Exeunt
Sc. 13
Enter Jean King of France and the Dauphin
KING OF FRANCE
A sudden darkness hath defaced the sky,
The winds are crept into their caves for fear,
The leaves move not, the world is hushed and still,
The birds cease singing and the wand’ring brooks
Murmur no wonted greeting to their shores.
Silence attends some wonder and expecteth
That heaven should pronounce some prophecy.
Where or from whom proceeds this silence, Charles?
DAUPHIN
Our men with open mouths and staring eyes
Look on each other as they did attend
Each other’s words, and yet no creature speaks.
A tongue-tied fear hath made a midnight hour,
And speeches sleep through all the waking regions.
KING OF FRANCE
But now the pompous sun in all his pride
Looked through his golden coach upon the world,
And, on a sudden, hath he hid himself,
That now the under earth is as a grave,
Dark, deadly, silent and uncomfortable.
Hark, what a deadly outcry do I hear!
DAUPHIN
Here comes my brother Philippe—
KING OF FRANCE All dismayed.
(
To Philippe
) What fearful words are those thy looks presage?
PRINCE PHILIPPE A flight, a flight—
KING OF FRANCE
Coward, what flight? Thou liest. There needs no flight.
PRINCE PHILIPPE A flight
—
KING OF FRANCE
Awake thy craven powers, and tell on
The substance of that very fear in deed
Which is so ghastly printed in thy face.
What is the matter?
PRINCE PHILIPPE
A flight of ugly ravens
Do croak and hover o’er our soldiers’ heads,
And keep in triangles and cornered squares,
Right as our forces are embattelèd.
With their approach there came this sudden fog
Which now hath hid the airy floor of heaven,
And made at noon a night unnatural
Upon the quaking and dismayed world.
In brief, our soldiers have let fall their arms,
And stand like metamorphosed images,
Bloodless and pale, one gazing on another.
KING OF FRANCE ⌈
aside
⌉
Ay, now I call to mind the prophecy—
But I must give no utterance to a fear.
(
To Philippe
) Return, and hearten up these yielding souls!
Tell them the ravens, seeing them in arms—
So many fair against a famished few—
Come but to dine upon their handiwork,
And prey upon the carrion that they kill.
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,
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.
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.
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?