Be still adorned with laurel victory.

⌈The helmet is placed on the Prince of Wales⌉

Fight and be valiant; conquer where thou com’st.

AUDLEY

Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales,

Receive this lance into thy manly hand.

Use it in fashion of a brazen pen

To draw forth bloody stratagems in France,

And print thy valiant deeds in honour’s book.

⌈The lance is given to the Prince of Wales⌉

Fight and be valiant; vanquish where thou com’st.

COMTE D’ARTOIS

Edward Plantagenet, Prince of Wales,

Hold, take this target; wear it on thy arm.

And may the view thereof, like Perseus’ shield,

Astonish and transform thy gazing foes

To senseless images of meagre death.

⌈The shield is given to the Prince of Wales⌉

Fight and be valiant; conquer where thou com’st.

KING EDWARD

Now wants there naught but knighthood, which deferred

We leave till thou hast won it in the field.

PRINCE OF WALES

My gracious father and ye forward peers,

This honour you have done me animates

And cheers my green, yet scarce-appearing, strength

With comfortable, good-presaging signs,

No otherwise than did old Jacob’s words

Whenas he breathed his blessings on his sons.

These hallowed gifts of yours, when I profane

Or use them not to glory of my God

To patronage the fatherless and poor,

Or for the benefit of England’s peace,

Be numb my joints, wax feeble both mine arms,

Wither my heart that, like a sapless tree,

I may remain the map of infamy.

KING EDWARD

Then thus our steeled battles shall be ranged.

(To the Prince of Wales) The leading of the vanguard, Ned, is thine,

To dignify whose lusty spirit the more

We temper it with Audley’s gravity,

That courage and experience, joined in one,

Your manège may be second unto none.

(To all) For the main battles I will guide myself,

And Derby in the rearward march behind,

That orderly disposed and set in ’ray

Let us to horse, and God grant us the day!

Exeunt

Sc. 7 Alarum. Enter and exit a many Frenchmen flying. Chasing after them, enter and exit Edward Prince of Wales running. Then enter Jean King of France and the Due de Lorraine

KING OF FRANCE

O Lorraine, say: what mean our men to fly?

Our number is far greater than our foes.

DUC DE LORRAINE

The garrison of Genoese, my lord,

That came from Paris, weary with their march,

Grudging to be so suddenly employed,

No sooner in the forefront took their place,

But straight retiring, so dismayed the rest

As likewise they betook themselves to flight,

In which, for haste to make a safe escape,

More in the clustering throng are pressed to death

Than by the enemy a thousandfold.

KING OF FRANCE

O, hapless fortune! Let us yet assay

If we can counsel some of them to stay.

Exeunt

Sc. 8 Enter King Edward and Lord Audley

KING EDWARD

Lord Audley, whiles our son is in the chase,

Withdraw our powers unto this little hill,

And here a season let us breathe ourselves.

AUDLEY I will, my lord. Exit

Sound retreat within

KING EDWARD

Just-dooming heaven, whose secret providence

To our gross judgement is inscrutable,

How are we bound to praise thy wondrous works

That hast, this day, given way unto the right,

And made the wicked stumble at themselves?

Enter the Comte d’Artois

COMTE D’ARTOIS

Rescue, King Edward! Rescue for thy son!

KING EDWARD

Rescue, Artois? What, is he prisoner,

Or fell by violence beside his horse?

COMTE D’ARTOIS

Neither, my lord, but narrowly beset

With turning Frenchmen, whom he did pursue,

As ’tis impossible that he should scape

Except your highness presently descend.

KING EDWARD

Tut, let him fight. We gave him arms today,

And he is labouring for a knighthood, man!

Enter the Earl of Derby

EARL OF DERBY

The Prince, my lord, the Prince! O, succour him!

He’s close encompassed with a world of odds.

KING EDWARD

Then will he win a world of honour too

If he by valour can redeem him thence.

If not, what remedy? We have more sons

Than one to comfort our declining age.

Enter Lord Audley

AUDLEY

Renowned Edward, give me leave, I pray,

To lead my soldiers where I may relieve

Your grace’s son, in danger to be slain.

The snares of French, like emmets on a bank,

Muster about him whilst he, lion-like,

Entangled in the net of their assaults,

Franticly rends and bites the woven toil.

But all in vain. He cannot free himself.

KING EDWARD

Audley, content. I will not have a man,

On pain of death, sent forth to succour him.

This is the day ordained by destiny

To season his green courage with those grievous

thoughts

That, if he breaketh out, Nestor’s years on earth

Will make him savour still of this exploit.

EARL OF DERBY

Ah, but he shall not live to see those days!

KING EDWARD

Why, then, his epitaph is lasting praise.

AUDLEY

Yet, good my lord, ’tis too much wilfulness

To let his blood be spilt, that may be saved.

KING EDWARD