ACT IV.

SCENE I. Bretagne. Camp of the English.

[Enter Lord Mountford with a Coronet in his hand; with him the Earl of Salisbury.]

MOUNTFORD. My Lord of Salisbury, since by your aide Mine enemy Sir Charles of Blois is slain, And I again am quietly possessed In Brittain's Dukedom, know that I resolve, For this kind furtherance of your king and you, To swear allegiance to his majesty: In sign whereof receive this Coronet, Bear it unto him, and, withal, mine oath, Never to be but Edward's faithful friend.

SALISBURY. I take it, Mountfort.Thus, I hope, ere long The whole Dominions of the Realm of France Will be surrendered to his conquering hand.

[Exit Mountford.]

Now, if I knew but safely how to pass, I would at Calice gladly meet his Grace, Whether I am by letters certified That he intends to have his host removed. It shall be so, this policy will serve:-- Ho, whose within?Bring Villiers to me.

[Enter Villiers.]

Villiers, thou knowest, thou art my prisoner, And that I might for ransom, if I would, Require of thee a hundred thousand Francs, Or else retain and keep thee captive still: But so it is, that for a smaller charge Thou maist be quit, and if thou wilt thy self. And this it is:Procure me but a passport Of Charles, the Duke of Normandy, that I Without restraint may have recourse to Callis Through all the Countries where he hath to do; Which thou maist easily obtain, I think, By reason I have often heard thee say, He and thou were students once together: And then thou shalt be set at liberty. How saiest thou? wilt thou undertake to do it?

VILLIERS. I will, my Lord; but I must speak with him.

SALISBURY. Why, so thou shalt; take Horse, and post from hence: Only before thou goest, swear by thy faith, That, if thou canst not compass my desire, Thou wilt return my prisoner back again; And that shall be sufficient warrant for me.

VILLIERS. To that condition I agree, my Lord, And will unfainedly

perform the same. [Exit.]

SALISBURY. Farewell, Villiers.-- Thus once i mean to try a French man's faith.

[Exit.]

SCENE II. Picardy.The English Camp before

Calais.

[Enter King Edward and Derby, with Soldiers.]

KING EDWARD. Since they refuse our proffered league, my Lord, And will not ope their gates, and let us in, We will intrench our selves on every side, That neither vituals nor supply of men May come to succour this accursed town: Famine shall combat where our swords are stopped.

[Enter six poor Frenchmen.]

DERBY. The promised aid, that made them stand aloof, Is now retired and gone an other way: It will repent them of their stubborn will. But what are these poor ragged slaves, my Lord?

KING EDWARD. Ask what they are; it seems, they come from Callis. DERBY. You wretched patterns of despair and woe, What are you,

living men or gliding ghosts, Crept from your graves to walk upon the earth?

POOR. No ghosts, my Lord, but men that breath a life Far worse than is the quiet sleep of death: We are distressed poor inhabitants, That long have been diseased, sick, and lame; And now, because we are not fit to serve, The Captain of the town hath thrust us forth, That so expense of victuals may be saved.

KING EDWARD.A charitable deed, no doubt, and worthy praise! But how do you imagine then to speed? We are your enemies; in such a case We can no less but put ye to the sword, Since, when we proffered truce, it was refused.

POOR. And if your grace no otherwise vouchsafe, As welcome death is unto us as life.

KING EDWARD. Poor silly men, much wronged and more distressed! Go, Derby, go, and see they be relieved; Command that victuals be appointed them, And give to every one five Crowns a piece.

[Exeunt Derby and Frenchmen.]

The Lion scorns to touch the yielding prey, And Edward's sword must flesh it self in such As wilful stubbornness hath made perverse.

[Enter Lord Percy.]

KING EDWARD. Lord Percy! welcome: what's the news in England?

PERCY. The Queen, my Lord, comes here to your Grace, And from her highness and the Lord viceregent I bring this happy tidings of success: David of Scotland, lately up in arms, Thinking, belike, he soonest should prevail, Your highness being absent from the Realm, Is, by the fruitful service of your peers And painful travel of the Queen her self, That, big with child, was every day in arms, Vanquished, subdued, and taken prisoner.

