Shakespeare's Kings (135 page)

By one that is an aged hermit there.

[Reads]

'When feather'd fowl shall make thine army tremble,

And flint-stones 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.'

k.
john
. 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 it is like, we shall not be subdu'd:

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

Since he doth promise we shall drive him hence

And forage 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 ensnar'd the son,

Catch we the father after how we can.

Exeunt

(IV, iv)

scene
iv

The Same. The English Camp. Enter

Prince Edward, Audley, and others.

pr.
ed
. 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 Cressy field our clouds of warlike smoke

Chok'd up those French mouths and dissever'd 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.

aud
. This sudden, mighty and expedient head,

That they have made, fair prince, is wonderful.

Before us in the valley lies the king,

Vantag'd with all that heaven and earth can yield;

His party stronger battled than our whole:

His son, the braving Duke of Normandy,

Hath trimm'd 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-replenish'd pendants cuff the air,

And beat the winds, that for their gaudiness

Struggles to kiss them: on our left hand lies

Philip, the younger issue of the king,

Coring the other hill in such array

That all his gilded upright pikes do seem

Straight trees of gold, the pendant[s] leaves,

And their device of antique heraldry,

Quarter'd in colours seeming sundry fruits,

Makes it the orchard of the Hesperides:

Behind us too the hill doth bear his height,

For, like a half-moon, op'ning but one way,

It rounds us in; there at our backs are lodg'd

The fatal cross-bows, and the
Battle
there

Is governed by the rough Chatillion.

Then thus it stands, - the valley for our flight

The king binds in; the hills on either hand

Are proudly royalized by his sons;

And on the hill behind stands certain death,

In pay and service with Chatillion.

(IV, iv)
pr. ed
. Death's name is much more mighty than his deeds;

-Thy parcelling this power hath made it more.

As many sands as these my hands can hold

Are but my handful of so many sands;

Then, all the world, - and call it but a power,

-Easily ta'en up and quickly thrown away:

But, if I stand to count them sand by sand,

The number would confound my memory

And make a thousand millions of a task

Which, briefly, is no more, indeed, than one.

These quarters, squadrons, and these regiments,

Before, behind us, and on either hand,

Are but a power: when we name a man,

His hand, his foot, his head, hath several strengths;

And being all but one self instant strength,

Why, all this many, Audley, is but one,

And we can call it all but one man's strength.

He, that hath far to go, tells it by miles;

If he should tell the steps, it kills his heart:

The drops are infinite that make a flood,

And yet, thou know'st, we call it but a rain.

There is but one France, one King of France,

That France hath no more kings; and that same king

Hath but the puissant legion of one king;

And we have one: then apprehend no odds,

For one to one is fair equality. -

Enter a Herald from King J
ohn

What tidings, messenger? be plain, and brief.

her
. The King of France, my soveriegn lord and master,

Greets by me his foe the Prince of Wales.

If thou call forth a hundred men of name,

Of lords, kn
ights, squires, and English gentl
emen,

And with thyself and those kneel at his feet,

He straight will fold his bloody colours up

And ransom shall redeem lives forfeited:

If not, this day shall drink more English blood

Than e'er was buried in [y]our British earth.

What is the answer to his proffer'd mercy?

pr. ed
. This heaven that covers France contains the mercy

That draws from me submissive orisons;

That such bas
e breath should vanish from my li
ps,

To urge the plea of mercy to a man,

The Lord forbid! Return, and tell the king,

(IV, iv) My tongue is made of steel and it shall beg
My mercy on his coward burgonet;
Tell him, my colours are as red as his,
My men as bold, our English arms as strong,
Return him my defiance in his face.
her
. I go.
[Exit]

Enter another

pr. ed
. What news with thee?

her
. The Duke of Normandy, my lord and master,

Pitying thy youth is so engirt with peril,

By me hath sent a nimble-jointed jennet,

As swift as ever yet thou didst bestride,

And therewithal he counsels thee to fly;

Else, death himself has sworn that thou shalt die.

pr. ed
. Back with the beast unto the beast that sent him;

Tell him, I cannot sit a coward's horse.

Bid him to-day bestride the jade himself;

For I will stain my horse quite o'er with blood

And double-gild my spurs, but I will catch him.

So tell the carping boy, and get thee gone.

[Exit Herald]

Enter another

her
. Edward of Wales, Philip, the second son

To the most mighty Christian King of France,

Seeing thy body's living date expir'd,

All full of charity and Christian love,

Commends this book, full fraught with prayers,

To thy fair hand, and, for thy hour of life,

Entreats thee that thou meditate therein

And arm thy soul for her long journey towards.

Thus have I done his bidding, and return.

pr. ed
. Herald of Philip, greet thy lord from me;

All good, that he can send, I can receive:

But think'st thou not the unadvised boy

Hath wrong'd himself in thus far tend'ring me?

Haply, he cannot pray without the book;

I think him no divine extemporal:

Then render back this commonplace of prayer,

To do himself good in adversity.

Besides, he knows not my sin's quality

And therefore knows no prayers for my avail;

Ere night his prayer may be, to pray to God

To put it in my heart to hear his prayer;

(IV, iv) So tell the courtly wanton, and be gone.

her
. I go.

[Exit]

pr. ed
. How confident their strength and number makes them! -

Now, Audley, sound those silver wings of thine,

And let those milk-white messengers of time

Show thy time's learning in this dangerous time;

Thyself art bruis'd and bit with many broils,

And strategems forepast with iron pens

Are texted in thine honourable face;

Thou art a married man in this distress,

But danger woos me as a blushing maid:

Teach me an answer to this perilous time.

aud. To
die is all as common as to live;

The one in choice, the other holds in chase:

For from the instant we begin to live

We do pursue and hunt the time to die:

First bud we, then we blow, and after seed;

Then, prese
ntly
, we fall; and, as a shade

Follows the body, so we follow death.

If then we hunt for death, why do we fear it?

If we fear it, why do we follow it?

If we do fear, how can we shun it?

If we do fear, with fear we do but aid

The thing we fear to seize on us the sooner:

If we fear not, then no resolved proffer

Can overthrow the limit of our fate:

For, whether ripe or rotten, drop we shall,

As we do draw the lottery of our doom.

pr. ed
. Ah, good old man, a thousand thousand armours

These words of thine have buckled on my back.

Ah, what an idiot hast thou made of life,

To seek the thing if fears! and how disgrac'd

The imperial victory of murd'ring death!

Since all the lives, his conquering arrows strike,

Seek him, and he not them, to shame his glory.

I will not give a penny for a life,

Nor half a halfpenny to shun grim death,

Since for to live is but to seek to die,

And dying but beginning of new life.

Let come the hour when he that rules it will!

To live, or die, I hold indifferent.

(IV, v)

scene
v

The Same. The French Camp. Enter King John and Charles.

k. john
. A sudden darkness hath defac'd the sky,

The winds are crept into their caves for fear,

The leaves move not, the world is hush'd 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?

char
. 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.