The Oxford Shakespeare: The Complete Works

by William Shakespeare

  Lords, I regreet you all with hearty thanks.

  And now behold after my winter’s toil

  My painful voyage on the boist’rous sea

  Of war’s devouring gulfs and steely rocks

  I bring my freight unto the wished port,

  My summer’s hope, my travail’s sweet reward.

  (Pointing at Bohemia’s body) And here, with humble duty, I present

  This sacrifice, this first fruit of my sword,

  Cropped and cut down even at the gate of death:

  The King of Bohême, father, whom I slew,

  Whose thousands had entrenched me round about,

  And lay as thick upon my battered crest

  As on an anvil with their ponderous glaives.

  Yet marble courage still did underprop,

  And when my weary arms with often blows,

  Like the continual labouring woodman’s axe

  That is enjoined to fell a load of oaks,

  Began to falter, straight I would recover

  My gifts you gave me and my zealous vow,

  And then new courage made me fresh again

  That, in despite, I carved my passage forth,

  And put the multitude to speedy flight.

  Lo, thus hath Edward’s hand filled your request

  And done, I hope, the duty of a knight.

  His sword borne forth by a soldier

  KING EDWARD

  Ay, well thou hast deserved a knighthood, Ned,

  He takes the sword

  And therefore, with thy sword yet reeking warm

  With blood of those that fought to be thy bane,

  He knights the Prince

  Arise Prince Edward, trusty knight-at-arms.

  This day thou hast confounded me with joy

  And proved thyself fit heir unto a king.

  PRINCE OF WALES (rising, and then giving the King a paper)

  Here is a note, my gracious lord, of those

  That in this conflict of our foes were slain:

  Eleven princes of esteem, fourscore barons,

  A hundred and twenty knights, and thirty thousand

  Common soldiers—and of our men, a thousand.

  KING EDWARD

  Our God be praised! Now, Jean of France, I hope

  Thou know’st King Edward for no wantonness,

  No love-sick cockney, nor his soldiers jades.

  But which way is the fearful King escaped?

  PRINCE OF WALES

  Towards Poitiers, noble father, and his sons.

  KING EDWARD

  Ned, thou and Audley shall pursue them still.

  Myself and Derby will to Calais straight,

  And there begirt that haven town with siege.

  Now lies it on an upshot: therefore, strike,

  And wistly follow whiles the game’s on foot. Exeunt

  Sc. 9 Enter the Comte de Montfort with a coronet in his hand and with him the Earl of Salisbury

  COMTE DE MONTFORT

  My lord of Salisbury, since by your aid

  Mine enemy Sir Charles of Blois is slain,

  And I again am quietly possessed

  In Bretagne’s dukedom, know that I resolve,

  For this kind furtherance of your king and you,

  To swear allegiance to his majesty—

  He offers Salisbury the coronet

  In sign whereof receive this coronet.

  Bear it unto him, and withal mine oath

  Never to be but Edward’s faithful friend.

  EARL OF SALISBURY (taking the coronet)

  I take it, Montfort. Thus I hope ere long

  The whole dominions of the realm of France

  Will be surrendered to his conquering hand.

  Exit Montfort

  Now, if I knew but safely how to pass,

  I would at Calais gladly meet his grace,

  Whither I am by letters certified

  That he intends to have his host removed.

  It shall be so. This policy will serve.

  (Calling) Ho, who’s within? Bring Villiers to me.

  Enter Villiers

  Villiers, thou know’st thou art my prisoner,

  And that I might for ransom, if I would,

  Require of thee a hundred thousand francs,

  Or else retain and keep thee captive still.

  But so it is that for a smaller charge

  Thou mayst be quit, an if thou wilt thyself.

  And this it is: procure me but a passport

  Of Charles, the Duke of Normandy, that I

  Without restraint may have recourse to Calais

  Through all the countries where he hath to do—

  Which thou mayst easily obtain, I think,

  By reason I have often heard thee say

  He and thou were students once together—

  And then thou shalt be set at liberty.

  How sayst thou? Wilt thou undertake to do it?

  VILLIERS

  I will, my lord. But I must speak with him.

  EARL OF SALISBURY

  Why, so thou shalt! Take horse and post from hence—

  Only before thou go’st, swear by thy faith

  That if thou canst not compass my desire,

  Thou wilt return my prisoner back again,

  And that shall be sufficient warrant for me.

  VILLIERS

  To that condition I agree, my lord,

  And will unfeignedly perform the same.

  Exit

  EARL or SALISBURY Farewell, Villiers!

  Thus once I mean to try a Frenchman’s faith.

  Exit

  Sc. 10 Enter King Edward and the Earl of Derby with soldiers

  KING EDWARD

  Since they refuse our proffered league, my lord,

  And will not ope their gates and let us in,

  We will entrench ourselves on every side,

  That neither victuals nor supply of men

  May come to succour this accursed town.

  Famine shall combat where our swords are stopped.

