University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Scene, the Prince of Wales's Tent.
Prince Edward discover'd seated, Warwick, Salisbury, Audley, Chandos, and others standing.
PRINCE.
My Lords, I summon'd ye in haste to Council.
Intelligence is brought me that our Foes
Have levied to oppose us, such a Strength
As almost staggers Credibility!
What's to be done? To tarry longer here,
And brave their Fury in the heart of France,
Would be a Rashness that may hazard all.
Consider therefore well, my Fellow-Warriours,
And aid my Judgment with your good Advice;
Speak, Warwick, your Opinion.

War.
Royal Sir,
It is for marching back, with speed, to Bourdeaux.
Our little Army, harass'd with Fatigue
And heavy-laden with the Spoils of War,
Should like the careful Bees, ere Storm o'ertake us,
Secure our Treasures and prepare for Rest.
Havock has wanton'd in our hard Campaign,
And manly Daring won Increase of Glory:
Then let not now Presumption madly risk
Reprisals from such Force. Be timely prudent:
The Voice of Wisdom urges our Retreat,
Obey it and be happy.

Aud.
Shameful Thought!
What spirit Dastards by inglorious Flight?
No; never let it, mighty Prince, be said
That we who, two succeeding Summers, chac'd
From Shore to Shore of their extensive Realm
Collected Armies, doubling each our own!
Should here at length discover abject Fear,
And skulk for coward Safety. What are Numbers?
Let all their Kingdom's Millions arm at once,
And crowding, clust'ring, cram the Field of Fight!
Such timid Throngs, with multiply'd Dismay,
Would make Confusion do the Task of Valour,
And work out their Destruction.

Sal.
Audley's Thoughts
Accord with mine: While Salisbury has Breath,
His Tongue shall hurl Defiance at their Force.
Remember, princely Edward, Cressy's Field;
Remember ev'ry Battle we have fought,
How much out-counted, yet how greatly Victors!
Loud were the Calls that broke our Sleep of Peace,
And bade us rouse and buckle on our Arms:
A Throne usurp'd, your Royal Father's Right;
A violated Truce, a vile Attempt
To filch away the Fruits of painful Conquest,
By basely bribing Servants from their Duty.
Assaults so infamous, such rank Dishonour,
At last awoke our Monarch's high Resentment:
O give it glorious Scope! Unhinge, destroy
Their very Pow'r of doing future Wrongs:
So shall the rescu'd World pour forth its Blessings,
And Kings and Kingdoms thank our Arm for Safety.

Chand.
If Chandos gives his Voice for our Retreat
'Tis not from coward Motives: All can witness
I have met Danger with as firm a Spirit
As any in our Host. But as Success
Hath crown'd our Arms with ample Spoils and Glory,
Why, when the Season is so far advanc'd,
(Hopeless of Profit) should we longer stay,
By soothing Pride, to brave Adversity?
Consider, gracious Prince, and you, my Lords,
What Difficulties clog a Winter March
In hostile Countries; Parties harassing,
And want of all Convenience and Supplies.
I do confess, the Wrongs that urg'd us hither
Were such as merited severe Revenge:
And Vengeance we have had. Their burning Towns
Have lighted us on many a midnight March,
While Shrieks and Groans, and Yellings echo'd round.
Fear and Confusion were our Harbingers,
And Death and Desolation our Attendants.
Such have their Suff'rings been thro' two Campaigns,
And that a third may rise with added Horrors,
And carry Indignation to his Goal,
Now homeward let us look; and wisely there
Recruit, in time, our Vigour and our Numbers;
Thence, with the chearful Spring to issue forth,
Again to labour in the Field of Fame.

Prince.
True Wisdom, Chandos, dictates to your Tongue,
And modest, manly Eloquence adorns it.
My Lords of Salisbury and Audley, you,
Who cherish Truth and Candour in your Minds,
Must yield to Arguments so clear and strong.
Believe me, Friends and Brothers of the War,
A momentary Ruin may involve us:
Such mighty Host are rais'd and now in Motion,
As well will task our utmost Skill to scape.
Upon the Plains of Poictiers are encamp'd,
Th'extensive Plains that our Retreat must skirt,
An Army double ours!

Aud.
And shall we pass?
Go tamely by? And give 'em Cause for vaunting,
That Englishmen avoided once a Battle?
No; never let us merit such a Stain;
But boldly seek 'em, dare their double Numbers,
And drive 'em, if a Combat they decline,
To skip and wanton at a safer Distance.

Sal.
Give us, my Prince, the Pleasure but to spring
This gaudy Flight of prating Popinjays,
And we'll retire contented.

Chand.
There my Voice
Shall join ye, Lords: To force them from their Hold
At such a Juncture, will be doubly glorious!
Or should they venture Battle, their Discomfit
Will render our Retreat to Bourdeaux safe,
And end our Labours with a noble Triumph.