KING EDWARD. Thanks, Percy, for thy news, with all my heart!

What was he took him prisoner in the field?

PERCY. A Esquire, my Lord; John Copland is his name: Who since, intreated by her Majesty, Denies to make surrender of his prize To any but unto your grace alone; Whereat the Queen is grievously displeased.

KING EDWARD. Well, then we'll have a Pursiuvant despatched, To summon Copland hither out of hand, And with him he shall bring his prisoner king.

PERCY. The Queen's, my Lord, her self by this at Sea, And purposeth, as soon as wind will serve, To land at Callis, and to visit you.

KING EDWARD. She shall be welcome; and, to wait her coming, I'll pitch my tent near to the sandy shore.

[Enter a French Captain.]

CAPTAIN. The Burgesses of Callis, mighty king, Have by a counsel willingly decreed To yield the town and Castle to your hands, Upon condition it will please your grace To grant them benefit of life and goods. KING EDWARD. They will so!Then, belike, they may command, Dispose, elect, and govern as they list. No, sirra, tell them, since they did refuse Our princely clemency at first proclaimed, They shall not have it now, although they would; I will accept of nought but fire and sword, Except, within these two days, six of them, That are the wealthiest merchants in the town, Come naked, all but for their linen shirts, With each a halter hanged about his neck, And prostrate yield themselves, upon their knees, To be afflicted, hanged, or what I please; And so you may

inform their masterships.

[Exeunt Edward and Percy.]

CAPTAIN. Why, this it is to trust a broken staff: Had we not been persuaded, John our King Would with his army have relieved the town, We had not stood upon defiance so: But now tis past that no man can recall, And better some do go to wrack them all.

[Exit.]

SCENE III. Poitou. Fields near Poitiers. The French camp; Tent of the Duke of Normandy.

[Enter Charles of Normandy and Villiers.]

CHARLES. I wonder, Villiers, thou shouldest importune me For one that is our deadly enemy.

VILLIERS. Not for his sake, my gracious Lord, so much Am I become an earnest advocate, As that thereby my ransom will be quit.

CHARLES. Thy ransom, man? why needest thou talk of that? Art thou not free? and are not all occasions, That happen for advantage of our foes, To be accepted of, and stood upon?

VILLIERS. No, good my Lord, except the same be just; For profit must with honor be comixt, Or else our actions are but scandalous. But, letting pass their intricate objections, Wilt please your highness to subscribe, or no?

CHARLES. Villiers, I will not, nor I cannot do it; Salisbury shall not have his will so much, To claim a passport how it pleaseth himself.

VILLIERS. Why, then I know the extremity, my Lord; I must return to prison whence I came.

CHARLES. Return?I hope thou wilt not; What bird that hath escaped the fowler's gin, Will not beware how she's ensnared again? Or, what is he, so senseless and secure, That, having hardly past a dangerous gul, Will put him self in peril there again?

VILLIERS. Ah, but it is mine oath, my gracious Lord, Which I in conscience may not violate, Or else a kingdom should not draw me hence.

CHARLES. Thine oath? why, tat doth bind thee to abide: Hast thou not sworn obedience to thy Prince?

VILLIERS. In all things that uprightly he commands: But either to persuade or threaten me, Not to perform the covenant of my word, Is lawless, and I need not to obey.

CHARLES. Why, is it lawful for a man to kill, And not, to break a promise with his foe?

VILLIERS. To kill, my Lord, when war is once proclaimed, So that

our quarrel be for wrongs received, No doubt, is lawfully permitted us; But in an oath we must be well advised, How we do swear, and, when we once have sworn, Not to infringe it, though we die therefore: Therefore, my Lord, as willing I return, As if I were to fly to paradise.

CHARLES. Stay, my Villiers; thine honorable min Deserves to be eternally admired. Thy suit shall be no longer thus deferred: Give me the paper, I'll subscribe to it; And, wheretofore I loved thee as Villiers, Hereafter I'll embrace thee as my self. Stay, and be still in favour with thy Lord.