  Enter six poor Frenchmen

  EARL OF DERBY

  The promised aid that made them stand aloof

  Is now retired and gone another way.

  It will repent them of their stubborn will.

  But what are these poor, ragged slaves, my lord?

  KING EDWARD

  Ask what they are. It seems they come from Calais.

  EARL OF DERBY (to the poor Frenchmen)

  You wretched patterns of despair and woe—

  What are you? Living men, or gliding ghosts

  Crept from your graves to walk upon the earth?

  POOR MAN

  No ghosts, my lord, but men that breathe a life

  Far worse than is the quiet sleep of death.

  We are distressed poor inhabitants

  That long have been diseased, sick and lame.

  And now, because we are not fit to serve,

  The Captain of the town hath thrust us forth

  That so expense of victuals may be saved.

  KING EDWARD

  A charitable deed, no doubt, and worthy praise!

  But how do you imagine, then, to speed?

  We are your enemies: in such a case

  We can no less but put ye to the sword,

  Since, when we proffered truce, it was refused.

  POOR MAN

  An if your grace no otherwise vouchsafe,

  As welcome death is unto us as life.

  KING EDWARD

  Poor seely men, much wronged, and more distressed!

  Go, Derby, go, and see they be relieved.

  Command that victuals be appointed them,

  And give to every one five crowns apiece.

  Exeunt the Earl of Derby and the six poor Frenchmen

  The lion scorns to touch the yielding prey,

  And Edward’s sword must fresh itself in such

  As wilful stubbornness hath made perverse.

  En
ter Lord Percy

  Lord Percy, welcome. What’s the news in England?

  PERCY

  The Queen, my lord, commends her to your grace,

  And from her highness and the lord vicegerent

  I bring this happy tidings of success:

  David of Scotland, lately up in arms,

  Thinking belike he soonest should prevail—

  Your highness being absent from the realm—

  Is by the fruitful service of your peers

  And painful travail of the Queen herself—

  That, big with child, was every day in arms—

  Vanquished, subdued and taken prisoner.

  KING EDWARD

  Thanks, Percy, for thy news, with all my heart!

  What was he took him prisoner in the field?

  PERCY

  A squire, my lord. John Copland is his name,

  Who, since entreated by her majesty,

  Denies to make surrender of his prize

  To any but unto your grace alone—

  Whereat the Queen is grievously displeased.

  KING EDWARD

  Well then, we’ll have a pursuivant dispatched

  To summon Copland hither out of hand,

  And with him he shall bring his prisoner-king.

  PERCY

  The Queen, my lord, herself by this at sea,

  And purposeth, as soon as wind will serve,

  To land at Calais, and to visit you.

  KING EDWARD

  She shall be welcome, and to wait her coming

  I’ll pitch my tent near to the sandy shore.

  Enter a Captain of Calais

  CAPTAIN OF CALAIS

  The burgesses of Calais, mighty king,

  Have, by a council, willingly decreed

  To yield the town and castle to your hands

  Upon condition it will please your grace

  To grant them benefit of life and goods.

  KING EDWARD

  They will so? Then, belike, they may command,

  Dispose, elect and govern as they list!

  No, sirrah. Tell them, since they did refuse

  Our princely clemency at first proclaimed,

  They shall not have it now, although they would.

  I will accept of naught but fire and sword—

  Except within these two days, six of them,

  That are the wealthiest merchants in the town,

  Come naked all but for their linen shirts,

  With each a halter hanged about his neck,

  And, prostrate, yield themselves upon their knees

  To be afflicted, hanged or what I please.

  And so you may inform their masterships.

  Exeunt all but the Captain

  CAPTAIN OF CALAIS

  Why, this it is to trust a broken staff. Had we not been persuaded Jean, our king, Would, with his army, have relieved the town, We had not stood upon defiance so. But now ’tis past that no man can recall, 84 And better some do go to wreck than all.

  Exit

  Sc. 11 Enter the Dauphin and Villiers with a paper

  DAUPHIN

  I wonder, Villiers, thou shouldst importune me

  For one that is our deadly enemy.

  VILLIERS

  Not for his sake, my gracious lord, so much

  Am I become an earnest advocate

  As that, thereby, my ransom will be quit.

  DAUPHIN

  Thy ransom, man? Why need’st thou talk of that?

  Art thou not free? And are not all occasions

  That happen for advantage of our foes

  To be accepted of and stood upon?

  VILLIERS

  No, good my lord, except the same be just.

  For profit must with honour be commixed,

  Or else our actions are but scandalous.

  But, letting pass these intricate objections,

  Will’t please your highness to subscribe or no?

  DAUPHIN

  Villiers, I will not nor I cannot do it.

  Salisbury shall not have his will so much

  To claim a passport how it pleaseth him.

  VILLIERS

  Why then, I know the extremity, my lord.

  I must return to prison, whence I came.

  DAUPHIN Return? I hope thou wilt not!