Prince.
Then be it so: For Poictiers we'll prepare.
[Rising.
Give instant Orders, good my Lords, for marching:
To-morrow's Sun shall see us face our Foes.
There, if they wait our coming, we once more
Will dress Contention in her gorgon Horrors:
Drive Fear and Slaughter thro' their shuddring Ranks,
Stalk o'er their mangled Heaps, and, bath'd in Blood,
Seize with red Hands the Wreath of Victory!
Here break we off; go each where Duty calls.

[Exeunt Lords.
Prince
solus.
Enter Arnold.

Arn.
So honour'd, gracious Prince, as I have been,
From humble Fortune rais'd to envy'd Greatness,
And still with ev'ry Grace each Gift made precious!
O what are Words in Payment for such Blessings!
What, ev'n my Life! were Life itself laid down
In Gratitude for such transcendent Goodness!

Prince.
If there's a Transport tow'ring to divine;
If, in Atonement for its Load of Cares,
One vast Enjoyment is the Gift of Greatness!
'Tis that we can bestow where Merit claims,
And with our Favours chear or charm the Soul.
Thine is the vacant military Post,
By Mountford's Death reverted to my Gift;
And keep thy Office in my Houshold still:
I must not lose the Servant in the Soldier.
Be henceforth both, and, what is more,—my Friend.

Arn.
How shall I praise—

Prince.
Arnold, I merit none.
If thou hast Kindness done thee, I have Pleasure:
There is no Joy a gen'rous Mind can know,
Like that of giving Virtue its Reward.
Nor ought such Payment be esteem'd a Bounty,
For to deserve and give is equal Favour.
But let me ask thee of thy beauteous Charge:
How has the noble Mariana borne
Captive Calamity?

Arn.
With Resignation
Worthy her Birth and Dignity of Spirit!
Forgetting her Misfortunes, all her Talk
Turns on the Topic of your kind Protection.

Prince.
Let it extend to all that can relieve
The Mind from harsh Reflexions on her State.
We're now preparing for the Plains of Poictiers.
Accommodate her on the wearying Way
With thy best Care. Remember I request it.

[Exit.
Arnold solus.
Arn.
Rely, my Royal Master, on my Duty.
Needless Injunction: Mariana's Charms
Have given her here such absolute Command,
My very Soul, my ev'ry Pow'r, is hers.
But the cold Maid, whene'er I plead my Passion,
Chills me with Sighs, and stifles all my Flame
Of Love with streaming Tears. Benignant Heav'n!
Bless'd as I am with Royal Edward's Favour,
Add Mariana's Charms:—And all beyond
Let mad Ambition grapple for and gain.

[Exit.
Scene changes to the French Camp.
Enter Charney and the Archbishop of Sens.
Char.
My Lord of Sens, I gladly give your Grace
A joyful Welcome to the Plains of Poictiers.
You come the happy Harbinger of Comfort,
Returning to old Charney's woe-worn Mind.
The King's Approach revives my drooping Spirits,
It feeds the dying Lamp of Life with Hope
That I shall live to riot in Revenge.
Those English Locusts, who devour our Wealth,
Who spoil and slaughter with so wild a Fury—
Grant, ye good Pow'rs! these Eyes may see destroy'd,
And I shall die contented.

Sens.
Ev'ry Tongue
Joins that Petition: Your Misfortunes, Lord,
Most nearly touch the King.

Char.
O they are great!—
The Pride of ancient Lineage treasur'd up,
Trophies of War and Ornaments of Pomp,
These won by Valour, those with Honour worn,
Favours of Monarchs, and the Gifts of Heav'n!
The Relicks of a glorious Ancestry
Are, with the Mansion of my great Forefathers,
A Heap of Ashes now—A wide-spread Ruin.
My Age's Blessing too, an only Daughter!
Torn from her Home to hard Captivity,
The Prey, the Victim of a fell Revenge!
O matchless Misery!—O Mariana!—

Sens.
Your Sorrows have been wept by ev'ry Eye:
And all have wondred what should mark you out
For such peculiar Vengeance.

Char.
Nothing but
The Service done our Master, when I brib'd
Their Governor to give up Calais to us:
Who, like a Villain, broke his plighted Faith,
And sacrific'd the gallant Troops I led
To Edward's Fury: Slaughter'd all or taken,
I was amongst the Train who grac'd his Triumph.
There the proud King insulted me with Taunts;
He call'd our Undertaking vile and base:
With low'ring Brow and Bitterness of Speech,
Adding, he hop'd the Fortune of his Arms
Would give him to reward my Treachery.
The Father's Wishes hath the Son accomplish'd!
For which, may all the Rage of ev'ry Curse,
Flames, Famines, Pestilences, Slaughters! join
To root from Nature the detested Race.

Sens.
Grant it, good Heav'n!—But see! the Duke of Athens.

Enter Athens.
Char.
Lord Constable! most welcome to my Arms.

Ath.
I thank you, noble Charney.

Char.
Are the Train
Of Royal Warriours, Sir, arriv'd!

Ath.
They are.

Char.
O joyful Tidings! Sir, another Hour
Shall speak, at large, my Pleasure to behold you:
The present claims my Duty to the King.

