river's bank And on the other both, his multitudes. I feared he would have cropped our smaller power: But happily, perceiving your approach, He hath with drawn himself to Cressey plains; Where, as it seemeth by his good array, He means to bid us battle presently.

KING EDWARD. He shall be welcome; that's the thing we crave. [Enter King John, Dukes of Normandy and Lorrain, King of Boheme,

young Phillip, and Soldiers.]

KING JOHN. Edward, know that John, the true king of France, Musing thou shouldst encroach upon his land, And in thy tyranous proceeding slay His faithful subjects and subvert his Towns, Spits in thy face; and in this manner following Obraids thee with thine arrogant intrusion: First, I condemn thee for a fugitive, A thievish pirate, and a needy mate, One that hath either no abiding place, Or else, inhabiting some barren soil, Where neither herb or fruitful grain is had, Doest altogether live by pilfering: Next, insomuch thou hast infringed thy faith, Broke leage and solemn covenant made with me, I hold thee for a false pernicious wretch: And, last of all, although I scorn to cope With one so much inferior to my self, Yet, in respect thy thirst is all for gold, Thy labour rather to be feared than loved, To satisfy thy lust in either part, Here am I come, and with me have I brought Exceeding store of treasure, pearl, and coin. Leave, therefore, now to persecute the weak, And armed entering conflict with the armed, Let it be seen, mongest other petty thefts, How thou canst win this pillage manfully.

KING EDWARD. If gall or wormwood have a pleasant taste, Then is thy salutation honey sweet; But as the one hath no such property, So is the other most satirical. Yet wot how I regard thy worthless taunts: If thou have uttered them to foil my fame Or dim the reputation of my birth, Know that thy wolvish barking cannot hurt; If slyly to insinuate with the world, And with a strumpet's artificial line To paint thy vicious and deformed cause, Be well assured, the counterfeit will fade, And in the end thy foul defects be seen; But if thou didst it to provoke me on, As who should say I were but timorous. Or, coldly negligent, did need a spur, Bethink thy self how slack I was at sea, How since my landing I have won

no towns, Entered no further but upon the coast, And there have ever since securely slept. But if I have been other wise employed, Imagine, Valois, whether I intend To skirmish, not for pillage, but for the Crown Which thou dost wear; and that I vow to have, Or one of us shall fall into his grave.

PRINCE EDWARD. Look not for cross invectives at our hands, Or railing execrations of despite: Let creeping serpents, hid in hollow banks, Sting with their tongues; we have remorseless swords, And they shall plead for us and our affairs. Yet thus much, briefly, by my father's leave: As all the immodest poison of thy throat Is scandalous and most notorious lies, And our pretended quarrel is truly just, So end the battle when we meet to day: May either of us prosper and prevail, Or, luckless, curst, receive eternal shame!

KING EDWARD. That needs no further question; and I know, His conscience witnesseth, it is my right.-- Therefore, Valois, say, wilt thou yet resign, Before the sickles thrust into the Corn, Or that inkindled fury turn to flame?

KING JOHN. Edward, I know what right thou hast in France; And ere I basely will resign my Crown, This Champion field shall be a pool of blood, And all our prospect as a slaughter house.

PRINCE EDWARD. Aye, that approves thee, tyrant, what thou art: No father, king, or shepherd of thy realm, But one, that tears her entrails with thy hands, And, like a thirsty tyger, suckst her blood.

AUDLEY. You peers of France, why do you follow him That is so prodigal to spend your lives?

CHARLES. Whom should they follow, aged impotent, But he that is their true borne sovereign?

KING EDWARD. Obraidst thou him, because within his face Time hath ingraved deep characters of age? Know, these grave scholars of experience, Like stiff grown oaks, will stand immovable, When whirl wind quickly turns up younger trees.

DARBY. Was ever any of thy father's house King but thyself, before this present time? Edward's great linage, by the mother's side, Five hundred years hath held the scepter up: Judge then, conspiratours, by this

descent, Which is the true borne sovereign, this or that.

PHILIP. Father, range your battles, prate no more; These English fain would spend the time in words, That, night approaching, they might escape unfought.