VILLIERS. I humbly thank you grace; I must dispatch, And send this passport first unto the Earl, And then I will attend your highness pleasure.

CHARLES. Do so, Villiers;--and Charles, when he hath need, Be such his soldiers, howsoever he speed!

[Exit Villiers.] [Enter King John.]

KING JOHN. Come, Charles, and arm thee; Edward is entrapped, The Prince of Wales is fallen into our hands, And we have compassed him; he cannot escape.

CHARLES. But will your highness fight to day?

KING JOHN. What else, my son? he's scarce eight thousand strong, And we are threescore thousand at the least.

CHARLES. I have a prophecy, my gracious Lord, Wherein is written what success is like To happen us in this outrageous war; It was delivered me at Cresses field By one that is an aged Hermit there. [Reads.]'When feathered foul shall make thine army tremble, And flint stones rise and break the battle ray, Then think on him that doth not now dissemble; For that shall be the hapless dreadful day: Yet, in the end, thy foot thou shalt advance As far in England as thy foe in France.'

KING JOHN. By this it seems we shall be fortunate: For as it is impossible that stones Should ever rise and break the battle ray, Or airy foul make men in arms to quake, So is it like, we shall not be subdued: Or say this might be true, yet in the end, Since he doth promise we shall drive him hence And forage their Country as they have done ours, By this revenge that loss will seem the less. But all are frivolous fancies, toys, and

dreams: Once we are sure we have ensnared the son, Catch we the father after how we can.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV. The same. The English Camp.

[Enter Prince Edward, Audley, and others.]

PRINCE EDWARD. Audley, the arms of death embrace us round, And comfort have we none, save that to die We pay sower earnest for a sweeter life. At Cressey field out Clouds of Warlike smoke Choked up those French mouths & dissevered them; But now their multitudes of millions hide, Masking as twere, the beauteous burning Sun, Leaving no hope to us, but sullen dark And eyeless terror of all ending night.

AUDLEY. This sudden, mighty, and expedient head That they have made, fair prince, is wonderful. Before us in the valley lies the king, Vantaged with all that heaven and earth can yield; His party stronger battled than our whole: His son, the braving Duke of Normandy, Hath trimmed the Mountain on our right hand up In shining plate, that now the aspiring hill Shews like a silver quarry or an orb, Aloft the which the Banners, bannarets, And new replenished pendants cuff the air And beat the winds, that for their gaudiness Struggles to kiss them:on our left hand lies Phillip, the younger issue of the king, Coating the other hill in such array, That all his guilded upright pikes do seem Straight trees of gold, the pendants leaves; And their device of Antique heraldry, Quartered in colours, seeming sundry fruits, Makes it the Orchard of the Hesperides: Behind us too the hill doth bear his height, For like a half Moon, opening but one way, It rounds us in; there at our backs are lodged The fatal Crossbows, and the battle there Is governed by the rough Chattillion. Then thus it stands:the valley for our flight The king binds in; the hills on either hand Are proudly royalized by his sons; And on the Hill behind stands certain death In pay and service with Chattillion.

PRINCE EDWARD. Death's name is much more mighty than his deeds; Thy parcelling this power hath made it more. As many sands as these my hands can hold, Are but my handful of so many sands; Then, all the world, and call it but a power, Easily ta'en up, and quickly thrown away: But if I stand to count them sand by sand, The number would confound my memory, And make a thousand millions of a task, Which briefly is no more, indeed, than one. These quarters, squadrons, and these

regiments, Before, behind us, and on either hand, Are but a power.When we name a man, His hand, his foot, his head hath several 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 knowest, we call it but a Rain. There is but one France, one king of France, That France hath no more kings; and that same king Hath but the puissant legion of one king, And we have one:then apprehend no odds, For one to one is fair equality.

[Enter an Herald from King John.]

PRINCE EDWARD. What tidings, messenger? be plain and brief.

