University of Virginia Library

Scene vii

The game. The English Camp.
Flourish. Enter Prince Edward, in triumph, leading prisoners, King John and his son Charles; and Officers, Soldiers, etc., with ensigns spread.

Prince Edward
Now, John in France, and 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't 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 conquer'd us.

Prince Edward
An argument that Heaven aids the right.—
Enter Artois, with Philip.
See, see, Artois doth bring with him along
The late good-counsel-giver to my soul!
Welcome, Artois, and welcome, Philip, 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,—
Enter Audley, led by the two Esquires.
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 woo'st death with thy careless smile
And look'st so merrily upon thy grave
As if thou wert enamour'd on thine end,
What hungry sword hath so bereav'd thy face
And lopp'd a true friend from my loving soul?

Audley
O prince, thy sweet becoming 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 king's blood, and I'll drink to thee
If honour may dispense for thee with death,
The never-dying honour of this day
Share wholly, Audley, to thyself, and live.

Audley
Victorious prince,— that thou art so, behold
A Caesar's fame in kings' captivity, —
If I could hold dim 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
Cheerly, 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 Frenchman'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 squires redeem'd me from the French,
With lusty and dear hazard of their lives;
What thou hast given me, I give to them;
And, as thou lov'st 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 squires and thee:
But, live or die, what thou hast given away,
To these and theirs shall lasting freedom stay.—
Come, gentlemen, I'll see my friend bestow'd
Within an easy litter; then we'll march
Proudly toward Calice with triumphant pace
Unto my royal father, and there bring
The tribute of my wars, fair France's king.
Exeunt.