KING JOHN. Lords and my loving Subjects, now's the time, That your intended force must bide the touch. Therefore, my friends, consider this in brief: He that you fight for is your natural King; He against whom you fight, a foreigner: He that you fight for, rules in clemency, And reins you with a mild and gentle bit; He against whom you fight, if he prevail, Will straight inthrone himself in tyranny, Makes slaves of you, and with a heavy hand Curtail and curb your sweetest liberty. Then, to protect your Country and your King, Let but the haughty Courage of your hearts Answer the number of your able hands, And we shall quickly chase these fugitives. For what's this Edward but a belly god, A tender and lascivious wantoness, That thother day was almost dead for love? And what, I pray you, is his goodly guard? Such as, but scant them of their chines of beef And take away their downy featherbeds, And presently they are as resty stiff, As twere a many over ridden jades. Then, French men, scorn that such should be your Lords, And rather bind ye them in captive bands.

ALL FRENCHMEN. Vive le Roy!God save King John of France! KING JOHN. Now on this plain of Cressy spread your selves,-- And,

Edward, when thou darest, begin the fight.

[Exeunt King John, Charles, Philip, Lorrain, Boheme, and Forces.] KING EDWARD. We presently will meet thee, John of France:-- And,

English Lords, let us resolve this day, Either to clear us of that scandalous crime, Or be intombed in our innocence. And, Ned, because this battle is the first That ever yet thou foughtest in pitched field, As ancient custom is of Martialists, To dub thee with the tip of chivalry, In solemn manner we will give thee arms. Come, therefore, Heralds, orderly bring forth A strong attirement for the prince my son.

[Enter four Heralds, bringing in a coat armour, ahelmet, a lance, and a shield.]

KING EDWARD. Edward Plantagenet, in the name of God, As with this armour I impale thy breast, So be thy noble unrelenting heart Walled

in with flint of matchless fortitude, That never base affections enter there: Fight and be valiant, conquer where thou comest! Now follow, Lords, and do him honor to.

DARBY. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales, As I do set this helmet on thy head, Wherewith the chamber of thy brain is fenst, So may thy temples, with Bellona's hand, Be still adorned with laurel victory: Fight and be valiant, conquer where thou comest!

AUDLEY. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales, Receive this lance into thy manly hand; Use it in fashion of a brazen pen, To draw forth bloody stratagems in France, And print thy valiant deeds in honor's book: Fight and be valiant, vanquish where thou comest!

ARTOIS. Edward Plantagenet, prince of Wales, Hold, take this target, wear it on thy arm; And may the view thereof, like Perseus' shield, Astonish and transform thy gazing foes To senseless images of meager death: Fight and be valiant, conquer where thou comest!

KING EDWARD. Now wants there nought but knighthood, which deferred We leave, till thou hast won it in the field.

PRINCE EDWARD. My gracious father and ye forward peers, This honor you have done me, animates And cheers my green, yet scarce appearing strength With comfortable good presaging signs, No other wise than did old Jacob's words, When as he breathed his blessings on his sons. These hallowed gifts of yours when I profane, Or use them not to glory of my God, To patronage the fatherless and poor, Or for the benefit of England's peace, Be numb my joints, wax feeble both mine arms, Wither my heart, that, like a sapless tree, I may remain the map of infamy.

KING EDWARD. Then thus our steeled Battles shall be ranged: The leading of the vaward, Ned, is thine; To dignify whose lusty spirit the more, We temper it with Audly's gravity, That, courage and experience joined in one, Your manage may be second unto none: For the main battles, I will guide my self; And, Darby, in the rearward march behind, That orderly disposed and set in ray, Let us to horse; and God grant us the day!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. The Same.

[Alarum.Enter a many French men flying.After them Prince Edward, running.Then enter King John and Duke of Lorrain.]

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.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V. The Same.

[Enter King Edward and Audley.]

KING EDWARD. Lord Audley, whiles our son is in the chase, With draw our powers unto this little hill, And here a season let us breath our selves.

AUDLEY. I will, my Lord. [Exit.Sound Retreat.]

KING EDWARD. Just dooming heaven, whose secret providence To our gross judgement is inscrutable, How are we bound to praise thy wondrous works, That hast this day given way unto the right, And made the wicked stumble at them selves!

[Enter Artois.]

ARTOIS. Rescue, king Edward! rescue for thy son!

KING EDWARD. Rescue, Artois? what, is he prisoner, Or by violence fell beside his horse?

ARTOIS. Neither, my Lord:but narrowly beset With turning Frenchmen, whom he did pursue, As tis impossible that he should scape, Except your highness presently descend.

KING EDWARD. Tut, let him fight; we gave him arms to day, And he is laboring for a knighthood, man.

[Enter Derby.]

DARBY. The Prince, my Lord, the Prince! oh, succour him! He's close incompast with a world of odds!