HERALD. The king of France, my sovereign Lord and master, Greets by me his foe, the Prince of Wales: If thou call forth a hundred men of name, Of Lords, Knights, Squires, and English gentlemen, And with thy self and those kneel at his feet, He straight will fold his bloody colours up, And ransom shall redeem lives forfeited; If not, this day shall drink more English blood, Than ere was buried in our British earth. What is the answer to his proffered mercy?

PRINCE EDWARD. This heaven, that covers France, contains the mercy That draws from me submissive orizons; That such base breath should vanish from my lips, To urge the plea of mercy to a man, The Lord forbid!Return, and tell the king, My tongue is made of steel, and it shall beg My mercy on his coward burgonet; Tell him, my colours are as red as his, My men as bold, our English arms as strong: Return him my defiance in his face.

HERALD. I go.

[Exit.]

[Enter another Herald.]

PRINCE EDWARD. What news with thee?

HERALD. The Duke of Normandy, my Lord & master, Pitying thy youth is so ingirt with peril, By me hath sent a nimble jointed jennet, As swift as ever yet thou didst bestride, And therewithall he counsels thee to fly; Else death himself hath sworn that thou shalt die.

PRINCE EDWARD. 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 Herald.]

[Enter another Herald.]

HERALD. Edward of Wales, Phillip, the second son To the most mighty christian king of France, Seeing thy body's living date expired, All full of charity and christian love, Commends this book, full fraught with prayers, To thy fair hand and for thy hour of life Intreats thee that thou meditate therein, And arm thy soul for her long journey towards-- Thus have I done his bidding, and return.

PRINCE EDWARD. Herald of Phillip, greet thy Lord from me: All good that he can send, I can receive; But thinkst thou not, the unadvised boy Hath wronged himself in thus far tendering me? Happily he cannot pray without the book-- I think him no divine extemporall--, Then render back this common place of prayer, To do himself good in adversity; Beside he knows not my sins' 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.

HERALD. I go.

[Exit.]

PRINCE EDWARD. How confident their strength and number makes them!-- Now, Audley, sound those silver wings of thine, And let those milk white messengers of time Shew thy times learning in this dangerous time. Thy self 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.

AUDLEY. To die is all as common as to live: The one ince-wise, 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, Then, presently, we fall; and, as a shade Follows the body, so we follow death. If, then, we hunt for death, why do we fear it? If we fear it, why do we follow it? If we do fear, how can we shun it? If we do fear, with fear we do but

aide 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 we shall, As we do draw the lottery of our doom.

PRINCE EDWARD. Ah, good old man, a thousand thousand armors 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 disgraced The imperial victory of murdering death, 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! To live or die I hold indifferent.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE V. The same. The French Camp.

[Enter King John and Charles.]

KING JOHN. A sudden darkness hath defaced the sky, The winds are crept into their caves for fear, The leaves move not, the world is hushed and still, The birds cease singing, and the wandering brooks Murmur no wonted greeting to their shores; Silence attends some wonder and expecteth That heaven should pronounce some prophesy: Where, or from whom, proceeds this silence, Charles?

CHARLES. 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.

KING JOHN. But now the pompous Sun, in all his pride, Looked through his golden coach upon the world, And, on a sudden, hath he hid himself, That now the under earth is as a grave, Dark, deadly, silent, and uncomfortable.

[A clamor of ravens.]

Hark, what a deadly outery do I hear? CHARLES. Here comes my brother Phillip. KING JOHN. All dismayed:

[Enter Phillip.]

What fearful words are those thy looks presage? PHILLIP. A flight, a flight!

KING JOHN. Coward, what flight? thou liest, there needs no flight. PHILLIP. A flight.

KING JOHN. Awake thy craven powers, and tell on The substance of that very fear in deed, Which is so ghastly printed in thy face: What is the matter?

PHILLIP. A flight of ugly ravens Do croak and hover o'er our soldiers' heads, And keep in triangles and cornered 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 metamorphosed images, Bloodless and pale, one gazing on another.