[Exit.
Ath.
My Lord of Sens, these secret Marches made
From different Parts by our divided Host,
May steal us on our unprepared Foes,
And give our Arms, at length, an ample Vengeance.

Sens.
I greatly hope it. As I think, to-morrow,
Or I mistook the King, they'll all be here?

Ath.
With early Day, the Instant we arriv'd,
A numerous Party, led by Ribemont,
Came up and join'd us. Those the Dauphin brings,
Our last Division, are to march by Night;
We may expect them with to-morrow's Dawn.

Sens.
See! Ribemont is here.

Enter Ribemont.
Rib.
Why, this looks well!—
Here's Bustle, Expedition! Once again
We shine in Arms, and wear a Face of War.

Sens.
O may they never be again laid down,
'Till England is repaid with all the Plagues
Her Sons have brought on France. My eager Soul,
As does the fever'd Lip for Moisture, longs
To see Destruction overwhelm that People.

Rib.
Indulge no guilty Hatred, rev'rend Lord.
For fair Report, and let me add Experience,
Picture them lovely to impartial Judgment.
The World allows they're valiant, gen'rous, wise!
Endow'd with all that dignifies our Nature!
While for their Monarch—We'll appeal to Facts,
And sure they speak him wonderful indeed!
Did not Germania's ermin'd Princes meet,
And as the most renown'd, the first of Men,
Elect great Edward to Imperial Sway?
While he, sublime in ever-conscious Glory,
Disdaining Rule but on his native Throne,
Saw Sovereigns offer Vassalage in vain!
Then, to his Court, from ev'ry peopled Realm,
Ev'n from our own did not the fam'd in Arms,
The harness'd Knights repair to fill his Lifts?
To take his Judgment in all Martial Strife?
Submitting Int'rest, Honour, all was precious,
And ev'n beyond Appeal! owning his Voice
Like that of Heav'n! incapable of Error!

Sens.
It grates my Soul to hear a Frenchman talk
Of greater Glories than he finds at home.
Is not this Monarch you would make a God,
Our Master's Enemy? Our Country's Foe?—

Rib.
A Foe he is, but he's a noble Foe!—
I know his Worth, and therefore will I speak it.
At our Attack of Calais, 'twas my Fortune
To meet in Fight this Third King Edward's Sword.
I found him all that Heathens held their Gods,
Artful and mighty! (pardon the proud Vaunt)
Too much for me to conquer. Long we stood
Buckler to Buckler, clashing Steel to Steel,
'Till by superior Soldiership o'ercome,
I yielded to a Monarch! but so well,
With hardy Vigour, I sustain'd the Combat,
That Freedom, ransomless, was my Reward.
The Royal Victor, when he bade me go,
Took from his Brow this String of Orient Wealth,
Around my Temples twin'd the glittering Wreath,
And cry'd—“Shine there, my Token of Applause.”
O if his Valour wing'd Amazement high,
Where was its Flight, when his heroic Soul,
Forgetting that my Sword had aim'd his Slaughter,
O'erlook'd all low Regards, all partial Ties,
And gave a vanquish'd Enemy Renown!

Sens.
Detested Boast.—Ambition's Taint, my Lord,
So warps, so biases the Soldier's Judgment—

Rib.
Hah! biases?—I tell thee, Priest, Ambition—
When was it wanting in a Churchman's Soul?
More odious there, and more pernicious far,
Than when it fires the Warriour's Breast to Glory.
But—down my Rage—Your Office should be peaceful—
Your Habit's sacred—Let your Speech be suited.

Sens.
Reproving, Sir, you think you rail secure,
And so secure remain—Howe'er your Cause
Might bring ev'n your Allegiance into question.

Rib.
Said'st thou Allegiance?—What a vile Resort!—
And would thy jaundic'd Malice stain my Fame?—
But Loyalty, long prov'd, dares bid Defiance
To all the base Perversion of thy Tongue.
I praise my Foes, because they merit Praise:
I'll praise them to the King!—And after fight 'em.
My Soul disdains such narrow-hearted Spleen,
As owns no Excellence beyond a Tribe,
Or hates, from Envy, all superior Merit.

Ath.
Forbear, my Lord, consider you're enrag'd
With one whose Function does forbid Revenge.

Rib.
Why does the meddling Priest provoke Resentment?
Let him obey that Function: Preach Repentance
To Money-scraping Misers, sordid Slaves,
The cringing Minions of corrupted Courts,
The Dregs of Stews and Tyrants of the Gown.
There let his Zeal be vehement and loud,
But not come here to sap the Soldier's Honour,
And teach inglorious Lessons in a Camp.

[Exit.
Ath.
Forgive him, good my Lord; brave Ribemont
Is all the Warriour, bold above Restraint!
Of Nature noble, but unpolish'd Manners.

Sens.
I do forgive him—Yet a Time may come—

[Aside
Ath.
Sir, go we to the Presence?

Sens.
I attend you.

Ath.
There grant, ye Pow'rs! our Counsels may procure
This Kingdom's Safety, and its Peace insure:
In one brave Action may our Arms succeed,
And in their Turn the daring English bleed.

[Exeunt.