Edward III by William Shakespeare (new ebook reader TXT) 📕

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 Bohemia 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 the King of Bohemia, and Forces; 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 aide thee with my country’s force.

Pole

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 colour’d 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 quarter’d 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 then 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 the 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 the 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, digests my eats!

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