KING JOHN. Aye, now I call to mind the prophesy, But I must give no entrance to a fear.-- Return, and hearten up these yielding souls: Tell them, the ravens, seeing them in arms, So many fair against a famished few, Come but to dine upon their handy work 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 marked to die, Hover about, and, if they cry to us, Tis but for meat that we must kill for them. Away, and comfort up my soldiers, And sound the trumpets, and at once dispatch This little business of a silly fraud.

[Exit Phillip.]

[Another noise.Salisbury brought in by a French Captain.]

CAPTAIN. Behold, my liege, this knight and forty mo', Of whom the better part are slain and fled, With all endeavor sought to break our ranks, And make their way to the encompassed prince: Dispose of him as please your majesty.

KING JOHN. Go, & 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.

SALISBURY. My Lord of Normandy, I have your pass And warrant for my safety through this land.

CHARLES. Villiers procured it for thee, did he not? SALISBURY. He did.

CHARLES. And it is current; thou shalt freely pass.

KING JOHN. Aye, freely to the gallows to be hanged, Without denial or impediment. Away with him!

CHARLES. I hope your highness will not so disgrace me, And dash the virtue of my seal at arms: He hath my never broken name to shew, Charactered with this princely hand of mine: 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.

KING JOHN. Thou and thy word lie both in my command; What canst

thou promise that I cannot break? Which of these twain is greater infamy, To disobey thy father or thy self? Thy word, nor no mans, 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 thy self without consent do break, Thou art not charged with the breach of faith. Go, hang him:for thy license lies in me, And my constraint stands the excuse for thee.

CHARLES. What, am I not a soldier in my word? Then, arms, adieu, and let them fight that list! Shall I not give my girdle from my waste, But with a gardion I shall be controlled, To say I may not give my things away? Upon my soul, had Edward, prince of Wales, Engaged 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.

KING JOHN. Dwelst thou on precedents?Then be it so! Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art.

SALISBURY. An Earl in England, though a prisoner here, And those that know me, call me Salisbury.

KING JOHN. Then, Salisbury, say whether thou art bound. SALISBURY. To Callice, where my liege, king Edward, is.

KING JOHN. To Callice, Salisbury?Then, to Callice pack, And bid the king prepare a noble grave, To put his princely son, black Edward, in. And as thou travelst 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; Upon whose tall top when thy foot attains, Look back upon the humble vale beneath-- Humble of late, but now made proud with arms-- And thence behold the wretched prince of Wales, Hooped with a bond of iron round about. After which sight, to Callice spur amain, And say, the prince was smothered 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.

[Exit.]

SCENE VI. The same. A Part of the Field of Battle.

[Alarum.Enter prince Edward and Artois.]

ARTOIS. How fares your grace? are you not shot, my Lord?

PRINCE EDWARD. No, dear Artois; but choked with dust and smoke, And stepped aside for breath and fresher air.

ARTOIS. Breath, then, and to it again:the amazed French Are quite distract with gazing on the crows; And, were our quivers full of shafts again, Your grace should see a glorious day of this:-- O, for more arrows, Lord; that's our want.

PRINCE EDWARD. Courage, Artois! a fig for feathered shafts, When feathered fowls do bandy on our side! What need we fight, and sweat, and keep a coil, When railing crows outscold our adversaries? Up, up, Artois! the ground it self is armed With Fire containing flint; command our bows To hurl away their pretty colored Ew, And to it with stones:away, Artois, away! My soul doth prophecy we win the day.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE VII. The same. Another Part of the Field of

Battle.

[Alarum.Enter King John.]

KING JOHN. Our multitudes are in themselves confounded, Dismayed, and distraught; swift starting fear Hath buzzed a cold dismay through all our army, And every petty disadvantage prompts The fear possessed abject soul to fly. My self, whose spirit is steel to their dull lead, What with recalling of the prophecy, And that our native stones from English arms Rebel against us, find myself attainted With strong surprise of weak and yielding fear.

[Enter Charles.]

CHARLES. 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; The spirit of fear, that feareth nought but death, Cowardly works confusion on it self.

[Enter Phillip.]

