For when we see a horse laid down to die—

Although not dead—the ravenous birds

Sit watching the departure of his life.

Even so these ravens, for the carcasses

Of those poor English that are marked to die,

Hover about, and if they cry to us

’Tis but for meat that we must kill for them.

Away, and comfort up my soldiers,

And sound the trumpets and at once dispatch

This little business of a silly fraud. Exit Prince Philippe

Another noise. Enter the Earl of Salisbury brought in by a French Captain

FRENCH CAPTAIN

Behold, my liege, this knight and forty more,

Of whom the better part are slain and fled,

With all endeavour sought to break our ranks

And make their way to the encompassed Prince.

Dispose of him as please your majesty.

KING OF FRANCE

Go, and the next bough, soldier, that thou seest,

Disgrace it with his body presently,

Fore I do hold a tree in France too good

To be the gallows of an English thief.

EARL OF SALISBURY (to the Dauphin)

My lord of Normandy, I have your pass

And warrant for my safety through this land.

DAUPHIN

Villiers procured it for thee, did he not?

EARL OF SALISBURY He did.

DAUPHIN

And it is current. Thou shalt freely pass.

KING OF FRANCE

Ay, freely to the gallows to be hanged Without denial or impediment! Away with him.

DAUPHIN

I hope your highness will not so disgrace me,

And dash the virtue of my seal at arms.

He hath my never-broken name to show,

Charàctered with this princely hand of mine.

And rather let me leave to be a prince

Than break the stable verdict of a prince.

I do beseech you, let him pass in quiet.

KING OF FRANCE

Thou and thy word lie both in my command.

What canst thou promise that I cannot break?

Which of these twain is greater infamy—

To disobey thy father or thyself?

Thy word, nor no man’s, may exceed his power,

Nor that same man doth never break his word

That keeps it to the utmost of his power.

The breach of faith dwells in the soul’s consent,

Which, if thyself without consent do break,

Thou art not charged with the breach of faith.

Go, hang him; for thy licence lies in me,

And my constraint stands the excuse for thee.

DAUPHIN

What, am I not a soldier in my word?

Then arms, adieu, and let them fight that list.

Shall I not give my girdle from my waist

But with a guardian I shall be controlled

To say I may not give my things away?

Upon my soul, had Edward Prince of Wales

Engaged his word, writ down his noble hand,

For all your knights to pass his father’s land,

The royal King, to grace his warlike son,

Would not alone safe conduct give to them,

But with all bounty feasted them and theirs.

KING OF FRANCE

Dwell’st thou on precedents? Then be it so.

(To Salisbury) Say, Englishman, of what degree thou art.

EARL OF SALISBURY

An earl in England, though a prisoner here.

And those that know me, call me Salisbury.

KING OF FRANCE

Then, Salisbury, say whither thou art bound.

EARL OF SALISBURY

To Calais, where my liege, King Edward, is.

KING OF FRANCE

To Calais, Salisbury? Then to Calais pack,

And bid thy King prepare a noble grave

To put his princely son, black Edward, in.

And as thou travell’st westward from this place,

Some two leagues hence there is a lofty hill,

Whose top seems topless, for the embracing sky

Doth hide his high head in her azure bosom,

Upon whose tall top, when thy foot attains,

Look back upon the humble vale beneath—

Humble of late, but now made proud with arms—

And thence behold the wretched Prince of Wales

Hooped with a band of iron round about.

After which sight, to Calais spur amain,

And say the Prince was smothered and not slain.

And tell thy King, this is not all his ill,

For I will greet him ere he thinks I will.

Away, be gone. The smoke but of our shot

Will choke our foes, though bullets hit them not.

Exeunt

Sc. 14 Alarum. Enter Edward Prince of Wales and the Comte d’Artois

COMTE D’ARTOIS

How fares your grace? Are you not shot, my lord?

PRINCE OF WALES

No, dear Artois, but choked with dust and smoke,

And stepped aside for breath and fresher air.

COMTE D’ARTOIS

Breathe then, and to it again!The amazed French Are quite distract with gazing on the crows, And, were our quivers full of shafts again, Your grace should see a glorious day of this. O, for more arrows, Lord—that’s our one want!

PRINCE OF WALES

Courage, Artois! A fig for feathered shafts

When feathered fowls do bandy on our side!

What need we fight and sweat and keep a coil

When railing crows outscold our adversaries?

Up, up, Artois! The ground itself is armed

With fire-containing flint. Command our bows

To hurl away their parti-coloured yew,

And to it with stones! Away, Artois, away!

My soul doth prophesy we win the day.

Exeunt

Sc. 15 Alarum. Enter Jean King of France

KING OF FRANCE

Our multitudes are in themselves confounded,