  What bird that hath escaped the fowler’s gin

  Will not beware how she’s ensnared again?

  Or what is he so senseless and secure

  That, having hardly passed a dangerous gulf,

  Will put himself in peril there again?

  VILLIERS

  Ah, but it is mine oath, my gracious lord,

  Which I in conscience may not violate—

  Or else a kingdom should not draw me hence.

  DAUPHIN

  Thine oath? Why, that doth bind thee to abide.

  Hast thou not sworn obedience to thy Prince?

  VILLIERS

  In all things that uprightly he commands.

  But either to persuade or threaten me

  Not to perform the covenant of my word

  Is lawless, and I need not to obey.

  DAUPHIN

  Why, is it lawful for a man to kill,

  And not to break a promise with his foe?

  VILLIERS

  To kill, my lord, when war is once proclaimed,

  So that our quarrel be for wrongs received,

  No doubt is lawfully permitted us.

  But in an oath, we must be well advised

  How we do swear, and when we once have sworn,

  Not to infringe it, though we die therefor.

  Therefore, my lord, as willing I return

  As if I were to fly to paradise.

  He begins to leave

  DAUPHIN

  Stay, my Villiers. Thine honourable mind

  Deserves to be eternally admired.

  Thy suit shall be no longer thus deferred.

  Give me the paper. I’ll subscribe to it.

  Villiers gives him the paper, which the Dauphin signs

  And wheretofore I loved thee as Villiers,

  Hereafter I’ll embrace thee as myself.

  Stay, and be still in favour with thy lord.

  VILLIERS (receiving back the paper)

  I humbly thank your grace. I must dispatch

  And send this passport first unto the Earl,

  And then I will attend your highness’ pleasure.

  DAUPHIN

  Do so, Villiers. And Charles, when he hath need,

  Be such his soldiers, howsoever he speed.

  Exit Villiers

  Enter ⌉ean King of France

  KING OF FRANCE

  Come, Charles, and arm thee. Edward is entrapped.

  The Prince of Wales is fall’n into our hands,

  And we have compassed him. He cannot scape.

  DAUPHIN

  But will your highness fight today?

  KING OF FRANCE

  What else, my son? He’s scarce eight thousand strong,

  And we are threescore thousand at the least.

  DAUPHIN

  I have a prophecy, my gracious lord,

  Wherein is written what success is like

  To happen us in this outrageous war.

  It was delivered me at Crécy’s field

  By one that is an aged hermit there:

  ‘When feathered fowl shall make thine army tremble,

  And flintstones rise and break the battle ’ray,

  Then think on him that doth not now dissemble,

  For that shall be the hapless dreadful day,

  Yet in the end thy foot thou shalt advance

  As far in England as thy foe in France.’

  KING OF FRANCE

  By this it seems we shall be fortunate.

  For, as it is impossible that stones

  Should ever rise and break the battle ’ray,

  Or airy fowl make men in arms to quake,

  So is it like we shall
not be subdued.

  Or, say this might be true: yet in the end,

  Since he doth promise we shall drive him hence

  And scourge their country as they have done ours,

  By this revenge that loss will seem the less.

  But all are frivolous fancies, toys and dreams.

  Once we are sure we have ensnared the son,

  Catch we the father after how we can.

  Exeunt

  Sc. 12 Enter Edward Prince of Wales, Lord Audley and others

  PRINCE OF WALES

  Audley, the arms of death embrace us round

  And comfort have we none, save that to die

  We pay sour earnest for a sweeter life.

  At Crécy field our clouds of warlike smoke

  Choked up those French mouths and dissevered them,

  But now their multitudes of millions hide,

  Masking, as ’twere, the beauteous burning sun,

  Leaving no hope to us but sullen dark

  And eyeless terror of all-ending night.

  AUDLEY

  This sudden, mighty and expedient head

  That they have made, fair Prince, is wonderful.

  Before us, in the valley, lies the King,

  Vantaged with all that heaven and earth can yield,

  His party stronger battled than our whole.

  His son, the braving Duke of Normandy,

  Hath trimmed the mountain on our right hand up

  In shining plate, that now the aspiring hill

  Shows like a silver quarry, or an orb,

  Aloft the which the banners, bannerets

  And new-replenished pennants cuff the air

  And beat the winds that, for their gaudiness,

  Struggles to kiss them. On our left hand lies

  Philippe, the younger issue of the King,

  Coating the other hill in such array

  That all his gilded upright pikes do seem

  Straight trees of gold; the pendant ensigns, leaves,

  And their device of antique heraldry,

  Quartered in colours seeming sundry fruits,

  Makes it the orchard of the Hesperides.

  Behind us too the hill doth rear his height,

  For, like a half-moon opening but one way,

  It rounds us in. There, at our backs, are lodged

  The fatal crossbows, and the battle there

  Is governed by the rough Châtillion.

  Then thus it stands: the valley for our flight

  The King binds in, the hills on either hand