Dismayed and distraught. Swift-starting fear

Hath buzzed a cold dismay through all our army,

And every petty disadvantage prompts

The fear-possessed abject soul to fly.

Myself, whose spirit is steel to their dull lead,

What with recalling of the prophecy,

And that our native stones from English arms

Rebel against us, find myself attainted

With strong surprise of weak and yielding fear.

Enter the Dauphin

DAUPHIN

Fly, father, fly! The French do kill the French:

Some that would stand let drive at some that fly;

Our drums strike nothing but discouragement;

Our trumpets sound dishonour and retire;

The spirit of fear, that feareth naught but death,

Cowardly works confusion on itself.

Enter Prince Philippe

PRINCE PHILIPPE

Pluck out your eyes and see not this day’s shame!

An arm hath beat an army. One poor David

Hath, with a stone, foiled twenty stout Goliaths.

Some twenty naked starvelings with small flints

Hath driven back a puissant host of men

Arrayed and fenced in all accomplements.

KING OF FRANCE

Mort dieu! They quoit at us and kill us up!

No less than forty thousand wicked elders

Have forty lean slaves this day stoned to death.

DAUPHIN

O, that I were some other countryman!

This day hath set derision on the French,

And all the world will blurt and scorn at us.

KING OF FRANCE What, is there no hope left?

PRINCE PHILIPPE

No hope but death, to bury up our shame.

KING OF FRANCE

Make up once more with me: the twenti’th part Of those that live are men enough to quail The feeble handful on the adverse part.

DAUPHIN

Then charge again! If heaven be not opposed

We cannot lose the day.

KING or FRANCE

On, on, away!

Exeunt

Sc. 16 Enter Lord Audley wounded and rescued by two Squires

SQUIRE

How fares my lord?

AUDLEY

Even as a man may do

That dines at such a bloody feast as this.

SQUIRE

I hope, my lord, that is no mortal scar.

AUDLEY

No matter if it be. The count is cast,

And, in the worst, ends but a mortal man.

Good friends, convey me to the princely Edward,

That, in the crimson bravery of my blood,

I may become him with saluting him.

I’ll smile and tell him that this open scar

Doth end the harvest of his Audley’s war. Exeunt

Sc. 17 Enter Edward Prince of Wales with his prisoners: jean King of France and the Dauphin, and all with ensigns spread. Retreat sounded

PRINCE OF WALES (to the King and then the Dauphin)

Now, Jean in France, and lately Jean of France,

Thy bloody ensigns are my captive colours—

And you, high-vaunting Charles of Normandy,

That once today sent me a horse to fly,

Are now the subjects of my clemency. 5

Fie, lords, is it 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 OF FRANCE

Thy fortune, not thy force, hath conquered us.

PRINCE OF WALES

An argument that heaven aids the right.

Enter the Comte d’Artois with Prince Philippe

See, see—Artois doth bring with him along

The late good counsel-giver to my soul.

Welcome, Artois, and welcome Philippe 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’.

Sound trumpets. Enter Lord Audley ⌈supported by⌉ the two Squires

But say, what grim discouragement comes here?

Alas, what thousand armèd men of France

Have writ that note of death in Audley’s face?

(To Audley) Speak thou, that woo‘st death with thy

careless smile,

And look’st so merrily upon thy grave

As if thou wert enamoured on thine end.

What hungry sword hath so bereaved thy face

And lopped a true friend from my loving soul?

AUDLEY

O, Prince, thy sweet bemoaning speech to me

Is as a mournful knell to one dead sick.

PRINCE OF WALES (embracing him)

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 OF WALES

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.