Edward III

King Edward

See, how occasion laughs me in the face! No sooner minded to prepare for France, But straight I am invited, nay, with threats, Upon a penalty, enjoin’d to come: ’Twere but a childish part to say him nay.⁠— Lorraine, return this answer to thy lord: I mean to visit him, as he requests; But how? not servilely dispos’d to bend, But like a conqueror to make him bow. His lame unpolish’d shifts are come to light, And truth hath pull’d the vizard from his face That set a gloss upon his arrogance. Dare he command a fealty in me? Tell him, the crown, that he usurps, is mine, And where he sets his foot, he ought to kneel: ’Tis not a petty dukedom that I claim, But all the whole dominions of the realm; Which if with grudging he refuse to yield, I’ll take away those borrow’d plumes of his And send him naked to the wilderness.

Lorraine

Then, Edward, here, in spite of all thy lords, I do pronounce defiance to thy face.

Prince Edward

Defiance, Frenchman? we rebound it back, Even to the bottom of thy master’s throat: And⁠—be it spoke with reverence of the king My gracious father, and these other lords.⁠— I hold thy message but as scurrilous, And him that sent thee, like the lazy drone Crept up by stealth unto the eagle’s nest; From whence we’ll shake him with so rough a storm, As others shall be warned by his harm.

Roxborough. Before the castle.

Enter Countess of Salisbury, and certain of her People, upon the walls.

Countess

Alas, how much in vain my poor eyes gaze For succour that my sovereign should send! Ah, cousin Mountague, I fear, thou want’st The lively spirit sharply to solicit With vehement suit the king in my behalf: Thou dost not tell him, what a grief it is To be the scornful captive of a Scot; Either to be woo’d with broad untuned oaths, Or forc’d by rough insulting barbarism: Thou dost not tell him, if he here prevail, How much they will deride us in the north; And, in their wild, uncivil, skipping jigs, Bray forth their conquest and our overthrow, Even in the barren, bleak, and fruitless air.

Enter King David and Forces; with Douglas, Lorraine, and others.

I must withdraw; the everlasting foe Comes to the wall: I’ll closely step aside, And list their babble, blunt and full of pride. Retiring behind the works.

I might perceive his eye in her eye lost, His ear to drink her sweet tongue’s utterance; And changing passion, like inconstant clouds That rack upon the carriage of the winds, Increase and die in his disturbed cheeks. Lo, when she blush’d, even then did he look pale, As if her cheeks, by some enchanted power, Attracted had the cherry blood from his: Anon, with reverent fear when she grew pale, His cheeks put on their scarlet ornaments, But no more like her oriental red, Than brick to coral or live things to dead. Why did he then thus counterfeit her looks? If she did blush, ’twas tender modest shame, Being in the sacred presence of a king; If he did blush, ’twas red immodest shame, To vail his eyes amiss, being a king: If she look’d pale, ’twas silly woman’s fear, To bear herself in presence of a king; If he look’d pale, it was with guilty fear, To dote amiss, being a mighty king: Then, Scottish wars, farewell! I fear, ’twill prove A ling’ring English siege of peevish love. Here comes his highness, walking all alone.

Enter King Edward.

King Edward

She is grown more fairer far since I came hither; Her voice more silver every word than other, Her wit more fluent: what a strange discourse Unfolded she of David and his Scots! “Even thus,” quoth she, “he spake,”⁠—and then spoke broad, With epithites and accents of the Scot; But somewhat better than the Scot could speak: “And thus,” quoth she⁠—and

Resolv’d to be dissolv’d; and, therefore, this⁠— Keep but thy word, great king, and I am thine. Stand where thou dost, I’ll part a little from thee, And see how I will yield me to thy hands. Turning suddenly upon him, and showing two daggers. Here by my side doth hang my wedding knifes: Take thou the one and with it kill thy queen And learn by me to find her where she lies; And with this other I’ll dispatch my love, Which now lies fast asleep within my heart: When they are gone, then I’ll consent to love. Stir not, lascivious king, to hinder me; My resolution is more nimbler far Than thy prevention can be in my rescue, And, if thou stir, I strike: therefore stand still, And hear the choice that I will put thee to: Either swear to leave thy most unholy suit, And never henceforth to solicit me; Or else, by Heaven, kneeling this sharp-pointed knife Shall stain thy earth with that which thou wouldst stain, My poor chaste blood. Swear, Edward, swear, Or I will strike and die before thee here.

King Edward

Even by that Power I swear, that gives me now The power to be ashamed of myself, I never mean to part my lips again In any words that tends to such a suit. Arise, true English Lady, whom our isle May better boast of, than e’er Roman might Of her, whose ransack’d treasury hath task’d The vain endeavour of so many pens: Arise; and be my fault thy honour’s fame, Which after-ages shall enrich thee with.

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 sour earnest for a sweeter life. At Cressy field out clouds of warlike smoke Chok’d up those French mouths and dissever’d 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, Vantag’d with all that heaven and earth can yield; His party stronger battled than our whole: His son, the braving Duke of Normandy, Hath trimm’d the mountain on our right hand up In shining plate, that now the aspiring hill Shows like a silver quarry or an orb; Aloft the which, the banners, bannarets, And new-replenish’d pendants cuff the air, And beat the winds, that for their gaudiness Struggles to kiss them: on our left hand lies Philip, the younger issue of the king, Coting the other hill in such array That all his guilded upright pikes do seem Straight trees of gold, the pendant streamers leaves; And their device of antique heraldry, Quarter’d 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, op’ning but one way, It rounds us in; there at our backs are lodg’d The fatal cross-bows, and the battle there Is govern’d by the rough Chatillion. 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 Chatillion.