KING EDWARD. Then will he win a world of honor too, If he by valour can redeem him thence; If not, what remedy? we have more sons Than one, to comfort our declining age.

[Enter Audley.]

Renowned Edward, give me leave, I pray, To lead my soldiers where I may relieve Your Grace's son, in danger to be slain. The snares of French, like Emmets on a bank, Muster about him; whilest he, Lion like, Intangled in the net of their assaults, Franticly wrends, and bites the woven toil; But all in vain, he cannot free him self.

KING EDWARD. Audley, content; I will not have a man, On pain of

death, sent forth to succour him: This is the day, ordained by destiny, To season his courage with those grievous thoughts, That, if he breaketh out, Nestor's years on earth Will make him savor still of this exploit.

DARBY. Ah, but he shall not live to see those days. KING EDWARD. Why, then his Epitaph is lasting praise.

AUDLEY. Yet, good my Lord, tis too much willfulness, To let his blood be spilt, that may be saved.

KING EDWARD. Exclaim no more; for none of you can tell Whether a borrowed aid will serve, or no; Perhaps he is already slain or ta'en. And dare a Falcon when she's in her flight, And ever after she'll be haggard like: Let Edward be delivered by our hands, And still, in danger, he'll expect the like; But if himself himself redeem from thence, He will have vanquished cheerful death and fear, And ever after dread their force no more Than if they were but babes or Captive slaves.

AUDLEY. O cruel Father!Farewell, Edward, then! DARBY. Farewell, sweet Prince, the hope of chivalry! ARTOIS. O, would my life might ransom him from death!

KING EDWARD. But soft, me thinks I hear [Retreat sounded.]

The dismal charge of Trumpets' loud retreat. All are not slain, I hope, that went with him; Some will return with tidings, good or bad.

[Enter Prince Edward in triumph, bearing in his hands his chivered Lance, and the King of Boheme, borne before, wrapped in the Colours.They run and imbrace him.]

AUDLEY. O joyful sight! victorious Edward lives! DERBY. Welcome, brave Prince!

KING EDWARD. Welcome, Plantagenet! PRINCE EDWARD.

[Kneels and kisses his father's hand.]

First having done my duty as beseemed, Lords, I regreet you all with hearty thanks. And now, behold, after my winter's toil, My painful voyage on the boisterous sea Of wars devouring gulfs and steely rocks,

I bring my fraught unto the wished port, My Summer's hope, my travels' sweet reward: And here, with humble duty, I present This sacrifice,

this first fruit of my sword, Cropped and cut down even at the gate of death, The king of Boheme, father, whom I slew; Whose thousands had entrenched me round about, And lay as thick upon my battered crest, As on an Anvil, with their ponderous glaves: Yet marble courage still did underprop And when my weary arms, with often blows, Like the continual laboring Wood-man's Axe That is enjoined to fell a load of Oaks, Began to faulter, straight I would record My gifts you gave me, and my zealous vow, And then new courage made me fresh again, That, in despite, I carved my passage forth, And put the multitude to speedy flight. Lo, thus hath Edward's hand filled your request, And done, I hope, the duty of a Knight.

KING EDWARD. Aye, well thou hast deserved a knighthood, Ned!

And, therefore, with thy sword, yet reaking warm [His Sword borne by a Soldier.]

With blood of those that fought to be thy bane. Arise, Prince Edward, trusty knight at arms: This day thou hast confounded me with joy, And proud thy self fit heir unto a king.

PRINCE EDWARD. Here is a note, my gracious Lord, of those That in this conflict of our foes were slain: Eleven Princes of esteem, Four score Barons, A hundred and twenty knights, and thirty thousand Common soldiers; and, of our men, a thousand.

KING EDWARD. Our God be praised!Now, John of France, I hope, Thou knowest King Edward for no wantoness, No love sick cockney, nor his soldiers jades. But which way is the fearful king escaped?

PRINCE EDWARD. Towards Poitiers, noble father, and his sons.

KING EDWARD. Ned, thou and Audley shall pursue them still; My self and Derby will to Calice straight, And there be begirt that Haven town with siege. Now lies it on an upshot; therefore strike, And wistly follow, whiles the game's on foot. What Picture's this?

PRINCE EDWARD. A Pelican, my Lord, Wounding her bosom with her crooked beak, That so her nest of young ones may be fed With drops of blood that issue from her heart; The motto Sic & vos, 'and so should you'.

[Exeunt.]