PHILLIP. Pluck out your eyes, and see not this day's shame! An arm hath beat an army; one poor David Hath with a stone foiled twenty stout Goliahs; Some twenty naked starvelings with small flints, Hath driven back a puissant host of men, Arrayed and fenced in all accomplements.

KING JOHN. Mordieu, they quait at us, and kill us up; No less than forty thousand wicked elders Have forty lean slaves this day stoned to death.

CHARLES. O, that I were some other countryman! This day hath set derision on the French, And all the world will blurt and scorn at us.

KING JOHN. What, is there no hope left?

PHILLIP. No hope, but death, to bury up our shame.

KING JOHN. Make up once more with me; the twentieth part Of those that live, are men inow to quail The feeble handful on the adverse part.

CHARLES. Then charge again:if heaven be not opposed, We cannot lose the day.

KING JOHN. On, away!

[Exeunt.]

SCENE VIII.The same.Another Part of the Field of

Battle.

[Enter Audley, wounded, & rescued by two squires.] ESQUIRE. How fares my Lord?

AUDLEY. Even as a man may do, That dines at such a bloody feast as this.

ESQUIRE. I hope, my Lord, that is no mortal scar.

AUDLEY. 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 bravery of my blood I may become him with saluting him. I'll smile, and tell him, that this open scar Doth end the harvest of his Audley's war.

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IX. The same. The English Camp.

[Enter prince Edward, King John, Charles, and all, with Ensigns spread.]

PRINCE EDWARD. Now, John in France, & lately John of France, Thy bloody Ensigns are my captive colours; And you, high vaunting Charles of Normandy, That once to day sent me a horse to fly, Are now the subjects of my clemency. Fie, Lords, is it not a shame that English boys, Whose early days are yet not worth a beard, Should in the bosom of your kingdom thus, One against twenty, beat you up together?

KING JOHN. Thy fortune, not thy force, hath conquered us. PRINCE EDWARD. An argument that heaven aides the right. [Enter Artois with Phillip.]

See, see, Artois doth bring with him along The late good counsel giver to my soul. Welcome, Artois; and welcome, Phillip, too: Who now of you or I have need to pray? Now is the proverb verified in you, 'Too bright a morning breeds a louring day.'

[Sound Trumpets.Enter Audley.]

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 wooest death with thy careless smile, And lookst so merrily upon thy grave, As if thou were enamored on thine end: What hungry sword hath so bereaved thy face, And lopped a true friend from my loving soul?

AUDLEY. O Prince, thy sweet bemoaning speech to me Is as a mournful knell to one dead sick.

PRINCE EDWARD. Dear Audley, if my tongue ring out thy end, My arms shall be thy grave:what may I do To win thy life, or to revenge thy death? If thou wilt drink the blood of captive kings, Or that it were restorative, command A Health of kings' blood, and I'll drink to thee; If honor may dispense for thee with death, The never dying honor of this day Share wholly, Audley, to thy self, and live.

AUDLEY. Victorious Prince,--that thou art so, behold A Caesar's fame in king's captivity-- If I could hold him death but at a bay, Till I did see my liege thy royal father, My soul should yield this Castle of my flesh, This

mangled tribute, with all willingness, To darkness, consummation, dust, and Worms.

PRINCE EDWARD. Cheerily, bold man, thy soul is all too proud To yield her City for one little breach; Should be divorced from her earthly spouse By the soft temper of a French man's sword? Lo, to repair thy life, I give to thee Three thousand Marks a year in English land.

AUDLEY. I take thy gift, to pay the debts I owe: These two poor Esquires redeemed me from the French With lusty & dear hazard of their lives: What thou hast given me, I give to them; And, as thou lovest me, prince, lay thy consent To this bequeath in my last testament.

PRINCE EDWARD. Renowned Audley, live, and have from me This gift twice doubled to these Esquires and thee: But live or die, what thou hast given away To these and theirs shall lasting freedom stay. Come, gentlemen, I will see my friend bestowed With in an easy Litter; then we'll march Proudly toward Callis, with triumphant pace, Unto my royal father, and there bring The tribute of my wars, fair France his king.

[Exit.]