Edward the Third / edited with a preface, notes and glossary by G. C. Moore Smith.

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 martial 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,
Bloodthirsty and seditious Catilines,

Spendthrifts, 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 themselves?

Lorraine
All but the Scot; who solemnly protests,
As heretofore I have inform'd his grace,
Never to sheathe his sword, or take a truce.

King John
Ah, that's the anch'rage of some better hope!
But, on the other side, to think what friends
King Edward hath retain'd in Netherland,
Among those ever-bibbing Epicures,
Those frothy Dutchmen, puff'd 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 Boheme 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 King of Bohemia, and Forces; and Aid of Danes,
Poles, and Muscovites.
King of Bohemia
King John of France, as league and neighbourhood
Requires when friends are anyway distress'd,
I come to aid thee with my country's force.

Polish Captain
And from great Moscow, 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-brain'd nation, deck'd in pride,
The spoil of whom will be a treble game.—
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 Xerxes we compare of strength
Whose soldiers drank up rivers in their thirst:
Then, Bayard-like, blind over-weening Ned,
To reach at our imperial diadem
Is either to be swallow'd of the waves
Or hack'd a-pieces when thou com'st ashore.

Enter a Mariner.
Mariner
Near to the coast I have descried, my lord,
As I was busy in my watchful charge,
The proud Armado of King Edward's ships:
Which at the first, far off when I did ken,
Seem'd as it were a grove of wither'd pines
But, drawing near, their glorious bright aspect,
Their streaming ensigns wrought of colourd 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 quarterd equally by herald's art.
Thus, tightly carried with a merry gale,
They plough the ocean hitherward amain.

King John
Dare he already crop the flower-de-luce?
I hope, the honey being gather'd thence,
He, with the spider, afterward approach'd,
Shall suck forth deadly venom from the leaves.—
But where's our navy? how are they prepar'd
To wing themselves against this flight of ravens?

Mariner
They, having knowledge brought them by the scouts,

Did break from anchor straight; and, puff'd with rage
No otherwise than 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 dispers'd
To several places, lest they chance to land :
First, you, my lord, with your Bohemian troops,
Shall pitch your battles on the lower hand
My eldest son, the Duke of Normandy,
Together with this aid of Muscovites,
Shall climb the higher ground another way;
Here in the middle coast, betwixt you both,
Philip, my youngest boy, and I will lodge.
So, lords, be gone, and look unto your charge;
You stand for France, an empire fair and large.—
Exeunt Charles, Lorraine, King of Bohemia, and Forces.
Now tell me, Philip, what is thy conceit,
Touching the challenge that the English make?

Philip
I say, my lord, claim Edward what he can,
And bring he ne'er so plain a pedigree,
'Tis you are in 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 Philip! 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; King and his Son set down to it. Ordnance afar off.
Now is begun the heavy day at sea.
Fight, Frenchmen, fight; be like the field of bears,
When they defend their younglings in their caves!
Steer, angry Nemesis, the happy helm;
That with the sulphur battles of your rage
The English fleet may be dispers'd and sunk!

Ordnance again.
Philip
O, father, how this echoing cannon-shot,
Like sweetest harmony, disgests my cates!

King John
Now, boy, thou hear'st what thund'ring 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 show the rancour of their high-swoln hearts.
Retreat heard.

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 favouring sky,
Our men may vanquish and the other fly!
Enter Mariner.
My heart misgives:—say, mirror of pale death,
To whom belongs the honour 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, France 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 conjoin'd, and by their admiral
Our admiral encounter'd 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 serv'd 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 fill'd 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, dissever'd from the trunk;
There mangled arms and legs were toss'd aloft,
As when a whirlwind 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 valour and of fear,
Of resolution and of cowardice,
We lively pictur'd; how the one for fame,
The other by compulsion laid about.
Much did the Nonpareille, that brave ship;
So did the Black-snake of Bulloin, than which
A bonnier vessel never yet spread sail:
But all in vain; both sun, the wind and tide
Revolted all unto our foemen'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 Philip, let us hence depart;
This soldier's words have pierc'd thy father's heart.

University of Virginia Library

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